The Second Son

I have been asked many times: "Don't you have two boys?" It must seem to many that all my focus is on my oldest and his journey in the autism spectrum as I write about him so often. For days now, I have been trying to write this post about Boy 2, but I seem to get nowhere. Time and time again I have come back, but cannot find the phrases to do him justice.

How do I describe my second son? It is not an easy task to explain the complexities which make up my wonder child.

The Gods were generous when it came to my second son. Boy 2 is a child of true physical beauty, and many have been captivated by his long-lashed turquoise eyes, cheeky dimples and those luscious lips. Not to mention the cleft in his chin. His gorgeous looks also mean he has been allowed to get away with an awful lot in his short life.
From his earliest forays into the school world his teachers allowed themselves to be dazzled. I grew sick of hearing "Look at him, how could you chastise him, he is too cute..." when he had committed some atrocity (luckily usually minor).

Boy 2 both baffles and battles the teachers, and I freely admit can be quite a challenge to handle. But they all acknowledge the wealth of abilities my last born possesses. The school dance teacher pulled me aside many years back to tell me he had the most natural ability she had ever seen in her many years of dance, both professional and at the school. Oh, and that he needed to start lessons somewhere, anywhere. He refused. He point blank won't dance in front of any people other than his family, terrified he may be teased. Yet when So You Think You Can Dance is on he can mimic the moves so brilliantly...

Mind you, the very parts I adore - his dazzling mind, incredibly quick wit and smart mouth -  are also what get him into the most trouble (just like his mother). Last week his teacher told me how, when he was caught mucking up and was in trouble, he responded with: "Well, I am going to tell my MOTHER about this, and she WILL deal with you!" Luckily she was as amused as I was, and knew me well enough to know he was bluffing.

His intelligence and ability to grasp complex concepts means he has the potential to achieve so much. His concern over what others think of him and trying to fit in means he could so easily choose the wrong path. I worry more over him than I ever do about Boy 1. He breaks my heart at times with his adult mind in a young man's body. With the way his life weighs on him. After all, he bears witness to the brother he loves in the depths of despair. I think the dark side of Boy 1 is what has moulded Boy 2 into the class comedian. Wouldn't you learn how to make people laugh when a brother's tears are breaking your little heart?

Boy 2 loves to tell people he looks like his Dad, but is just like his Mum on the inside. A mini-me. I think he once overheard me telling an old mate of mine the same thing. He hadn't seen Boy 2 since he nearly three and was curious about my little man. Luckily Boy 2 could not hear the phone reply. Two minutes of dead silence after my "He's me in a boy's body", followed by a shell-shocked "Oh... FUCK!"

I guess words now fail me because I understand him too well. I almost know what he is thinking before he does, and how hard he can make this life if he is not careful. Of course I do, after all he is me...just in a small boy's body.

Those warm and fuzzy feelings.

My oldest amazes me. For a child whose diagnosis means he is not meant to understand empathy, he one of the most loving, perceptive boys I have ever come across. We had an emergency today. Dad and younger son had to dash down the coast with said son's dog bleeding from her mouth. Said dog is also a canine twin to her owner, so wouldn't stop still long enough to ascertain injury. So off they toddled to after hours vet.

Older son and myself stayed behind, and went to help Nanna with a few non-urgent, but critical to a nearly 90 year old, duties. Always when he sees his Nanna he kisses her, tells her how much she is loved, and also how beautiful she is. Not a generic comment, but always detailed. Tonight it was: "Nanna, I love you so much. You always make me smile when I see your happy brown eyes." The one she loved the most was when he told her a few months back: "Nanna, you always make me feel safe and happy. You love me just because I am me." That one nearly reduced her to tears, he makes her feel special and needed. Something every older woman wants, and so important to a once vital, active person who loathes feeling like a burden. Her Grandson provides her with a renewed purpose in life merely by being the caring child he is. He makes me so proud.

Oh, and the manic dog had merely bitten her tongue. Lots of blood but little damage!