Pax Plena

Tag: Autism

  • All the Change We Cannot See

    Summer 2024 has been quite the summer, though you might be hard-pressed to tell given the fields surrounding the house here in Cotton County. They look about the same as they always do this time of year. Freshly plowed fields lay open and quiet during the blistering months of summer. But these will soon yield to a flurry of activity brought on by late summer planting and fertilizing. Come late spring of next year, it’ll be harvest time once again. And then the cycle will repeat. Just like it always has since the land was first worked, some seven generations ago.

    Of course, this languid pace is no match for the 24/7 news cycle. In the course of the same time that our fields have lain empty, waiting for end of season planting, our country has witnessed a political assassination attempt; we’ve seen a sitting President of the United States unceremoniously drop his campaign for re-election; and while the Olympics have begun over in Paris, the opening ceremonies were all but mired by coordinated arson attacks. All of these headlines are just within the past few weeks.

    It’s fair to say time moves at a different pace here. But not in every way. I’ve spent a good deal of my time this summer with my Son, Nephews, and Nieces. They range in age from 13 years to 1 year old, putting them all squarely in the camps of Gen-Z / Gen-Alpha. Having long considered myself to be the “cool” uncle/Dad, I was shocked to discover that my son and miscreant nephews (ages 11, 13 and 10 respectively) were using a language that I simply did not understand while we casually played video games. This led me down an entire rabbit hole of linguistic exploration, turning first to the sage pages of Parade Magazine to try and figure out a) what the hell these youngsters were saying, and b) whether or not I should be offended (I should have been offended – they called my shoes “mid” (average, mediocre, of poor quality).

    Apparently, somewhere between the time I showed my older nephew the finer points of throwing a spiral pass with a football, and when I introduced my youngest nephew to Call of Duty, the whole generation up and created their own vernacular that the rest of us cheugy (not at all trendy) folks have yet to fully figure out. Major L (loss or fail) on our part. Not only this, but they went and replaced some terms that I still hold near and dear to the heart. Terms like “word,” which for us millennials meant an all-purpose affirmation or simply “yes.” You might be sad to know, dear reader, that word / yes have now both been set out to pasture, replaced by the trendier, non-cheugy term “bet.” Bet you didn’t know that.

    And on the more avant-garde end of the Gen-Z spectrum, my son has been harping about Skibidi Toilets for months now. I have no idea where this came from and it honestly never occurred to me to “search it up” with any sort of detail. But this is apparently a thing. Granted, a hideous thing featuring human-headed toilets, but a thing nonetheless, and a thing that is incredibly popular among the Gen-Z set. So much so that the YouTube videos from whence it came have some 17 billion views and counting. The surge in popularity has left the franchise (can we even call it that?) set to receive the Michael Bay treatment and we can expect to see a “Skibidi Toilet” feature film directed by him in the near future. Bet you didn’t know that either. Bet.

    It’s enough change to make my old head spin and I’m only 41. I suppose that makes me certifiably ancient to a Gen-Zer, but it doesn’t feel all that old to me. But when I think about the dirt and the land, and the cycle of planting and harvesting, I suppose that even here, and in my own life, change is the only constant. At the start of the summer, I had a relationship end unexpectedly, on less than good terms. A very short time later, I learned that my living arrangement in Indiana with my ex-wife, aimed at taking care of our son would also end because she was beginning a new relationship. Two’s company, three’s a crowd as the saying goes. It was certainly glum days here for a while. I don’t think anyone particularly enjoys a relationship breakup. And of my divorced friends, I can’t say that I know of anyone who gets overjoyed when their co-parenting arrangement collapses around them. But, shit happens. What can you do?

    What can you do?

    I’ve thought about that question a lot this summer. And it occurs to me that my Gen-Z friends might be on to something. It strikes me that they did two things that were rather quite profound while the rest of us were busy glued to our devices, none the wiser to the looming linguistic changes in the offing. This isn’t to say that they weren’t glued to their own devices. Odds are, most of the new lingo was developed over a combination of texting, gaming chats, and video messaging with friends as opposed to actual, physical human interaction. But they did pull off a fairly remarkable feat.

    First, Gen-Z walked away from the phrases, words and expressions that didn’t work for them. I don’t know that “bet” is a better alternative than “word” was. But “word” didn’t work for Gen-Z for whatever reason, so they left it behind. Periodt (as the kids say). There were no harsh feelings. I can’t say for sure that there was even any thought given to the vernacular that they were replacing. It’s not like there was a Gen-Z convention where the new terms were settled and agreed upon. It just happened. They simply let go of the lingo that didn’t work for them. And that seems to suit them all just fine.

    The second thing Gen-Z did was to create something entirely new to suit their own purposes. We Millennials, Boomers, Gen-Xers and olders can all wonder where the hell Gen-Z came up with their words – cheugy comes to mind – but the terms are unique. They’re different. Different terms for a different generation. And the words selected suit the new generation that’s using them. Again, no disrespect was intended to the old lingo (well, maybe some if you ask my nephews). The new words just came about and were widely adopted. Something new when the old didn’t work.

    And I think that’s the secret sauce with change.

    Even when we can’t see change occur, that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening, as frightening as that may seem. It’s inevitable. Sure, to the extent we can anticipate a change, we can prepare for it. That’s all well and good. But it’s the unexpected changes that seem to send us reeling. It’s the unexpected changes that leave us the most unsteady. For theses sorts of changes, I think Gen-Z’s example bodes well. It’s okay to walk away. It’s okay to go and to create something new. No disrespect or guilt required.

    In my case, I need to do both. My co-parenting vision for my son changed even though I didn’t see the change coming. My task is to walk away from that old vision just like Gen-Z did from the old lingo. It’s dead. It’s not coming back. So, as much as I had hoped for that vision to come to pass for my son, I need to let it go. The outcome was never guaranteed. It’s an outcome that never will be. It’s not my fault. I have nothing to feel guilty about. There was no disrespect in the process. It’s simply time to walk away and let it go. Gen-Z has taught me that that’s okay.

    The second thing I need to do, is figure out what the hell a new vision looks like. Deciding to walk away is only half the enterprise. The second half is figuring out what you replace the old with. My Gen-Z friends created their own lingo and way of relating to each other after leaving words and terms that didn’t work for them behind. I’m leaving behind a dead vision of co-parenting and now I have to figure out how I can maximize every second that I spend with my son. The co-parenting won’t really be a thing, being nearly bi-coastal, so what will the new relationship dynamic with him look like? How do I want it to look like? What are the unique memories that he and I can make together? These are fun questions to consider that he and I can answer together. We’ll create something new that suits just the two of us. Gen-Z taught me that that’s okay.

    I suspect when I look out at the field tomorrow, it will look pretty much the same as it does today. Open rows of sod ready for planting when the time is right. Eventually change will come to the land too and the cycle will repeat. But I think when it’s time to plant this year, I’ll have a look out the window, sip my coffee, and smile. I’ll think about my son, about Gen-Z, and all the change we cannot see. And I’ll think about how that suits me just fine. Thanks for the lessons, Gen-Z. No cap.

  • Live a Life Without Fear

    This past week marked the seventh anniversary of my divorce. It’s a topic that I’ve alluded to on these pages before, but I’m not sure that I’ve ever directly addressed it.

    I don’t think the details are very interesting, although they are, admittedly, what most folks fixate on. In some ways I get this. We humans are a curious lot. As a culture, we tend to gravitate towards the details of other peoples lives in a way that almost seems baked into our DNA. Consider the prevalence of reality TV. Our society revels in the details of other peoples lives – from how they date, to the homes they buy, and even to how obese they are. Why we care, I’m not sure. But we damn sure love the details.

    For my life, I think the details of a relationship matter less than one or two critical moments along the way. While it’s true that the little things tend to add up and drive the vicissitudes of life forward, I think that at the end of every relationship there’s a bit of a time wound that leads to the relationship’s end. This wound boils down to a single, decisive moment. A personal rubicon. Where going forward, the relationship is no more. And looking back, it is all that the relationship ever was. A wound in time for the aggrieved, and perhaps a moment of celebration for those making a break. Or some combination of the two.

    For me, this moment is forever etched in my mind. I recall the hurt. It wasn’t my choice. It sent me spiraling into frenzy of depression and drinking (something I’ve only recently addressed). I also recall the loneliness and the fear. It was paralyzing. Would I see my son? Would I be a part of his life? Would he grow up calling my ex’s new husband Dad? (The very thought of this made me wretch.) At my age, would I ever find love again? How would I recover from the financial damage done after seven years of life lived together?

    I have answers to some of these questions now. Some I don’t. I still haven’t found love and I just hit 40, so the odds aren’t necessarily in my favor to borrow from the Hunger Games. But if I could go back and chat with the me of seven years ago, I would sit down and tell him, “Dude. Calm the eff down. It gets better.” Not necessarily right away. But it does.

    As a part of my own reflection, and mindfulness, I have lately opted to read a chapter of the Bible each day. I made it up to the book of Joshua before I gave up on reading the Bible in a year. But I figure I can at least read a chapter of the Bible a day. For some, I know that religion is anachronistic and passé. I’ve never felt that way. I find great comfort in faith but I get that your mileage may vary.

    Anyway, I read Joshua chapter one the other day. There, God reaffirms the promise to guide Moses, and strikes it afresh with Joshua. As Israel stands poised on the banks of the Jordan to enter the “promised land,” God once again states his intent to remain a bulwark to Joshua and Israel.

    Therefore shall not any man be able to stand before thee all the days of thy life: As I was with Moses, so I will be with thee: I will not fail thee nor forsake thee.”

    – Joshua 1.5

    God further exhorts Joshua to be strong and have courage. An important bit of advice, seeing as Joshua was essentially taking the helm of leadership over the entire Nation of Israel.

    Be not dismayed: for the Lord they God is with thee withersoever thou goest.

    – Joshua 1.9

    The link I make between the words of God to Joshua and my own experience with my divorce is that the message could easily have been given by God to me – but for the fact that, at the time, I had no truck for hearing anything from God – let alone actually believing the sentiment of the message itself.

    But it was true. What came to pass, ultimately “did not stand.” These many years later, I have not reconciled with my ex-wife. Yet, I live in her house and we co-parent in a way that most people do not understand. All of this is borne out of necessity. Our son has ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) and requires intense guidance and direction. From the time he gets up, to the time he gets on the bus for school, to the time he gets home, and throughout the evening, our lives are all about a routine that revolves around him. Given his disability, this is what he needs. We will never be a couple again. There’s no desire for this on either of our parts. But in the love we both have for our son, there is no daylight between us.

    So, despite the spirals and darkness that followed my marriage’s end, I find that God was steadfast. I felt his presence even when I chose to ignore it. The Lord was with me throughout.

    He was there as I sat on the bridge in Laramie, WY drinking whiskey. He knew my thoughts as I considered ending my life with a quick leap to the train tracks below me. He guided me to a new job in another state. He led me here to Indiana, in the midst of the pandemic, to care for my son. He allowed my work position to become permanently remote. And he facilitated this entire transition.

    So, the end result is that what God promised to Joshua (and Moses before him), he promises to us today. I was foolish and afraid seven years ago. I was “dismayed.” But God’s grace exceeds my own failings. He is steadfast. I can look back on the past years and see grace made manifest in my life at every turn. I can look ahead, now, and see the opportunity to live a life without fear. After all, there isn’t much more to fear in life that exceeds what I have already endured.

    The thought is a liberating one.

    I’ve already gone through the fire. I’ve traveled to the dark places. I’ve stared down my demons. What was intended for harm, did not stand – all thanks to the steadfastness of God. Like the above rock in the desert, the oceans can fall away. The land can erode around me. The trees and vegetation can wither and die, just like the life I once knew. Yet, my own experience leads me to conclude that in the end, God will remain at my side even if the landscape around me is charred and barren.

    This is all good.

    But it presents an entirely different and exciting question as a result: How would you live your life, if you knew that there was nothing to be afraid of?

    And once you have your answer, go do it. I’m still working on mine.

  • On Tragedy: Coming to Terms with Terms

    Clark 062018

    My son was diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder earlier this week.

    While the diagnosis was not a complete surprise, to say that the news was personally devastating would be an understatement. After five years of explaining away the symptoms, after five years of hoping and anticipating that Clark would simply “outgrow” some of his peculiar behaviors, an expert from the University of Indiana’s Riley Children’s Hospital summarily crushed those hopes with the click of a mouse, and the stroke of a pen. 

    Naturally, I was crushed. 

    I can’t speak to how other, better parents would have responded to such news. For my part, my mind went into a spiral with a massive, neon “NO CURE” sign flashing before my eyes while I tried to sleep. Mostly, though, I thought about the horror stories of autism that I had read: 

    • Incidents of trigger happy cops murdering autistic men of color for simply having a blank stare. (Seems like a double whammy since Clark is both American Indian and autistic).
    • And even the latest news out of Miami-Dade County that would see Clark enlist in a “voluntary registry” with the police as a child ‘suffering’ from mental illness. (No way in hell). 
    • Would he even live to be as old as his mother, and reach the ripe old age of 36?

    I didn’t sleep much on Monday night. 

    The following day, I spent much of it trying to process the news, and how to sort out my own response going forward. Worrying certainly wasn’t helping.

    Rather than worry, I tried to think about the language I would use when describing Clark’s diagnosis in my day-to-day interactions. It seemed wise to use the proper terms – both for my own edification, and given the fact that our society is fraught with offense. These days, people tend to get pissed off by nearly anything that rustles their jimmies. I certainly didn’t (and don’t) want to offend other parents of special needs kids unintentionally. Better to save a good offense for when you mean it.

    In coming to terms with the terms of Clark’s diagnosis, the word that wanted glibly to sneak into my vernacular was the word tragedy. The Cambridge University dictionary defines tragedy as follows:

    Tragedy Defined

    I think the first definition is plainly eliminated. Clark isn’t dying anymore than we are all dying. And if the photo above is any indication, he isn’t really suffering either. His mischievous laugh, and megawatt smile certainly speak to the contrary. The third definition is also eliminated – at least until Clark decides to become an english major during college. 

    So really, the only way to classify autism as a tragedy is if one buys the second definition, and the narrative that autism is a situation or result that is ‘bad.’ And I’m not really convinced of this either.

    It’s very difficult to talk about the results and outcome of a life and call them bad when Clark hasn’t really begun to live. Sure, as life milestones go he was born. He learned to walk. He has mastered potty-training (thank God). He’s even developing speech and language skills. But the rest of the broad canvass that is his life is wonderfully, beautifully blank. 

    Now, it could be that his diagnosis will enable him to make a positive impact on the lives of many. I suppose it could be the opposite. After all, no one wants to think of raising the next dictator, but somewhere in the world there’s a couple or a parent who is doing exactly that. Regardless, it seems misguided to use a term like ‘tragedy’ to define a life that has not yet truly begun. Clark is five years old. His concerns this summer are when he will go swimming, and whether he can have only two Go-Gurts or perhaps sneak a third during breakfast. It’s a bit dramatic to say that his condition is a tragedy.

    Having reached that conclusion I calmed down a bit. I did some more investigating. I was intrigued to see that there are scores of parents and autistic folks who agree that tragedy is NOT how they would describe their lives, or their kids. From one parent, I learned that I’ve basically been doing everything wrong since Clark was born. From another, I was inspired to see that maybe I’m actually doing alright, and that perhaps triumph is a better ‘t’ word to describe Clark.

    Given the disparate reactions, I was relieved to confirm a lingering suspicion: no one has cornered the market on how to respond to adversity – particularly when it relates to medical conditions affecting loved ones. And especially situations that no one can control. 

    In all, I can’t say that I have any more answers than I did almost a week ago Monday evening.

    But I can say that I love my son. And that as long as I draw breath, I will strive to given him every advantage that I can, and meet every need that he has. Despite the seriousness of the news, it’s a comfort to see that, in some ways, nothing has changed at all.