The Best He Can Be

Day 29: The Best He Can Be

With just one day left, I’m suddenly worried:  have I said too much or not enough?  Have I provided enough good stories to outweigh the bad?  Are you walking away inspired or disappointed? I had none of these thoughts or intentions in my head when I began this whole thing…but now, well, they are practically the only thoughts in my head. 

I used to say I wanted one thing for my kids:  for them to be happy.  I recall being interviewed by a writer once on a piece about “Having It All”, focusing on working moms.  The hilarity of the concept to me at the time, as if I would have chosen working over staying at home to be with my kids, was nearly enough to keep me from doing the interview.   But it was for a friend so I acquiesced.  There were a slew of questions, initially aimed at my own background, and then moving toward my children and the dual ‘reward’ of being a mom and having a career.  The writer’s point of view was clear:  by ‘choosing’ to work, I had unwaveringly built a fabulous career, while at the same time provided my daughters with a commendable role model focused on the importance of women in the workplace.  It was difficult to not openly scoff. Instead, I told her honestly that I worked because I had to work, because I wanted a future for my children that included opportunities I never had, and it had zero to do with being a force for the Working Mom Movement of the world.  In fact, if I could, I would have chosen Stay At Home all day long, something I never expected until I actually had children.  Being pregnant, I anticipated our first baby’s arrival much like getting a new pet.  I thought:  I will have her and then go back to work, of course, and you know, I’ll get a babysitter or something to handle the in-between.  Good God, I had no idea of the immensity of love that would instantly appear at the birth of this child.  And so, per the plan, I went back to work after my short maternity leave, and cried for 5 weeks straight, every day.   As I told the writer my stories, I could see her growing disappointment.  She moved onto asking me about my children then.  “What do you wish for them then?” she asked, implying that the right answer had been a successful career.    “Happiness, however that may come” I answered.  She may as well have gasped, or vomited, or both.  Our conversation ended shortly after that.  I didn’t mean it to be trite.  I honestly felt that way, and still do today.  (Side note:  I read a few years ago, unrelated to the interview I gave, an article entitled “The Top 10 Things You Should Never Say To Your Children” and number 1 on the list was “Never say you just want your kids to be happy” so this just underscores that I have no business to be shelling out my opinion, but which I will do anyway.)  By saying I wanted my kids to find happiness, I wasn’t selling out on the idea of a career – if that is what they want, then yay, let’s go get suits and head to business school.  I also wasn’t wishing mediocrity on my children.  I was, and still am, stressing the need to follow what makes you happy and then you will eventually find success.  And to me, being happy trumps everything else, all day long.   My point in this clearly too-long story, is that my opinion for Coleman’s future is very similar. 

There are a lot of folks out there and their single goal is to ‘cure’ their child from Autism.  It’s a lofty goal, and while I too would be ecstatic for a ‘cure’, I am a realist.   Let’s be clear:  I am not criticizing those that are steadfastly working every day with their children for that cure, toward that goal of testing off the spectrum.  Those folks are very driven, pretty amazing people. There are times that I am like them, full of the fervor and, fists pounding, yes! We will make this happen!!  But over the years I have learned that to live with that colossal pressure for normalcy is good for neither Coleman nor our family.   It’s so much for him to live up to, an expectation that may be unachievable today or tomorrow or ever.   I want to celebrate his victories, however small they may seem.  I accept and love him for who he is today.  Carpe Diem. 

I can almost hear the gasps, much like the writer when I told her I just wanted my kids to be happy.  Before you jump down my throat at what may seem like apathy, I am not saying that I do not hope for a better future for Coleman.  Nor am I giving up on him, letting him wallow away in this world just like he is so he can be happy.  I am not.  I want him to be a contributing member of society, I want him to have independence, and yes, I want him to be happy.  Moving ‘off the Spectrum’ or moving ‘out of a diagnosis’? Hell, yes, I want that too!  That would make us very, very happy.  But if Coleman becomes absolutely the best little man he can be, Autistic or not, well then that would make us just as happy.  So we are moving ahead in what us Career women call the parallel path:  we work on everyday tasks, core strengthening, letter recognition, motor planning, play skills, social skills….there is a lot to do.  We do this day in, day out, building him up, helping him become the best he can be.  And some days that includes just letting him be, and loving him.  At the same time (this is the parallel part for all you non-career women, if only you had chosen to work instead of stay at home you would be so much more enlightened) we explore new approaches, new medicines, new therapies, and think maybe, just maybe, this will be The One.  But my eggs aren’t in that basket.  Well, okay maybe one or two are.  The other ten are neatly wrapped in the “Coleman will be the best Coleman that he can be” basket.   And that’s a pretty good basket.  And I should know, I am a successful Career Woman after all.