If They Would Just Parent

This article (http://www.cbsnews.com/news/kentucky-officer-handcuffed-mentally-disabled-kids-as-punishment-lawsuit-says/) is making the rounds on social media. It is all over my Facebook page and on every special needs/autism pages I visit. I've read the article, but can't bring myself to watch the accompanying video. It is too horrifying for me. I am shocked that this just keeps happening. Over and over and over again. From Special Ed teachers hanging kids upside down in garbage cans to kids being locked in "safe rooms" isolated alone for hours at a time. When will this stop? How is it that the children that need the most care and understanding seemingly receive the least.

I rarely do, but this time I shared the article on my personal FB feed with the comment that although I didn't know the specifics of this case, I couldn't think of a reason a 50 pound 8 year old would need to be handcuffed. Ever. Especially not one with special needs. It is just not appropriate. As you can imagine, I got comments. And not surprising, the ones that bother me the most are the ones that imply kids just need more guidance and discipline. If parents would do their job, this wouldn't be necessary.

I'm the first to admit that yes, there are unfortunately kids out there who are not being parented or disciplined. There could be any number of reasons for this and I try (now) not to judge. I'm sure it does make our educators jobs that much tougher. It's probably not easy to be a teacher. But lack of discipline is not always the reason for these behaviors.

I used to be one of those people who blamed poor behavior on lack of parenting and discipline. I'm ashamed to admit that I have judged numerous parents and deemed them unworthy, doing their kids a disservice. I used to not truly believe that ADHD was a valid diagnosis, I said that I would never "drug" my child. The list of things I used to say goes on and on. 

But God has a way of opening our hearts and teaching us the lessons we need to learn. And in my case He did so with the beautiful gift that is my youngest son. No one who knows me would accuse me of not providing guidance and discipline to my children. I parent. Certainly not perfectly, but I really try to do my best to raise healthy, responsible, kind humans. And even with my best efforts, The Boy still has occasional "behavior problems".

Children with autism or ADHD or other special needs can't always control their behavior. When they lash out, it's not a choice. It's not an act of defiance. In the case of The Boy, it's usually because he's become completely overwhelmed, has basically shut down and his "fight or flight" response has been triggered.  Thankfully, he is not a runner, but he fights (not so thankfully). 

It is hard for me to admit that my child has punched an educational aid breaking her nose. He has thrown a chair into a smart board, breaking the smart board. Thankfully these incidents are few and far between. And both these incidents happened several years ago.  Back when his expressive language was limited and he struggled to communicate. We work with him constantly on appropriate behaviors, how to mitigate his challenges, how to find his voice of self advocacy, how to use his words to express his feelings. But even though we work with him constantly, we still occasionally struggle with behaviors. 

Just last week we were out and about when a nearby baby started crying. I don't know why, but a crying baby or toddler is a trigger for The Boy. If you know, you can see the reaction. His head jerks up, his eyes get huge, his whole body gets stiff, you can see his mind shut down and his fight or flight response take over. He loses his language. And in the case last week, where I didn't notice the cries and didn't prepare for the response, he ran straight to me. And kicked me as hard as he could. It hurt like crazy. It took everything I had, but I didn't react. It took me about a nano second to realize what happened. So I again tried to work with him on what to do instead. I reminded him that he cannot kick or hit, that he needs to try and use his words: Baby crying. Too loud. Scares me. Leave. Go home. Short, brief statements of self advocacy. Before he can learn to process the cries and tolerate them, he has to know he can escape them and feel safe. Only after he feels safe can we talk about why the baby cries. He might be hungry or cold. The baby can't talk so he cries to tell his mommy what he needs. His mommy will help him and then the cries will stop. All of this over and over and over again with the hope that eventually he will be able to process the crying, advocate for what he needs and not have to fight his way through it. But it takes tons and tons (and tons) of patience and consistency and care and understanding by everyone who interacts with him on a regular basis. What he doesn't need is to be handcuffed by a big policeman with little or no training in how to respond to a child with special needs. 

That would simply further traumatize my child. And here is what happens when my child is severely traumatized. He doesn't forget. Ever. And he will never return to the place of the trauma, or any place similar. He simply would not go to school any more. And every time he saw a police officer, his fight or flight response would trigger. You may think I'm exaggerating a bit. But I assure you I am not. 

Three years ago we attended a street fair. These are difficult for The Boy as they are generally loud, crowded, and a little crazy. But he was holding it together. In the middle of the fair, he had an encounter that for whatever reason sent him over the edge. He immediately started to meltdown and insisted on going home. We left. Ever since then, he will not go to the location of that fair. He simply won't. Even when there is no fair. And he won't go to a street fair anywhere. If he sees pop up tents, his fight or flight response immediately engages. His anxiety goes through the roof and he begins to meltdown. Three years later we are still dealing with this. Imagine if you handcuffed this child at school, in the throws of a meltdown. He would never forget it. For the rest of ever. It would make things a thousand times worse. 

I am so very thankful that our school understands this. That when The Boy is in the middle of a meltdown and trying to fight his way out (literally), they don't call the police. They remove him from the situation, take him someplace safe (usually outside) to work through it, and they call me to come take him home for the day. I'm doubly thankful that his hasn't happened since first grade. But there are no guarantees that it won't happen again some time in the future.

So when I read these stories, yes I take them personally. When I see that 50 pound 8 year old sitting in a chair facing the corner with handcuffs on his biceps, I see my child. And when I hear someone say that all this could be avoided if the child's parents would just do their job, well honestly I'm almost speechless. Almost. But not quite, or I wouldn't be writing about it.

I have never parented with such dedication as I am right now. My older boys did not take nearly as much time, effort, patience, consistency, love, care, understanding... The list goes on and on. To hear someone say that these situations could be avoided if parents would do their job just crushes me. I don't know how to do this any better. I am giving 100% every day. And to have someone negate that in one simple sentence is crushing. I would invite any one of them into my life for just one day. Just one day. I guarantee it would change their perspective forever.

Where am I going with this? Its really 2 fold. Please, please, please don't be so quick to judge. We do not know all the specifics of this case, we rarely do. This boy's parents may be doing everything they know how to help him. But it is a long, slow process. Or, they may be absent, disengaged parents who are over burdened with no supports and burned out. My point is WE DO NOT KNOW. And I, for one, am not going to pass judgement on them. And even if they are disengaged parents "not doing their job", is it the fault of the boy? Does he deserve to be in handcuffs as a result of poor parenting, something he has no control over? No matter the circumstances, I would argue that what he needs is care and understanding and a safe place to calm down. He needs help not handcuffs.

Secondly, we desperately need more advocacy and training. Teachers, administrators, and emergency response people (just to name a few) need training. Even if a child does not have special needs, the techniques used to defuse a meltdown can be used to help a "typical" child calm down. Training and education would benefit everyone. 

And I stand by my original statement. I can't think of a reason a 50 pound 8 year old would ever need to be handcuffed. 

To Play or Not To Play

This morning as I was cleaning up the kitchen, I heard The Boy from the other room. Spider-Man and The Hulk were saving the day. Careening through the living room to save someone. I stopped what I was doing and I listened as he played. And I wanted to stop time. I wanted to freeze the moment and forever etch it into my memory. A moment in time to cherish. 

You see, this was the boy who had no words until he was well over 3. The child who had no imaginative play at 6 years old. None. He simply did not know how to play. We spent hours, months even, trying to show him how to play. 

Everyday after school we would take Mr. Potato Head and show The Boy how to build him. And then how to play with him. "Where would he go?" We would ask. And always the answer would be "da stowe". Because that's where we went, to the grocery store. The Boy had no imaginative play. Had no idea how to even begin. He only knew what we did, so Mr. Potato Head went to the store.

We painstakingly worked on it. Every day. We took Mr. Potato Head and the Mrs. and Jr. to the park and to the pool and to the library. All in our basement. 

And slowly, over months, The Boy began to play with Mr. Potato Head and his family. Always the same scripts that we had played out for him before. Word for word, we would hear Papa, or Mama, or Jr jump in the pool or swing on the swings or buy a pear at the store. But it was a start. An attempt at imaginative play. Something he knew and was familiar with.

So we expanded our repertoire. We played with Buzz Lightyear and Woody, Dusty and Leadbottom and Ripslinger. What would they do, we asked. And the scripts came from the movie. Nothing novel. So we offered ideas, came up with our own storylines for these beloved characters. And he watched, enraptured with what his buddies were doing. And then he would mimic. And we were so excited. Because mimicking was a new skill. We celebrate the small things. 

It took months. A year perhaps. But slowly, cautiously, he began to play. Novel story lines emerged. He expanded his characters to Paw Patrol, Jake and the Pirates, Doc McStuffins. All characters he knew from his shows. And then he began to play with stuffed animals and creates scenes outside in the yard. And when I stopped to watch or listen, I was amazed.  

This is a gift: A non-verbal little boy who, a few years later, is now playing in the living room with Spider-Man and The Hulk, creating scenarios where the hero save the day. I want to remember this forever.

Tired

I love The Boy more than life itself. And I wouldn't change a hair on his head. He is just the way he is supposed to be, made perfectly. But that doesn't mean I don't get overwhelmed sometimes. And frustrated. And just plain tired. Yesterday was one of those days. A day for a small pity party and a good cry. I. Was. Tired.

I sent the following email to my sister: 

Crap. I'm having one of those days where I'm just so damn tired of it all. I just want one calm, easy morning where I don't have to make a juice cocktail or administer meds. Where I don't have to sprinkle enzymes on everything. One day where I don't have to pin him to the floor just to brush his teeth or chase him through the house to brush his hair. One quiet morning where I don't have to listen to the school schedule 84 times before the bus arrives. Hell, one morning where I don't have to make the exact same toast and scrambled eggs for breakfast. I just want one peaceful shower, just one! I'm just so tired of it all. It's the same damn thing every day; lather, rinse, and repeat. I'm old and I'm tired.

I used to feel guilty for these feelings. But you know what? I'm human. I'm allowed to feel what I'm feeling. It doesn't mean I love my son any less. Or wish he was different. We all get overwhelmed and frustrated and just plain tired sometimes. Its OK, really it is. For me, its important to acknowledge these feelings. Vent to someone who understands. Get it out. And then move on with my day. 

After The Boy got on the bus, I had a good cry. And then I got ready for my day and left for work.