First, a shout-out to Lisa, the sweet soul I met at the Monona McDonald’s, where Kevin and I were bundling grandkids Natalie, 6, and Nathanial, 7, into coats following lunch and indoor playground antics. We were about to continue our adventures with a trip to Vitense Golf when Lisa introduced herself, saying she loved my writing. Of course, while she said very nice and kind things, I was mentally cursing myself for not wearing makeup or “decent” clothes (a suede mumu is comfy for chasing grandkids, but the Fashion Police would have arrested me). Isn’t that always the way it is?
Lisa pointed to Nathanial, who hadn’t yet been introduced, and asked if he was Patrick, the grandson I write so often about. No, though Nathanial could easily inspire many blogs, too. Lisa then said the “Patrick & Nana Adventure Series” is her favorite blog topic.
So this one is for you, Lisa.
Since he was 4 years old, I have been “borrowing” my Chicago grandson for adventure time at least once a month. His mother is not invited, as I already wiped her nose in the mountains and took her to the potty at SeaWorld. Now it’s Patrick’s turn. And as part of that legacy, we play “Three Questions” at bedtime. Snuggled together, he can ask three questions about anything and I will answer him as honestly and as age-appropriately as I can. And in that way, he has come to trust me and I have come to know him.
When he was 5, after overhearing a discussion between adults, Patrick was confused why men named “Bill” would be mailed to his house, and how so many could be squeezed into the box. Another adventure weekend, he was consumed with fear that a “mortgage man” would not let his mom and dad buy a house if he didn’t like them. “Is he the boogeyman of houses?” he asked me.
Through our “three questions” routine, we’ve navigated through many a minefield. When we get together or talk on the telephone, I help him interpret the world. That’s my special Nana superpower. But, alas, as he’s gotten older, the problems have grown bigger and harder to answer, too.
In the past year, my little buddy has inadvertently alienated a girl in his sixth-grade class who has become a staunch adversary. Why she hates him is a complete mystery to Patrick. One adventure weekend last spring, Patrick was just “off.” He was visibly depressed and even swimming in the hotel pool didn’t lighten his mood. I asked what was troubling him, and he asked if we could go down to the hotel lobby and if he could lie down on the little sofa there. He wanted me to take the chair at the side, where I couldn’t see his face. He needed an emergency “three questions” session in the middle of the day, but it was too early for bedtime, so he’d figured out a solution to that.
“We can play like you’re my therapist, so if people walk by, they won’t know we’re really talking about real things,” he said. He advised me to bring a pad of paper and to take notes, like a real therapist. So, in the Doubletree lobby, I learned that his nemesis, this troublesome schoolmate, had recently informed Patrick that he sucks the joy out of any room just by entering it.
Because he can’t comprehend that other children have the capacity to lie, he believed her. “How do I suck all of the joy out of a room just by breathing, Nana?” he asked forlornly. “Could I be the reason for the world’s misery? Am I the reason there are wars? Because since she said that to me, it makes me want to stop breathing when other people are around, having a good time. I don’t want to ruin it.”
Which caused me to stop breathing for a minute myself.
I asked if she was mad when she said it (yes). I then suggested that it was a very strange remark to make; most likely an adult had said something like that to her in her past, so she knew how hurtful those words were. When angered, she probably pulled that arrow out of her quiver of hurtful phrases to shoot him with. And shouldn’t we feel especially sorry for a little girl who had had somebody say something so cruel to her that she remembered it and then later used it to hurt another person?
He agreed we should feel very sorry for her. The adults in his life would never speak to him that way. “And shouldn’t we take a remark arrow like that, break it over our knee, and toss it out, to stop it from going any further? Let’s say that phrase into our hands, break it in half, and throw it away, like this …” And so we did.
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Something brave and fine
Patrick and I spoke on the phone last week, when he told me that he had done “something brave and fine” at school that day, though it was very scary – as brave and fine things often are. His teacher was discussing disabilities and he raised his hand after the words “Asperger’s syndrome” were mentioned.
His teacher invited him to comment and he said, “Well, the teacher already is aware of this, and some of you may have suspected it, but now I’m ready to confirm that I have Asperger’s, which is on the autism spectrum.” He said he felt a little shaky inside, admitting that, but he kept going. He told his class that it meant that he was very, very smart but really only interested in a few things. “I’ll learn everything about those things and maybe become a genius about them, which is good,” he said, but he added that Asperger’s also meant he had great difficulty making friends.
I told him how very proud I was of him – it was indeed an incredibly brave and fine thing to do, to be open about something so personal. “Why did you tell the class?”
“Because you are working to help people understand more about people like me [referring to my work as a board member of the Autism Society of South Central Wisconsin] and I want to do that, too. I figured I could start with my class.”
So, together, Patrick and Nana want you to know a little more about Asperger’s – and the easiest way to do that is to better understand one little boy. Patrick once lamented that he would rather be homeless than friendless. His pain is very genuine on days he disconnects or doesn’t get the jokes his classmates tell, because he doesn’t always understand facial expressions, tone, or language nuances. His own language is oftentimes formal, almost “too adult” since he gravitates naturally toward Old English phraseology and he has an advanced vocabulary. He’s more cerebral than emotional – outside of meltdowns when his schedule is disrupted or he is embarrassed by a social misstep.
He’s long been hypersensitive to sounds. The bang of a bursting balloon, when he was younger, would send him into spasms of fear (and physical pain), and so he wasn’t always invited to birthday parties. His intuitive mother cut his hair by flashlight, when he was asleep in his crib, because he couldn’t tolerate the sound of scissors so close to his ears.
Obviously, a sensitive child like this is an easy target for bullies.
Likewise, he can be perceived as cruel himself, since two characteristics of Asperger’s are (1) lack of empathy and (2) inability to mask what he perceives as the truth. Patrick can trick you, playing games, but he can’t lie outright, and he lacks the social grace to sugarcoat what he thinks (I would never have worn the suede mumu with him). When he hurts somebody’s feelings (say, that sixth-grade girl’s ego), they naturally strike back.
“How did your class react to the revelation and information you gave them?”
“Most of them were super nice about it, and congratulated me for coming forward,” he answered, “but that girl who always gives me trouble snickered in the back of the room – which reflected poorly on her this time, not me.”
What we’d like you to remember about Asperger’s is this: It’s a syndrome collectively defined by a strange assortment of odd behaviors and responses, but each “Aspi” is a unique person. And no one has a bigger heart, a quicker mind, or a keener desire to fit in than Patrick.
Thanks for your support of our little guy and for your acceptance of (and teaching your children about) other precious children like him. Meanwhile, my straight-laced boy and his impulsive nana continue to have unpredictably fun times together, and I hope to write many more “Patrick and Nana” adventure sagas for you in the future.
