Rink Rat Reverie-An ASD Success

Thursday, April 22, 2010

As the parent of a child with Aspergers I notice patterns that seem to be inevitable. These are the ripples from the pebble his existence tosses into life’s large pond. Included in the ripples that wash over me are the parent-teacher conferences that routinely involve phrases like, “he gets it but he never turns his work in” and “he’s okay behavior wise but there are certain kids who tease him and he reacts badly”. Also noted are the calls about how he took apart piece by piece the classroom drinking fountain.

Outside of the school milieu come the comments from Sunday school teachers and Cub Scout leaders about repetitive behaviors and fidgeting. One told me that she gave Primus a pencil each week because she knew how he would disassemble the writing implement’s eraser. This would happen every week without question each and every time. But the price of one #2 yellow was okay because his fidgeting with that one predictable item would allow him to stay engaged in the class for the full hour.

Certain moments have more dread tied to them. One somewhat repetitive pattern is after a hockey practice or game a coach approaching and stating my surname and asking if he could talk to Primus and me. My stomach drops and my pulse quickens at these moments. Mentally my thoughts fly as to what has he done now, or how bad can it be? Typically the incidents that form the basis for the “talk” have their genesis in disputes that arise after neuro-typical kids begin looking for a scapegoat in the locker room after a poor showing by the team.

Last night the assistant coach approached after a disappointing loss and queried if Primus was still there. In a calm voice replicating other voices I have heard a number of times before, Coach followed up on his request commenting he wanted to mention something to both Primus and me.

Holding my fear and my desire to flee in check I figured it would be better to eat the toad upfront as opposed to letting uncertainty fester for several days. I note that a coach’s statement about wanting to mention is usually followed up with “There was an incident…” Routinely the incidents are tied to what happens when the verbally challenged son has had enough of the blame game and erupts. These blow ups are standard fare for Aspergers kids. Not showing emotion up to the point where they can’t take anymore they suddenly blow.

Over time Primus has been really good and used only his words with only one or two minor exceptions. One was a push that followed being targeted and blamed, something that exacerbated in the locker room because he didn’t respond appropriately with an “eat shit” or “fuck off” and was thus was perceived to be showing weakness.

Given last night was an 8-1 loss for us I assumed the worst. Blame game behavior is usually pretty intense after a humiliation. When I was asked where Primus was I went outside with the coach and called the boy back, he was almost at the car.

Upon my holler Primus returned. The classic symptoms of trouble were all there. When the coach says his name he stares down and off to the side. The coach begins, “I didn’t get to talk to you in the locker room…” Routinely the next thing that happens is a question that is really a vague accusation, “What happened in there just now?” A reference to poor social skills, poor anger management, poor whatever this is what usually comes next. “…and I wanted to compliment you. You had a couple of really solid shifts on the ice tonight. Hell, the team stunk up the ice but it looked like you were steppin’ up your game.”

There were no other comments. There were no asides, no buts. There was no social lesson or veiled warning. To my amazement Primus looked the coach in the eye, it was brief mind you, but he did look him in the eye. Somewhat haltingly he then said “Thank you coach”. This is the moment after all these years of hockey I have been waiting for. Hell, this is the moment as a parent of a child with ASD I have been waiting for in any venue. I had blown off a pair of tickets to a concert I had bought not knowing it was going to conflict with the game to be at the rink for the match. My choice was the correct one.

Little victories, I must remember to savor the little victories. My life has its issues. My vision both ocular and spiritual is poor and my health is dicey. A cancer survivor I live in a place where ongoing employment seems to be harder and harder to hold onto. Still, Primus will face far greater challenges than I have. Every single day he will struggle to understand and be understood. Eventually he will have to address issues of loneliness and separation. My hope is that God or luck ride with him. Last night was a victory and it must be savored.

Talking

One of the issues with being gregarious is that you can always divert yourself away from writing. I spent three days this weekend at a hockey rink watching my son do a skills training clinic. While standing at the glass, watching the lads repeat repeat repeat the drills I met a man whose son was two years younger than man. The man however was eight years older than me and had retired from two different careers, the military and big oil. His son was the product of a second marriage, my sons are not. But with two marriages, two careers and many different places he had lived the man had a goodly number of tales to tell and opinions to share.

The man had lived in two areas where I had lived, the Midwest and the Midatlantic. We commiserated about the lack of Maryland blue crabs here in the landlocked center of the country. Heck, we both bemoaned the lack of good ocean seafood in general here where beef is king. Our talk touched on the different pace of life in both the middle and eastern parts of the country. In the Midwest it takes 20 minutes to get a consensus on whether it is time to go. On the east coast if you don’t commit immediately to go you get left behind.

Talking about places and things is often better or at least easier than struggling for ideas. We talked about the weather on the east coast and how the infrequent nature of snow throws them for a loop when it actually does show up. We talked about the SR-71. One of these aircraft is on display in Kalamazoo. As a kid this was one of the coolest planes I had ever heard about. How could it not be? It was sleek and black and it was the spy plane of choice. My buddy at the glass overlooking the rink claimed he had been an NSA analyst while working for the military. When he was posted in Alaska these kinds of planes would leave at night after the base was closed down and would come back before the base reopened.

We talked about restaurants in Grand Rapids, Salvatore’s on Leonard for pizza in particular. We talked about what could go wrong with a skating drill and darned if my son wasn’t the kid who made the error I was talking about. We talked about how cold the rink was. This is a standard topic for parents in rinks. Here in the mid-Michigan area most rinks are twinned, that is to say that have two full sheets of ice. In such a configuration one rink is always way colder than the other. I don’t know why it just is. Every parent at every rink has to bitch about it. It is, dare I say it, an icebreaker to conversation.

Yeah when you like to talk the choice of putting a pen to paper is a no-brainer second place option. Funny thing, as the years have gone on my typing has gotten better. In some ways it is far easier to type than to write. Still it is easier to flap my jaws.