Choices

When I look at Troy's school website I see a Flash-based photo album scrolling through the achievements and activities that occur over the course of the year.  What I do not see; however, is Troy.  No, I am not complaining that he is not being featured in the "popular" or even "good" kids lineup.  My heart aches for the things he misses out on simply because of who he is. 

Troy has a difficult time fitting in, as most Junior High School children do.  I want to stress the word "children" because it is worth noting that that is what they still are, despite their seemingly insatiable desire to portray themselves as anything but. 

Troy has had difficulties in every school he has attended (nine at last count).  He is so high-functioning and puts forth such a great first impression that initially or at some point along the way he is inappropriately mainstreamed.  That is when the trouble starts.  Once the teachers realize their mistake (I wasn't going to say "I told you so," but seriously, I have so consistently warned administrators about this it is almost funny to see it play out.  Only it's not.), the damage is done.  Troy has damaged his reputation by seeking sensory input one too many times, argued with classmates or teachers, or just plain said the wrong thing.  It is at this point that all bets are pretty much off that he just might make a friend this time.

Troy is, in fact, his own worst enemy.  He does and says things that just don't shake out the right way.  Then he wonders why he feels so alone.  Once he feels that the world is against him, what could possibly motivate him to reach out to others?  Yet he does, time and time again.  He must be my child after all.

Today found me parked outside the furthest temporary building from the school, my heart wrenched inside out.  Troy has done something he knew to be wrong and is paying for it.  Big time.  I will forgo the details of how he ended up here, but he is spending the next six school days in the almost-alternative-school setting called Choices.  Yesterday was his first day.  Yesterday, when I was so sure this type of punishment might just be the thing to shake him up enough to make better choices in the future.  Yesterday, when I thought he would wear his shirt tucked in and be subjected to the solitary confinement of a desk with cardboard blinders.  But yesterday he came home afraid.  He was pushed around, name-called and antagonized like fresh meat on a junior high version of Oz - the HBO one.

Still, as he is going to high school next year, I can't help but feel it is an important experience for him.  I cautioned him this morning about keeping his head down, speaking only when prudent, trying to pull from all of the advice being offered to those entering the prison system for the first time on any television show I have ever seen.  Most importantly I told him to talk to the adults and find out what their expectations were for how he is to react when others think no one is watching.

We do not live in a high-crime environment.  This is the junior high school I attended 25 years ago.  It is not Candy Land, there are still people who want to be thugs or delinquents.  And these are those who are in the Choices program with my son.  My son who trudged to the wooden steps like they were gallows.  My son who wore his non-graphics shirt tucked in with a belt and his ID on his noose of a lanyard.  He waved at me several times while I waited for him to be let in the building; something I wish he hadn't done as it might label him a mama's boy, of which he is absolutely guilty.

Watching those boys who gathered to be security wanded and let into the building at precisely 8:55, posturing themselves to be aggressors, strutting and cursing and bragging about sexual conquests (yeah, right, I thought), I couldn't decide if I should be afraid of them for Troy's sake, or grateful to them.  For all the things I could not teach this boy, there has usually emerged someone to help when I needed them most.  His dad happened to not be deployed during a particularly crucial stage of potty training, but over the years there have been a handful of neighbors and friends who got us over humps of throwing a football, riding a bike and growling the occasional "Man up, Troy" that this mama just didn't have the wherewithal to muster.  In a cosmic way, I would like to think that these children that Troy will spend the next week with will guide him to where he needs to be in order to survive high school, and for that; so long as they do not physically harm him or emotionally scar him for life, I salute them.  Maybe they even deserve to be featured on the school's Flash-based photo album.

I Live In The Future

Today I rediscovered that I attempted to start a blog in 2008 to cope with the ongoing stresses of raising a child who may or may not have Aspergers.  It was to be the outlet I needed for collecting information and inspecting probable misinformation, and maybe experience a bit of comic relief.

Over the past four years many things have changed, but as we all know, much has stayed the same.  For instance, I now know better than to alternate link colors with red and blue and I also know that I am only supposed to space once at the end of a sentence.  The former I am somewhat horrified that I didn't already know better and the latter I am somewhat stubborn about adopting.

Aside from acknowledging that I neither am nor ever was a hardcore blogger with mad communication and design skills, lots of other things have evolved in my life since I last hammered the keyboard with my confusion and angst.  My son does have an official diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome, as well as ADHD but I have started hearing things like "personality disorder" and "sociopathic tendencies."  My family has moved five times and experienced divorce, but also great personal growth and the surprise of new relationships.  Wonderfully functional relationships!  I have returned to school and am nearly finished with a Bachelor's degree in Interdisciplinary Studies (the preferred major for nomads the world over) with plans to enter a Master's program in Library Science.  Yay me!  

I think I will continue to refer to my son as "Troy" but since I never got around to saying much about his sister, we will go with "Tillie" for her.  It sounds like a great fictional name for such a girl.  In 2008 the main concern was to keep her safe from Troy, in 2012 she is as much a part of the story as the rest of us.

Looking back on one particular post, I can say that Troy is still "angry/resistant boy."  I don't know what happened to my copy of the book the description came from, but wow, finding a copy is on my list of things to do today!  Parenting Your Asperger Child: Individualized Solutions For Teaching Your Child Practical Skills.  How could I have ever put that book down?  Shame on you, past me.

Another interesting thing that has happened over the past, well, since the last summer Olympics, is the number of people whose lives have intersected with mine who needed to talk, learn, teach or just watch what is going with our lives.  It is a lonely life, but it isn't.  It is easy to spot those who want to share and beautiful when it affects us all.