Suddenly Sixteen

How did sixteen years go by so fast?

Remember the dreamy two-year-old who skipped around the neighborhood singing, “Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh, chubby little cubby old bear” in her tiny little voice that was already so beautiful? 

Remember how you thought you would definitely go back to work after she was born, but the minute you held her it was like an explosion in your whole body and you knew that wouldn’t happen anymore?

Remember frilly dresses that wouldn’t stay clean, “messy” days, ghost stories with Alfredo, musicals with Maddy, and finding crystals with Clara under the slides?

Remember how she was fascinated with the idea of God at the age of six? How she was mesmerized by bible stories, and said we needed to go to church so we spent an entire summer attending different church services in Dallas? Oh - and remember that time at the Knights of Columbus swimming pool when she had a premonition on the slide that someone would drown and within minutes a two-year-old was found on the bottom of the pool (he recovered)?

Remember how people asked if she was angry because her brow was always furrowed and you would explain over and over, “no, she’s just thinking”?  She was a dancer, a singer, a doctor, a zookeeper, a writer, a scientist, a linguist, a priest, a teacher, a geologist. 

Remember her only babysitter, Audrey, the sweet seventy-year-old who watched her a few hours a week while you worked on the Ph.D you thought you had to have because you couldn’t “just” be a mom?  Remember how your heart hurt when you left her and you cried on the way to school and as you pumped milk in the car between classes even though Audrey was perfect for her? Remember your excitement when Audrey said it wasn’t normal for a baby to talk so early and that she would be a writer someday and you knew this was true? 

Remember how she walked out of the Austin Waldorf School when she was nine-years-old with the shocking sentence, “I want to homeschool.” And when you couldn’t find words to respond, she had a monologue ready… “I can learn more in the real world, I can read as much as I want, we can go on field trips every day, I can learn Latin, I can have lead roles in plays, I can write and sing all the time.” And that sounded so perfect that you couldn’t say anything but, “why not?” 

Today she prepares to drive the car that you didn’t sell, the one you’ve reluctantly saved for her because you know she needs to drive but you’re terrified of it. She’s decorated it with a Flying Spaghetti Monster sticker and a rainbow peace sign. 

She loves Richard Dawkins and creation stories of all kinds.  She writes deep, dramatic music about life, loss, and love. She wants to become a black-belt and go to medical school, drive an electric car, and eat healthy food.

She usually wears hats, occasionally dyes her hair, keeps her eyes covered in heavy make-up, reads Science magazine for fun, studies Forensics textbooks, writes stories and songs for relaxation and mental health.  She’s competitive - not with others, but with herself.  She’s an artist and a scientist.  

The only time she’s ever claimed to be bored since leaving third grade was during the life-changing three month foray she took into public high school.  But, out of that boredom, she learned to draw and peer deeper into human emotions. She came out wanting to change the world.

To my beautiful, complicated, perfect, brilliant, dramatic, sometimes intimidating almost sixteen-year-old:  you have changed my life in the most beautiful, complicated, perfect, brilliant, dramatic, sometimes intimidating ways.  I love you my sweet sweet girl. 

Social Self-Defense

The kids and I are waiting to see an avant-garde play done by my daughter’s favorite director. Reaching my limit of small talk, I listen to the music of the people in the room. Groups of loud theater moms and teenagers are excited and talking non-stop. The sounds of the voices and the energy of all of the kids swirl around me as if I’m caught in the middle of a drum circle.  Moms are talking about little things, telling stories about themselves and their kids, the quieter Dads are off to the side. Fifteen year olds are squealing, laughing, and hanging on to each other. I don’t think anyone notices me - I like being the silent observer. 

The play will begin soon.  The director stands at the door as it opens, and a line suddenly forms with about ten people in front of me. I wait for my turn to enter as I watch people hug the director and say appropriate, witty things. I try to think of something interesting to say but my mind won’t stand still. 

I’m next. I watch the happy woman in front of me uncurl from a familiar hug with the director and I step forward to look him in the eyes.  I notice his arms move slightly out from his sides hesitantly.  He’s not sure whether to hug me or not.  I step back slightly and he pulls his arms back. I say “hi, how are you, I’m excited to see the show,” and he responds with a smile and an “enjoy and thanks so much for coming.”  I avert my eyes and walk away quickly like I have something important to do.

I just did, on a social level, what I’ve learned as a self-defense technique in Kung Fu. In order to defend myself from an attacker coming toward me, I might shoot my hands up into the air to deflect any force, then chop the shoulders and knee the groin area. In this safe social arena, as the director comes toward me with a hint of a hug, I step back with a smile and a greeting to deflect it.  Instead of actually chopping or kneeing, I avert my eyes quickly and hurry toward a seat.  This is my defense against simmering panic as I try to resemble a person who actually enjoys hanging out with a group of aquaintances.

I think about this interaction too long, much longer than the blip of time the director might have considered it. I think about how I need to improve in these situations although I’ve been trying to do so for as long as I can remember. I used to stand in circles of girls on the playground in third grade, desperately trying to think of things to say to people I didn’t have much in common with.  I find it challenging working with my son on his social skills at the same time I’m questioning how much can really be learned.  Is this just our nature? According to our personality types it is.  I’m reminded of a book I love, The Tao of Pooh and wish there was a book called The Tao of Social Interactions.

In The Tao of Pooh, Benjamin Hoff says, “There are things about ourselves that we need to get rid of; there are things we need to change.  But at the same time, we do not need to be too desperate, too ruthless, too combative.  Along the way to usefulness and happiness, many of those things will change themselves, and the others can be worked on as we go.” 

Ok, then.  I’ve already worked on these things “desperately” for years - I have quite a few techniques in my bag. Currently, as I facilitate my kids’ passions, I’m pushing myself to do scary social things even though I’m not the most socially eloquent. I’m starting to just accept, at the age of almost 44, that it’s ok to just feel the stress of social situations and do them anyway. What the kids and I learn through all of our interactions outweighs the stress of the social part when I really think about it.

Teaching Him to Fake It Naturally

I’m listening to the pounding rain on my roof as I pour over unschooling definitions to help me make peace with the reticence I feel about “teaching” Travis to behave in socially typical ways.  I’m studying piles of social skills curricula that I didn’t even know existed until recently and spending hours watching Youtube videos by people with Aspergers. I’m soaking up just how people learn to “fake it” socially.  I’m combining these ideas and trying to facilitate his learning in as natural a way as possible.

Travis is learning to accept and offer help, to be more flexible when things don’t go his way, to look people in the eyes, to say please and thank you, to introduce himself, to initiate conversation, and to keep his body with a group. 

He’s learned to say, “not much” when an acquaintance asks him “what’s going on?” rather than feeling compelled to give an honest and literal answer and thus ignoring the person because it’s just too overwhelming. He said, “I love you” to me for the first time in his life because, although he sees no point in it, he knew it would make me happy.

He asks me to act out “social scenarios” with him as we drive from place to place so he can practice his answers. He notices that people are nicer to him when he responds in an expected way. 

Initially, he didn’t think working on social skills was important, but I explained that doing so could be a gateway into rock climbing and gymnastics and all those things that haven’t quite worked out in the past. He reluctantly went along with my ideas and now his social skills are blossoming. I worried that I was trying to change who he is, but I did it anyway. He actually feels better about himself as he’s learning how to change the way others react to him.

I want my kids to be themselves. I never thought I would teach them to be something they aren’t, but Travis is learning to “fake it” sometimes.  I guess we all fake it to get along but we’ve picked this up more naturally. We want to put people at ease and have them feel good and we value what other people think of us. Unlike my son, we don’t consider it lying as we answer “fine” to the friendly cashier’s question: “how are you today?”

I really like the following quote from the Natural Child Project’s website - I agree with it and it helps me see that I can still “unschool” my child with Aspergers even though it looks so different than what I do with my older girls:

“Unschooling isn’t a method, it is a way of looking at children and at life. It is based on trust that parents and children will find the paths that work best for them - without depending on educational institutions, publishing companies, or experts to tell them what to do.”

Brightening My Day by Pre-Paving and Visualizing

My eyes pop open this morning as I jump out of bed; my body feels ready for a day of activity after a few days of unexplained waning energy.  Tired of being tired, I spent last night’s moments before falling asleep preparing to wake up refreshed.

I remember a book I read several years ago, called Paving it Forward. It’s a book about creating the life you want by “pre-paving” with a statement you put forth to the universe.  So, I try this.  I tell myself, “I wake up with energy!”   

I also visualize the day I want to have. I remember a story my clinical director told me as I began seeing clients in my pre-kid, Social Worker days.  A researcher gets three groups of basketball players to try different methods of improving their free-throw skills.  One group practices shooting baskets for an hour, a second group visualizes making the baskets without practicing, and the third group neither practices nor visualizes.  The result: the practicing group and the visualizing group improve a lot.  The group that does nothing does not improve at all. 

I searched for the original study and I don’t think it actually exists - but it’s one of those things that sounds possible and is ingrained in me from my years as a counselor.

I visualize and pre-pave with some cynicism though.  Why can’t I create a world where people can run marathons in safety?  Why can’t I make my twelve-year-old daughter’s body work better, without pain?  Why can’t I do more than give myself a little energy?  I find that I can only change myself and I can’t control others. Visualizing and pre-paving aren’t magic, but they brighten my day a bit and help me see more clearly what my goals are so that I can work to reach them. 

For my son, I visualize him being able to write a paragraph by hand.  For my twelve-year-old, I imagine her bones and joints becoming healthy. These things don’t happen over night, like my increase in energy, but “seeing” the results in my mind makes it seem more possible to get there. I find a writing specialist that understands my son and I focus on treating my daughter's pain with the nutritional focus you might use for rheumatoid arthritis since having one autoimmune disorder like she does (Celiac Disease) increases the likelihood of having a second one.

Today I’m happy to have the energy to visualize a peaceful world. And to “pre-pave” with the statement, “I am compassionate with myself and others.”  I know that no magical answer exists, but today, instead of brooding over being tired and insignificant, I am contemplating Gandhi’s saying, “You must be the change you wish to see in the world.” 

"I was so nervous, but I'm proud of myself"

My Kung Fu teacher is demonstrating the short-Katas to all of the white belts. I know the first ten sparring techniques and a few self-defense moves, but the short-Katas are challenging for me.

One side of the body is doing something totally different than the other side. It’s like playing my clarinet in high school - right hand doing different moves than the left hand. It’s challenging my weak spatial skills.  My daughters pick it up immediately while my hands and feet are tangled.

But, we’re not competing against each other.  Lots of different levels and ages are in this room.  My body is becoming stronger and more flexible.  My mind is challenged.  The Buddha statue calms me when I walk in the door.

Along side my martial arts training, I’m diving into the art of social skills.  I’m doing this for my son with Aspergers. I begin to notice the details in social situations that I normally don’t pay attention to while he and I practice throughout the day. For example, it turns out that the specific steps it takes to walk through the line at Whole Foods and purchase a drink are not that easy.   

Wait behind the person in front of you.  Set your drink on the counter.  Wait for the checker to tell you how much money you owe him. When he says you owe him $1.50, gently hand him the five dollar bill you have.  Keep your body facing the counter while you watch him get your change and put it in your hands.  Look at him and say “thank you” in a loud enough voice for him to hear as he hands you your change.  Notice that the checker smiles when you say thank you because he feels good that you acknowledged him. 

After my son makes it through the line, he says, “I was so nervous, but I’m proud of myself.” He’s animated and wants to talk more about why it’s important to be able to do these things in life. 

Purchasing a drink seems like a small act, one I wouldn’t even think about normally. I break down the steps for him like my Kung Fu teacher breaks down the short-Kata steps for me.  It takes me a long time to get what my daughters pick up immediately.  It takes my son a long time to perform some things others seem to magically know how to do. He and I are learning new skills together, in much the same way.  When I walk out of each Kung Fu class, I could say the same thing he says, “I was so nervous, but I’m proud of myself.”

Becoming a Kung Fu Family

Today the girls and I will attend our fourth Kung Fu class.  I’ve gone over and over the techniques in my mind at night as a way to fall asleep and then again to put myself back to sleep when I’ve awakened during the night.  I am slow with this.  

As the kids and I learn side by side, I clearly see that the way we are learning Kung Fu is the way we go about learning most things. 

My fifteen year old, Alexandra, is competitive - she would go every day if she could. I wonder how she thinks so fast.  How does she pick up the steps as soon as she’s shown them?  I watch the instructors’ little smiles as they see her potential.  She is full of focus, she doesn’t look around to see what others are doing.  She believes in herself.

My twelve year old, Grace, scans the room and I know that when we are done, she will be able to describe the participants and have funny stories to tell.  I notice Grace’s eyes get defensive as the higher-level students correct her positions.  She doesn’t like to be told what to do and she is very aware that Alexandra is getting more praise than she is.  She easily picks up the steps though, and is happy to show me what I don’t remember.

I want an activity we can do as a family and this is almost perfect - the only thing missing is my son’s participation.  Right now, he sits in the lobby with a computer because he’s not ready.  He’s taking a sports-social skills class and is working on things like greetings, following directions, and eye-contact.  His goal is to join the class with us and he asks me many detailed questions.  When do you bow? What if I don’t know how to do a pose?  What if I have a question? What if I don’t want to do all of the exercises? What if I get too tired? Can I leave if I want to?

Watching the girls move easily through the new skills, I wonder if I’ve always been this slow.  Is it because I’m older?  Is the anxiety of trying something so foreign and new getting in the way of my concentration? If I wasn’t the worst person in the class, I might compare myself to someone else and feel more confident. 

Can I be successful at something I’m not naturally gifted with? I’m reminded of the time I worked as a teller at a bank in college.  It seemed so easy to everyone else - dealing with large amounts of money and balancing at the end of the day.  At first, my drawer never balanced and all of my transactions were piled up and confusing.  I’m sure my boss wondered why she hired me.  I took the rule-manual home and memorized all of the steps, writing them out, and repeating them silently.  After that, I always balanced and when I quit a year later, my boss begged me to stay. 

I’m trying to be patient with myself, hoping that Kung Fu will progress like most things I work hard at.  I'm thinking this really could be a lot of fun!

Experts Don't Have a Magic Wand!

I’m in the recommended psychologist’s office beside my son - this is his first meeting with her and he’s focused on flipping his shoe on and off his foot.  I met with her alone last week and explained to Travis that she might be able to help us improve his social skills. He said meeting with her was “fine.”

I’m not sure what we’re going to get out of this session.  For me, it’s Aspergers’ research and maybe it will help, but I’m getting the feeling that these experts don’t have some magic wand.  We plan on working on hellos and high fives - the things Travis calls “fluffy and pointless.” 

She asks him if it’s okay if she sends me to the lobby while they talk alone. He says “no, that’s not okay,” and I’m relieved.  At this point, I think the session should really be for both of us since I’m with him every day and I have so much to learn.

She nods her head slowly and says I can stay this time and maybe next time.  I think she feels uncomfortable with me in the room. Maybe she thinks she can build a better relationship without me.  But I wonder what she’ll say to him and I don’t like others taking the lead with my kids when I don’t know their goals. When I was a Social Worker, I’d see the kids with their families.  I have learned that no one knows your child like you do. 

She asks him about the video games he plays and he responds with a little monologue on Minecraft.  I try not to look at the psychologist because she feels like she needs to make eye contact with me while she’s listening to him. It’s $140 a session and Travis is talking about the things I hear him talk about all the time. I want to be efficient with this hour.  

I find myself tuning him out and wondering what the psychologist might be thinking about his video game playing.  I notice that she's not really interested in what he’s saying, but she’s trying to develop a relationship.  

The psychologist interrupts him and says, “I can tell your mom doesn’t like these games. Do you know how I know?  I see that her face looks different and she's turning away from you when you’re talking about Minecraft.”

Travis takes her statement literally, thinking she means I don’t like to play Minecraft and not that I am judging the value of the game.  He looks at me, saying, “I think you would like it if you would play more.”

I say to him, “You know I think Minecraft is really cool, I’m just not very good at it - I should play more.” 

I don’t want Travis to think I don’t like him playing Minecraft - we talk about it all the time and I love that he has this passion. I don’t want him to think I’ve been keeping some secret from him and the psychologist has discovered it. 

I want to say to the psychologist that my face looked different because I was wondering what she thought about Travis. I want to tell the psychologist not to assume I am anti-video game, and that if she’s saying I don’t like Minecraft, it’s like saying I don’t like a part of him. I’m happy Travis took her words literally instead of understanding what she was trying to say.

She changes the subject and asks Travis, “ Can you tell me what Aspergers is and what you think about it?” 

She is surprised when he says, “it’s a different way of thinking and it’s a good thing.”  

She asks him, “why do you think we greet other people with smiles and hellos and high-fives?”   

He says, “because it makes other people feel good and lets them know you are paying attention to them.”  

She tells him he’s really smart and asks him how he knows all of these things. He says, “my Mom told me.”

“You have a smart mom,”  she says.

She asks him if he would be willing to practice smiling and saying “hi” this week and he says he can do that but he’s ready to leave and he doesn’t want to talk anymore.  

I think maybe this session was worth it.  I realize how much he knows, I realize I know a lot more than I thought, and I know that I’m on the right track. I don’t think we’ll be going back though.  I’ve signed him up for a sports social skills class - one in which he will work with other kids while playing games. This seems a lot more natural.