ASD Awesomeness

I should have thought up a better title, I should have been writing of this earlier. Actually, no, I couldn't as today is the first of the performances and who knew where this would end?

My son, my oldest, my glorious 14 year old Aspie has one of the main roles in his youth theatre group's play.

My oldest son has seven performances in this very professional production. Today, tonight, tomorrow, tomorrow night, Monday, Tuesday and Thursday evenings.

SEVEN!

Did I mention his role really is one of the most important in the play?

He plays The Beast.

To top this off, starting Monday he has EIGHT exams - his finals for Grade 8.

Pressure? Hell yes, for any child. For one on the autism spectrum? Overwhelming for most.

But not for this boy.

I AM SO DAMN PROUD I COULD BURST!

He aced the first performance, and as we walked away when I picked him up two little girls were talking to the director and excitedly whisper "Is that The Beast? We liked him best."

I cannot wait to see him in action tonight, but even without having witnessed him in action yet I could not be on a greater high.

And he is self-assured and calm about his exams (which strangely is how he has been all year - stresses over assignments, relaxed and  confident in his intelligence and knowledge for exams... go figure) without a sign of anxiety.


This was undreamt of EVER!



 ~Refer early years posts~

Short Story - Boy 1

If you wish to see what the mind of a twelve year old Aspie can produce, please go to my other blog.

Published with full permission of Boy 1.

The Shadow Portal.

Memoir Monday - Anzac Day: Lest We Forget

Now normally I use these posts to carry on about some of the stupid crap I have gotten into during my forty six or so years of life, but here in Australia this weekend is truly special.

Yesterday was Anzac Day, April 25th. Today we have a public holiday to commemorate due to it falling on a Sunday (not sure of the logic, but hey, any excuse for a BBQ, a long weekend and a little two-up). I have not attended  an Anzac Day march for many years, though we do watch the bigger gatherings on TV. Having a child with Asperger Syndrome is not conducive to attending such crowded, loud celebrations.

But, although I have attended many marches over the years right into adulthood, it is the ones of my childhood in my small, country hometown which stick vividly in my mind and can cause the tears to well.

I would swell with pride as I watched our proud diggers march, many who were not up to the walk were pushed in wheelchairs by other frail mates. My uncle was one of those who strode the path walking tall and proud. Head held high, medals proudly adorning his chest, he strode tall and true. A survivor of Changi, the horrors of war had physically and emotionally scarred him forever, but to me he was a loving part of my family. The typical Aussie larrakin, he lovingly teased and tickled, taking pride in my little big mouth attitude. It was not until I was older and allowed to help out at some of his soldier mates get togethers that I began to realise the horrors he had survived.

And so, on Anzac Day, many years after he has departed this earth, I dedicate this Memoir Monday to him.

Lest We Forget.

Uncle Jack

My Aunt was sobbing softly

In the kitchen’s dying light

As I hid deep in the corner

I just knew that things weren’t right

We kids had marched at daybreak

Up early on that day

Young children, oh so earnest

For the ANZAC Day parade

Uncle Jack strode strong behind us

Laconic smile at his best

With all the medals shining

Pinned high upon his chest

Every time I turned to look back

His cheeky wink was sent

And he blew me sloppy kisses

As along the streets we went

But now my Aunt was crying

When I thought she should be proud

Cause my Uncle survived Changi

He was a digger tall and loud.

Mum put her arms around her

Gently asking: “Is it worse?

Have the nightmares lessened,

Or does he still lash out and curse?”

He had survived such horrors

Watched most his good friends die

On that gruesome Burma railway

As it sucked away their lives

A gentle man had signed up

And died with all his mates

The man who had returned home

Broken, scarred and full of hate

Night terrors revealed so much

Of that he would not speak

Where he’d strangle all his captors

Whilst deeply lost in sleep

By day he’d still be funny

A loving family man

But nights were filled with violence

As he battled them again

 

My Aunt wiped away the tearstains

And stood up with a sigh

“Well, be best be getting cooking

It’s nearly their teatime.”

I walked out of the kitchen

To where the men sat in the sun

My Uncle Jack hugged then asked me,

“Whachya doin, little one?”

I held on so tightly

Words trapped within my mouth

Trying to say so much

But they wouldn’t come on out

Instead I said “I love you”

When I meant “You are so brave.

Thank you for coming home again,

And for this life of mine you’ve saved.”

How They Grow...

He is twelve. As of last week, he is twelve. My first born, child of my soul, my Aspie son, is no longer a little boy, he is a young man. I watch, dazzled by his beautiful heart and incredible mind; I sit and listen, inspired by his other worldy imagination, moved by his compassion. I laugh out loud, huge deep gurgles from deep in my belly, as he unleashes his wit and profoundly dry sense of humour at the most unexpected times. My son, my child, my love, my lifeblood. My boy.

His is an old soul, it became obvious to all within weeks of his birth. The gorgeous amber eyes seemed to bore deep past the outer image into the very core of your soul.

Boy 1 six weeks of age

And as he has grown so too his ability to put thoughts into words blossomed.

Boy 1 - 15 months

His forthright honesty has affected the most toughened of characters. At karate the then six year old walked up to his instructor at the completion of a class. He laid the palm of his hand gently on her heart, gazed intensely into her eyes and told her "You have one of the most beautiful souls, you are so beautiful on the inside you make my heart happy..." This slightly plump, average in appearance, outwardly stern woman was reduced to tears. She turned to us, all rather gobsmacked by his words, tracks running down her cheeks, barely able to speak. She managed to dazedly stammer out "I have never had such a heartfelt, touching compliment. Your son is an amazing young man" before walking away, wiping the wetness from her face.

 Boy 1 aged 5 years old

I pray he keeps this purity, this honesty and the wonderful ability to see even the deepest, most truly buried goodness in people. I know he still has it now, on the cusp of teenagerhood.

My son, no longer a child, standing poised on the threshold of becoming a young man. One day I am going to tell his story, shout it to the world, write his tale for all to behold. It will not be a story of miraculous cures, of crystals and dogs, of horses and travels. It will be the story of a little boy with a strong heart, and the ability to inspire all who cross his path. The journey of a boy overcoming a dark prognosis, fighting his personal battles with the courage of a warrior, wanting only to become the best he can be.

I love you son, to quote our favourite story:

"I love you forever,

I like you for always,

As long as I'm living my baby you'll be."

Robert Munsch 2003 Love You Forever

And yet again, she makes me cry...

I just love Estee Klar, she is so on my wavelength about autism.

Watch this you tube link on her blog, made me cry silent tears. Boy 1 loved the positiveness in it and exclaimed: "About time!", Boy 2 was inspired and came back with the slogan for his latest movie:

"Asperger Syndrome, it does not destroy - it creates!"

Obviously, it is all about his brother and how his mind works in quirks.

And the part I most loved was one of the ASD speakers stating:

“I am not trying to change who I am as a person, but where I am in my skills and development.”

EXACTLY!

Why would you try and mess with perfection?

The Differences.

Yesterday we went to a show generously sponsored by local businesses for special kids, their families and siblings. As we sat in the huge auditorium, the onslaught began. Palms sweating, knees jigging, head swivelling, he glanced all around. "Will it get very dark?" Will it get very loud?" ""Can I have my ear plugs now, all the noise is giving me a headache." It was the usual buzz when you get a large group of children and adults in a space. A constant hum with a few louder squeals, nothing intolerable for the average joe. He is not your average joe. So, ear plugs were handed over, questions were answered, hands were held, nerves were soothed. And then the show started. A magic show, and one well above average in performance. His glorious amber eyes lit up, darting, absorbing all, his hands applauded, his voice rang out in glee, his whole body jumped with excitement. Stress turned to joy. Pure ecstasy.

For the first time I witnessed him speechless after he asked for the magician's autograph in a voice hushed and echoing with reverence.

But those moments in the build up once again pulled away the blinkers from my eyes and glaringly revealed the differences between him and so many others. It is at times like this all my dislike of autism rears up, and I hate what it does to my son. Then I feel ashamed, how can I loathe what is such an integral part of him, and brings so much good as well as bad?

The last words go to him (and me):
"I do not like new experiences, but I feel so stupid afterwards." I often do not like autism, my son, but when I look at what an incredible young man you are becoming, I feel so stupid afterwards.

I need to brag.

Ah, my boys, my wonderful boys. Last Wednesday was the school talent quest. 40 acts auditioned. 20 were chosen. 5 were in the drama/poetry/skit section. My boys performed a skit which contained EVERY TEACHER'S SURNAME in the school. It blossomed from an idea son no. 2 had whilst playing outside. With help from me, it bloomed into a slapstick comedy as follows (teacher's names in bold).

The Boys – A Play. Presented By Kool Productions
Boy 1 walks in limping, scratching and itching, looking unhappy. Boy 2 bounces in happily.
Boy 1: “Hello Barnard.”
Boy 2: “Hi Thomas! Watson today?”
Boy 1: “Not much, just tripped over an Antill. Mum says I should
Harden up, but these bites really sting. Makes me feel a bit green in the Gill!”
Boy 2: “I have a bandaid here, let me help. There, that’s a bit Cozier, isn’t it?”
Boy 1: “Knew I Lieked you for a reason. You have a big Harte. Oh no,now I’m going to sneeze… Ah – ah – Joosep!”
Boy 2: “Bless you. Got a bit of a cold? Must be from that Duncan
you took yesterday when you slipped on the Brox tom. I Todd you they were slippery. You were always Fuller it tom.”
Boy 1: “Yeah, I should have listened. Your Artz always in the right place.
So, how’s the bird watching going? Smithed out any rare ones yet?”
Boy 2: “Saw a Flock art west the othZahday. You know, you go down MacFar Lane! Oh, Sullivan, that’s Mum screaming for me. I can Kelly hear her. Better run. See you tomorrow at school, we Shul team up at sport!”
Boy 1: “Sounds good. See ya!”
THE END.

Now, it was rehearsed a few times at home, but on the day in front of over 250 parents and schoolkids one managed to become quite nervous, and although the judges could hear him, most up the back couldn't. The other performed the best slapstick the school has seen in a long time, luckily compensating for the nervousness of the other.

Hilariously (you should have seen the jaws drop, and the looks of amazement), it was not my confident, self-assured second son who shone. It was my oldest ASD son who floored the whole audience (bar his Mum up the back who knows exactly what he is capable of). And yes, they won! Even defeating the drama students! Woohoo - go the N brothers!