March 15, 2016
Faking It
On March 6th, I auditioned for an annual production called Listen To Your Mother. The cast reads essays they have written about motherhood. These can be aspects of being a mom, having a mom, or having/being a mother figure. I went to last year’s show with a friend that has read my blog and knows a couple of the producers. I didn’t think I could possibly write anything remotely as good as what I heard, but my friend encouraged me to audition anyway. There were about 90 people vying for a dozen slots, so I knew my chances were slim going in. Still, I summoned up some courage and gave it a go. The producers could see right away that I was a nervous wreck, but they were not at all intimidating and did their best to put me at ease. I choked up a couple of times, but I managed to get through the piece without totally losing my composure. Yesterday morning, I awoke to find an email in my inbox informing me that my piece was not selected for the show. A few people knew I was auditioning and wanted to read what I wrote, so I’m sharing it on my blog. I’m grateful to Listen To Your Mother for encouraging people (especially women, but not limited to) to tell their stories. After all, we ALL have a mother-story of some sort; even if you grew up without a mom or have memories of a difficult childhood, it’s your story and it should be told. Will I audition for next year’s show? I don’t know. I’m learning that as long as I’m in a chorus that competes every April AND I work in a garden center, I should limit the activities on my Spring calendar to try and preserve some sanity (which is why I’m not totally disappointed that I didn’t get in. It’s one less thing on my to-do list.) Why did I audition in the first place, if I’m so busy right now? LTYM was another opportunity to step out of my comfort zone and do something challenging and scary. It’s good to stretch yourself. So, without further ado, here is my audition piece. BTW, I say Pierce is 18, because if I’d made it into the show, he would be by then. We still have a few more weeks of 17.
My son loves Legos, Pixar movies, and Minions. His favorite book is The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and he has heard or read it so many times, he can recite it from memory. At the dinner table, he sits on his haunches with his knees tucked under his chin. He runs everywhere he goes. He burps loudly in public, and we have to remind him to use his manners. When friends or family come to visit, he proudly shows off his latest artwork or Lego creation. He learned a joke this summer that he delighted in repeating: What is the pirate’s favorite letter of the alphabet?…ARRRRRRRR. He LOVES to sing, especially songs from VeggieTales videos. He plays them on the computer and sings “Oh wheeeeeeeere is my hairbrush?” as loud as he can.
My son loves Legos, Pixar movies, and Minions. His favorite book is The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and he has heard or read it so many times, he can recite it from memory. At the dinner table, he sits on his haunches with his knees tucked under his chin. He runs everywhere he goes. He burps loudly in public, and we have to remind him to use his manners. When friends or family come to visit, he proudly shows off his latest artwork or Lego creation. He learned a joke this summer that he delighted in repeating: What is the pirate’s favorite letter of the alphabet?…ARRRRRRRR. He LOVES to sing, especially songs from VeggieTales videos. He plays them on the computer and sings “Oh wheeeeeeeere is my hairbrush?” as loud as he can.
He sounds like a typical little boy…only he’s not. My son is 6 feet tall, 18 years old, and autistic. He is a junior in high school. But while all of his friends are visiting college campuses with their parents, we must contemplate a different future. Instead of the “college track”, we are on the “survival” track. He attends a high school with a fantastic life skills program. Oh we pretended for several years that he would obtain a college education. But one day as a 12-year-old, his usual habit of riding laps around the house on his bike turned into an adventure when he drove away and disappeared. This prompted us to call 911 and led to a team of police stopping 5 lanes of northbound traffic on interstate 65 where they finally found him, 5 miles from our house, riding frantically beside the concrete barrier. It was at that point we realized that working so hard to water down facts about ancient Mesopotamian culture in a way he could understand was a waste of energy, if he couldn’t grasp the concept of how dangerous it was to cruise down the interstate among traffic going 70 miles a hour.
So here we are at 18. I get lots of questions. “Will he graduate with his class? Will he go to college? Will he get a job? What kind of job does he want to pursue? Will he live at home with you, or do you think he can have his own place?” Fortunately, he qualifies for services through the school system until he’s 22-years-old.
Through all of his challenges, he’s made some wonderful accomplishments. When I share these achievements with friends and family over social media, I get high praise: “You’re such a great mom!” “You and your husband are wonderful parents!” I even get the “God knew just what he was doing by giving YOU a kid as special as your son.” But I’m going to let you in on a secret. I am just making this up as I go. The honest answer to most of those questions I’ve been getting is “I don’t have a clue what’s next.” People have asked me if there are any group homes available for him locally. I don’t know. I haven’t even looked. Last year, there was a special on Dateline about parents caring for their adult autistic children. I got reminders from friends; people posted about it on my Facebook page. It is on our DVR at home, unwatched. I just can’t go there. Not yet. My façade shows a mom who’s got it all together, but inside, I know I’m faking it. I don’t like to be less than genuine by sharing only the good stuff on social media, but I do leave out the ugly parts of the story. I don’t tell you about those Saturdays when he’s been sitting on the computer a couple of hours singing and repeating the same line of dialogue over and over and OVER again until I’m ready to throw myself from the second story window. I don’t talk about how jealous I am of his friends’ parents as they watch their kids drive wherever they want and help them pick out a college. Their sons will likely get married and have kids of their own, while my son is stuck in eternal childhood.
Still, even though I’ve been winging it, I have a deep-seated faith that we will make it through this next phase of my son’s life without too many bumps or bruises. After all, he’s made it to adulthood without me ruining him. I tend to believe he thrives in spite of me, not because of me. Maybe that’s why I’m not overly concerned with mapping out right now the future that will happen 4 years from now, when his time in public education is over. God knows autism is constantly throwing curve-balls, so even the best laid plans fall to pieces sometimes. Parents of typical children may see me and other parents of special needs kids as these amazing, strong people. But we’re just doing what most parents in our shoes would do: We carry on, and tackle whatever life throws at us to the best of our ability. I’ve always wanted to be a mom, and even though the challenges of raising an autistic child was not in the brochure, bailing when parenting gets too hard for any mere mortal was NEVER an option. So I’m strapping in for the dark tunnel full of unknowns on this windy road we’re traveling and trusting we’ll come out unscathed on the other side.