I found myself out today in the community with my two of my four children.
We were in a group of people.
And by quietly, I mean my 5-year-old son was bouncing off the walls and my toddler was chatting up a storm. Just as kids should be. Busy and happy.
It was lovely. The three of us out together.
I’m stretched a little thin these days so it’s nice to get time with my kids.
I found myself looking around. I found myself missing my oldest son, Cooper. Thinking about how it’s not fair that he can’t be with us.
While we are working diligently on getting him out in the community, and are having improvements, autism is often more complicated than that.
I was in my own little world when a toddler’s piercing scream brought me back to reality.
I watched a little boy, a few feet away from me, maybe three years old, pull away from his mother.
She attempted to sit him down.
He screamed. He flailed. He even kicked a little bit.
I saw the mother smile. That fake one that we’ve all done when we are exhausted.
As parents we all know. The struggle is real sometimes.
I’m assuming she was saying that silent prayer….’just sit still child.’
I smiled. I’ve been there.
Toddlers are so much work.
I glanced at the people around her.
Sympathetic smiles. I heard one Grandma like lady say, ‘busy, busy boy.’
I heard another say, ‘he must need a nap.’
I could hear and see the little boy trying to get away from his mother’s hug.
I watched him finally get away. She once again got up and chased him. He melted down.
All out this time. A full-blown tantrum with noise, kicking and rolling.
He was not happy to be caught. He had somewhere to go. Somewhere he wanted to be.
He launched himself on the floor. He screamed. He rolled. He kicked.
And again, I saw the sympathetic stares. The smiles.
I heard one person say, ‘wow, he is spirited.’
I immediately thought of Cooper again. I often do.
My thirteen-year-old son. He has so many challenging, confusing behaviors, even as a teenager.
Screaming. Running. Dropping to the ground. Launching.
But it can get even more intense.
Self-injuring. Throwing. Flailing.
He’s not 25 pounds anymore. He’s not little. He’s not small.
He doesn’t have that cute look of a toddler. He’s a boy. A big boy.
I can’t throw him over my shoulder.
It’s paralyzing. It’s even harder with an audience.
As I sat there watching, I couldn’t help but wonder…Would these people be so understanding if this same scenario was happening with Cooper and I?
What if he wasn’t cute and little anymore?
What if he wasn’t small and tiny?
Would they judge? Would they whisper and stare?
Would they call him spirited and busy? Or naughty and bad?
Would they question my parenting?
One thing I’ve learned as my son has gotten older is the kindness doesn’t come his way so easily anymore.
To me, and our family, and those who understand autism, he is Cooper. He is doing his best. He is trying his hardest. He is trying to make sense of a confusing situation.
But to the rest of the world, that doesn’t know he’s autistic and nonverbal, they see a big kid, one who ‘should’ know better.
It’s scary for me as he’s getting older.
People aren’t nearly as understanding. They aren’t as kind.
So, I ask you, would you be so understanding?
Now what if I told you he had autism. Would that change anything?
Finding Cooper’s Voice is a safe, humorous, caring and honest place where you can celebrate the unique challenges of parenting a special needs child. Because you’re never alone in the struggles you face. And once you find your people, your allies, your village….all the challenges and struggles will seem just a little bit easier. Welcome to our journey. You can also follow us on Facebook.
