I cannot begin to tell you why this image that comes to
mind, but what happened last night felt like getting slapped across the face
with a big, smelly, slimy fish. Not
violent but unpleasant and jarring.
Us: Yes.
Him: Did he die?
Us: Yes.
Him: Did the police officer go to jail?
Us: No. That’s why people are so upset. People don’t think it’s fair that he didn’t go to jail for shooting someone that didn’t have a gun.
*sigh*
Last night was a reminder that, despite all our progress, there are still pockets of gaping, swirling, unbridgeable (for now) chasms between our boy and his peers. Last night was the first time that one of those gaps has caused an incident. I have a feeling it won’t be the last.
After Hebrew school, Simon and 2 other 6-year old boys he’s
been in class with for a few years like to run around the sanctuary. I played with them for a while and then left
them on their own while I chatted with other parents just outside the
doorway. About 20 minutes later, I
looked in and realized it was quiet and I didn’t see any of the boys.
I called out for Simon. Just then the Mom of one of the boys
headed towards me up the aisle saying, “He’s in there. Something happened. Let me go find my kid and
then I’ll tell you what’s up”. As I
walked in, I heard a pitiful wail. When
I got to Simon, he was sitting on a bench, totally curled over his knees, head
in hands, crying.
I sat next to him and put my arm around him. He slumped against me and continued crying. After a few unsuccessful attempts to get him
to tell me what happened, he said suddenly wailed, “I died! They killed me!”
He has been running a few verbal “tapes” for the last few
months when he’s upset- that he died, that he is going to kill you, that you
are going to go to jail, that you or he is going to the Dark Side (Star Wars
reference). We’ve tried talking to him
about it (especially the died/killing ones) and it’s clear he does NOT get what
it really means and why it lands so hard on other people when he says it. We have been instructed by our ABA therapist
to do “extinction” with it, which means to just to ignore the behavior until it
goes extinct or dies. I know,
ironic.
Last week when we were driving through downtown Oakland to
assess the aftermath of the Ferguson-related protests, Laura started to explain
what we were looking at and why. He
seemed to sort of get it and sort of not.
After we explained the basics, he asked a few questions (Questions!?!?!-
Monumental progress developmentally).
Him: The police officer shot
someone?Us: Yes.
Him: Did he die?
Us: Yes.
Him: Did the police officer go to jail?
Us: No. That’s why people are so upset. People don’t think it’s fair that he didn’t go to jail for shooting someone that didn’t have a gun.
Then he said some sort of “popcorn” speech that let us know
we had reached the limit of his ability to engage on this.
Since that conversation about Ferguson, we’ve both noticed
that his "I died/you will be dead/you will go to jail” tape has increased. It’s been a little disturbing and makes me
worry that we did the wrong thing by trying to explain such a painful and
complicated issue when it may be beyond his ability to process. But he is a sponge and I know he has been
hearing us talk about it ad nauseaum at home, so all the information is already
in there. I think our job as parents is to
help him make sense of what is going on in the world around him, however we
can, even if we miss the mark once in a while.
It’s clear that while he gets the intent behind those words
(mean/bad things), he does not get the level of intensity. Still, when he said, “I died. They killed me”, I felt a punch to the gut
and my eyes started to sting. I had
lightening quick flash of thoughts that included maternal anguish at the idea
of that ever happening to him quickly followed by my social justice brain
stating that white privilege would make that highly unlikely. It kinda left me with whiplash. And I still had a sobbing child on my arm and
no idea what in the actual hell had happened.
The other two boys and their mothers came in and stood in
front of us. One Mom asked the group of
boys what happened. One of the other
boys started to tell his version. The
other Mom said, “I think Simon should tell us what happened since he looks
really upset”.
Laura and I shot each other a look. We both knew that there was absolutely ZERO
chance Simon would be able to give a coherent or accurate accounting of much
that would be useful, given his speech challenges. Still, I decided to go along with the charade
and asked Simon if he could tell me what happened. “I killed them!” he exclaimed. I couldn’t even look at the mothers. I didn’t
want to see the shocked expressions on their faces. “I sent them to the Dark Side”, he continued.
Laura said that she would like to hear from the other boys
about what they thought happened. One of
them, the more rambunctious of the two, started animatedly telling a story of
all the things Simon said to them (none of which were phrases or words Simon
uses). Then, he explained, Simon’s shoes
came off and that’s when he got upset.
An adult asked how the shoes came off.
“Oh, it was an accident”, he said and spun a tall tale about a jacket
mysteriously getting tangled up in the shoes.
Then the quieter boy said, “He said he was going to shoot us and that we
were going to die and go to jail and go to the Dark Side. We didn’t want to”.
Laura and I started vigorously nodding. Now we were getting somewhere. Yes, we said,
that sounds like something Simon would say.
We did a quick reminder with Simon about not saying those kinds of
things to people because it hurts their feelings. Head still buried in my chest. What happened
BEFORE he said those things, we wanted to know.
No one could really tell us.
I had an idea. “Simon, did you want to play Star Wars with
the boys?” I asked him. His tearstained
face popped up, smiling. “Yes! Let’s play Star Wars!” he happily chirped. “We
don’t want to”, the boys replied.
Simon’s head dropped back onto my arm and he started sniffling again. “I want an apology”, one of the boy proclaimed. I asked Simon if he could apologize. “NEVER! They will be dead! They will go to
the Dark Side” he replied. *sigh*
These boys have been in class with Simon long enough to know
he’s quirky and doesn’t usually like to go with the program, but this incident
revealed exactly how big and where the gap is between him and his peers. I felt
like some flap of skin had been peeled back and they were staring at our tender
spots, pulsing and shiny and vulnerable. It felt…humiliating and a little scary and
sad. We’re both really questioning if
it’s okay to leave him on his own with other kids because he can’t read social
cues and can never articulate his side of the story if something goes wrong as
a result of a mis-read. This is so not
the free-range parenting I had anticipated.
As the 2 boys scampered off to play, Mom of the rambunctious boy started to
apologize and then started to tear up. I
moved in to give her a hug and she fell on me, wracked with sobs. “I feel so bad about the lie” she moaned.
I wanted to draw back
and shake her and say, “It is the most amazing thing in the world that your son
just lied! It’s probably the most age
appropriate, typical thing you could ever ask a 6 year old to do! Do you know
how fucking lucky you are?”
I also really felt her pain as a mother whose kid had just
done something kind of shitty. I
murmured that what he did was totally age appropriate (true), that she was doing a great job (true) and that
I was that kid that took other people’s shoes (totally true- I was an angry,
kinda mean kid) and wasn’t parenting just fucking brutal sometimes
(a-to-the-freaking-men)? She wiped her
face, flashed a sad smile and nodded. Last night was a reminder that, despite all our progress, there are still pockets of gaping, swirling, unbridgeable (for now) chasms between our boy and his peers. Last night was the first time that one of those gaps has caused an incident. I have a feeling it won’t be the last.