Autism and Me part two by Bonnie Le Hamilton

The other day I was talking to an acquaintance of mine and the subject of Autism came up. I was honest and forthright about being on the spectrum, and she asked me for some symptoms or signs that someone is on the spectrum.

And of course, the not making eye contact issue did come up.

Now, I see this lady almost every Friday because I relieve her as the volunteer receptionist at the Pocatello Visitor’s Center on Fridays. And she always stops to visit with me for a few minutes before she leaves.

In other words, I have chatted with her often, and she said that I do make eye contact. She in fact said I was looking her in the eyes right then.

I wasn’t. I rarely do. I was focusing on her mouth. I’ve done it for as long as I can remember. I even remember once, way back in sixth grade sitting there listening to my mother explain to my new teacher and the principal that I read lips and why I do it.

For most of my life, my family has claimed I read lips to explain away my focusing on lips not eyes. They always had a good explanation. Hearing issues are common in my family and on top of that I spent most of the year between the ages of seven and eight with cotton stuffed in my ears to keep the medicine in them that was there to break up the hard wax buildup in there, which was blocking my hearing.

And I remember my mother mentioning that fact in her explanation of why I focus on the lips.

The problem with that excuse is that I don’t read lips. I can not tell what people are saying if I don’t hear the words, period. Though it only dawned on me in the last few years, after I learned I was on the spectrum, that I can’t read lips. I have never been able to read lips.

I do however focus on the lips. I do try to make eye contact but most often I find it too difficult, and I end up focusing on the mouth, or even the nose, or ears. I sometimes focus on a distant object.

My mother and professionals also explained away my speech delay with our family history of hearing problems and the fact that I’m a twin (Konnie and I did use Twin Speak for a time contributing to our speech delay).

Of course, way back then Autism only affected white boys, or so they thought.

Another obvious sign I had back in my childhood was I tend to wring my hands and rock back and forth when I’m not feeling well. This is often the first sign that I am sick. I still do it. And it is a sign of Autism. But back then they just brushed it off that I wasn’t feeling, well, I wasn’t feeling well. What else could it be? After all, I am not a non-verbal white boy.

There is also my playing with my hair when I was reading or studying. That is another stimming motion and one my stepmother complained about a lot. Though she also praised my attention to detail. (Both are signs of Autism.)

Another issue I still have is that I don’t get jokes, and I don’t usually get them because I take everything so literally. My father always made fun of this little trait of mine. I was often the butt of his jokes and pranks because of it.

The point is, when I was growing up, all the signs were there, but not once did even the professionals consider I might be on the spectrum because I do not fit in the perfect little square, they’d build to define who were Autistic.

 Luckily, my grandnieces won’t have that problem, now that the medical professionals know better. And I am not saying any of them are on the spectrum, I’m just saying, if they exhibit any of the signs professionals today would recognize it, eventually.

Now all I have to do is figure out some way to put such a character in one of my novels. Clearly, I do know what it’s like, and we’re supposed to write what we know. Just have to consider it a little longer.

On another note, an online writing group I’m in is having a first chapter contest, the deadline is October 1^st, and I submitted my chapter last night. Wish me luck!

If they hadn’t limited each contestant to one entry, I might have entered the first chapter of my sci-fi too (even though that novel isn’t complete, then again, the rules said nothing about it being a complete novel.)

Anyway, happy writing everyone!

Of Parenting Adults by Konnie Enos

My youngest child is now nineteen. He needs a doctor’s appointment.

One day I was talking to him about this need and telling him he needed to call the doctor’s office and make the appointment.

He started ranting about how I didn’t throw his siblings in the “deep end” when they turned eighteen.

His brother, my twenty-year-old, walked into the room during our argument.

I turned to his brother. “Tony, what was the last time I made an appointment for you?”

“Eye doctor, a few days after I turned 18, but you'd made it before my birthday, the appointment was after it.”

I remember it. I had an appointment too. They handed us paperwork. I handed one clipboard to him. “Here, you’re an adult now. This is your job.”

He sighed and did his own paperwork.

I have not dealt with any of his medical care since including him finding his primary care doctor, setting up his appointments, and making sure he had a way to get there.

All of my other children have since confirmed that I have not made any appointments for them since they turned eighteen.

I have and do drive kids to their appointments, but I don’t make them nor do I attend them unless my perfectly capable adult child asks me to. They are capable of making their own decisions.

For example, my oldest is now married, with a child.

I have no right to tell her how to raise my grandchild or how many kids she should have. I have no right to tell her when and how often she should visit us. I can’t tell her how to spend her money or what to spend it on. I can’t tell her where to live.

If she asks me for advice, I can give my opinion, but I can’t expect her to follow it. That’s between her and her husband.

My other children are still at home but I still have little say in how they run their lives.

I cannot dictate where they work or who they see or even if they attend college/additional schooling or not. I can’t tell them when to be home.

I can tell them to do their chores. I can tell them to let me know things such as where they’re going and when they expect to be back. Its common courtesy to let those you live with know where you might be and when to be expected.

Even as their parent, and even if I’m paying all their bills, I have no legal right to talk to doctors about their health and/or care or teachers about their grades or classwork unless my child gives consent. I have no right to know how much they are earning or what they are spending their money on, nor do I have a right to tell them how to spend their money.  

I am their mother. I can be worried about them all I want but they are adults.

I’m always astounded when I hear of parents who still want to dictate the lives of their adult children and even get upset when those children cut them out of their lives.

What did you expect?

They’re adults and can make their own choices.

Seriously, if we can expect these kids to be intelligent enough to vote then they are smart enough to make their own decisions. If you honestly think your kids can’t handle it (assuming they don’t have a diagnosed condition which can diminish mental capacity, like Down’s syndrome), then you need to reexamine your parenting.

I’ve tried to raise my kids to be responsible adults.

Now I have to convince my youngest that he is capable of dealing with adulthood. I mean it’s not like his dad and I aren’t right here to back him up.

In all honesty, because he is on the spectrum and has some learning delays, I have gone to his appointments and will continue to do so until I’m sure he can one) understand everything he’s told at these appointments and two) remember it long enough and well enough to relate anything I do need to know to me. His siblings didn’t need this kind of back up.

I do however stand my ground. As I told him. “I’m not going to be around forever.”

 He is as capable of learning how to be an adult as he is of learning how to cook his food. Which he has been doing.

The other night he made himself tuna casserole.

I may never see him fly the nest, but at least I’ll know he can take care of himself when I’m gone.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

The Joys of Parenting by Konnie Enos

Recently I asked my youngest daughter, Melinda, if she was going to go to Wal-Mart with me.

My husband told her, “Your mom will probably let you drive.”

Both of us were wondering if he was daft or something.

When Melinda got her learner’s permit I started letting her drive, at first only some of the time, but gradually it became most of the time. When she got her license it became pretty much anytime she’s in the car. So it’s pretty much a given she’d be driving if she went with me.

In fact, there have been multiple occasions where I needed to be going somewhere and I couldn’t immediately see my keys.

“Melinda, do you have my keys?”

Sometimes the answer is no. Okay, the search is on.

Sometimes the answer is, “I’ll check.” Then she either tell me no, or throws the keys at me.

Sometimes she’ll say, “I’ll get them.” Unless she’s going with me, then she’ll say, “I have them.”

I have enough trouble misplacing things as it is but now I never know if I simply forgot where I put them or they’re somehow buried in my purse or on the bed, or she has them.

Of course my misplacing things isn’t nearly as funny as someone not being able to see something that is clearly in front of them.

We’ve had several incidents, all within the same week or so where Royce might have wondered if his vision was going.

The first one happened when he was looking for the seasonal, as in searching where it should be kept and where it is usually found.

I finally ask him what he was looking for. When he told me, I told him I’d last seen it on the table. Now at the time our table was covered, mostly in groceries which hadn’t been put away yet. He began his search there but still was not seeing it.

I finally looked up from what I was doing and my eyes happened to fall right on the elusive bottle of seasoning. "It's right there in front of you."

He starts frantically looking in the general area in front of him. “Where.”

I tap the cap.

“I’m blind.” He cracked up.

Then a few days later he told me he couldn't find the aluminum foil. I didn’t want to get up and search myself so I told him where I’d last seen it, on the table.

Nope, he'd already searched it completely. So I headed for the kitchen but got no further than the end of the hallway. From there I could see the table. "I can see it from here."

After a moment he finally sees it. "I am not blind."

I went back to my room only to have him say we were out. I knew for a fact there was another roll so I told him exactly where it was in the pantry.

A moment later I hear, "I swear I am not blind."

Then, less than a week later, he turns to me, “Have you seen Tony?”

The last place I had seen his brother was their bedroom, in his bed. From where I was sitting, I could see their bed. I glanced toward it. "That's the last place I saw him."

"What the... The last place I look is the first place I should have looked, right above me."

Yes, they have bunk beds.

Having kids can provide some humorous situations. Because Royce is, well who he is, there’s barely a day that goes by that he doesn’t at least attempt to get me to laugh. He considers it a challenge and knowing it’s even harder to get such a reaction out of Bonnie, he has started calling her with his efforts.

Yes, he can get her to laugh.

 But I think one of my favorite Royce just being himself but it was funny was an exchange between him and his sister, Melinda.

First Melinda again reprimanded him, “Stop yelling.”

“I’m not yelling. I’m screaming loudly.”

“What do you think the definition of yelling is? Whispering?”

“What do you think the definition of minute (time) is? Minute (size)?”

I’m still laughing.

Then this exchange when Royce showed Melinda a puzzle. She glanced at it and gave him an answer.

He said, “95% of adults can’t figure that out.”

“95% of adults aren’t geniuses.”

He could only nod. “Valid response.”

Being a parent can sure have its hilarious moments especially when you have children on the spectrum. We know for sure Royce is and we suspect Melinda is. She’s working on getting evaluated now.

Oh, and next week being what it is, Happy Birthday, U.S.A. and Bonnie.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.