Joy In Odd Places

Thursday, December 09, 2010

Simple Joy

Sometimes you go to an event and expect nothing. Sometimes you are surprised by getting way more than you had a right to expect. Serenity exists and should be savored.

As a parent I have gone to probably 20-30 local school concerts all told. My presence at these performances was required because of participation by my children. First there were the 5th and 6th grade cello renditions. Next came the 7th and 8th grade bass workouts. In the bass years, because child two, affectionately known as Secundus came into his own musically, there also came the Suzuki piano recitals and the French horn concerts. At some point I had come to a Zen like attitude as to the passage of time. I can tell you how many slats of wood line the wainscoting of each of East Lansing’s auditoriums.

Last night I attended what I though was to be the 8th grade band’s performance cum French horn go round. But it was different. The school had combined the orchestra and some of the brass and created a symphonic orchestra of 8th graders. An 8th grade symphony, isn’t that amazing? In a time of declining funds, enrollment and general apathy the music staff had the stones to create a symphony. My hat goes off to them.

Dressed in black with frilly shirts and bow ties they shuffled onto stage. No incidents of poking or pushing were observed. The lights went down and it began. The music played included about five pieces. One was entitled Into the Storm. But the rest were from the Nutcracker. It was a delight.

Clearly what I was hearing was not the Boston Philharmonic. However the performance by the 8th grade symphony orchestra was joyful. It was clear they were proud and were playing to show this could work. They hit the notes, they played fluidly, and they sounded (for the most part) tight. I hate the Nutcracker with a passion but even with that in mind the performance was aurally pleasing. Instead of a band concert I got a symphony. Kudos to Dave Rosin director of the East Lansing 8th grade symphony.

Take joy where you can find it. It was a good night.

Let the Mystery Be

Eventually you learn not to look too closely. If you do you just keep finding things that bug you and you’re never at peace. (A nod to Brian A. here)

On November 23, 2010 I started using a new journal. Opening a bound volume with line after line awaiting my musings and memories is both daunting and exciting. I began the new journal with the following:

Belief is tricky. I hold some things as true, some as false, some as relevant (but without a definite resolution) and some as irrelevant. Philosophy and religion have structures of belief well worn and intricately constructed. My beliefs don’t necessary align with the main themes of the currently predominant sects and schools but they don’t necessary contradict them.

I believe in life. Cognito ergo sum really makes sense to me. If I didn’t have existence then what is dithering about being and not being. I also believe in the corollary, not life. As the preacher said, there is a time for everything including a time to be and a time to be no more. For the short time we are here there is an awful long eternity to be gone.

There may be a transformation of essence, a continuation as it were of existence but as far as I can tell empirically the odds against that are pretty big. If it were not for the exception to two phone calls that creep me out to this day I would peg the odds at 1,000,000,000 to 1 against the ethereal sphere of existence. As far as I can tell based on tangible fact, the who of whom I am ends when I shed this skin.

As a result while I am among the living I believe I must act appropriately. What this means is that I need to do good, to be an aid to and help my likewise doomed fellow travelers. The golden mean, the do unto others mantra makes sense to me. I must confess that I am not good at it but it does make sense. I think we are compelled to do more that the medical profession that is we have an obligation to try and do good, not to simply avoid doing harm. We must act with compassion and reason.

If there is a knowing being a knowing essence my appeal would be, “Source of being and existence bless this world. With grace and mercy ameliorate pain, relieve deprivation and gently resolve conflict. Provide bodily integrity, space, shelter and sustenance for our persons. May my life be blessed but not at the expense of others. May others be blessed but not at my expense. Let me be genuine and effective and an aid to others.

Winning by Losing

In dealing with my oldest son I am often surprised by some of the things that we encounter in our shared lives. One of the most difficult things I have had to deal with is the very clear disconnect between his perception of how the world works and how I see the world working. Because of his Aspergers he often doesn’t size things up the way I do. His world view is not necessary wrong and I acknowledge that How he sees reality tends to be more clinical and more black and white than me. But in life and death situations it may be better to go with his dispassionate analysis.

Often big things for other kids don't seem to bother him. Normally a loss on the ice for his hockey team isn't a big deal. Other kids will be playing blame games or agonizing about what went wrong or what could have been done. There are times when his lack of exaggerated passion may be interpreted against him. It would appear to somebody who is unfamiliar with Aspergers that he isn't committed or doesn't care about the team success. Reaching such a conclusion would be wrong, dead wrong. But the lack of demonstrating the same emotions as standard kids can be counted against him on the calculus of who is really with us on this team.

Recently however the lack of emotion mode didn't hold true. Last Saturday his team had its collective butt handed to 'em. The score was double digits to zip, zilch, and nil. Me I chalked the loss up to the way the hockey program has progressed for the team over the years. I didn't blame the players but rather the system and decisions made by the league that had brought us here. The scoreboard stopped at 7 to 0 early in the second period. The real score was significantly more than double that.

I held the door off the ice open for the team. When Primus came off the ice he had tears in his eyes. His face was flushed and he just seemed torn up. This surprised me. It worried me a little bit because it meant to me that he was at an extreme point of his tolerance. I opted to wait for him to come out of the dressing room to see how he was. Normally I would have gone out to the lobby and commiserated with other parents.

When he walked out of the locker room I asked him if he was upset. He told me that he was and he asked me how he could not be because the game was an embarrassment. I asked him if he was upset with his play and he was. (In my mind he did all he could. He took the puck in the opposing teams end twice. If we had it there six times in the whole game I would be surprised.) He had a shot on goal. I believe it was our team’s only shot on goal. There might have been another when I was looking away.

Standing there was my son and his ASD I saw clear passion. He was emotional but controlled and he was doing self evaluation directly comparable to what other kids on his team were doing. This was something different. It was a step to acceptance in a world that just doesn’t get him.