Just a Boy
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Another day, another telephone call regarding The Boy's behavior.
It would be easier if he had no concept of his autism. It would be easier if he did not care whether or not he has friends. It would be easier if he lived the life of one who is unaware of what occurs around him. It would be easier if he didn't know his behavior is wrong. It would be easier if he could stop how he reacts, something he desperately wants to do but cannot.
When you have kids, you sign up for all of it, good and bad. Regardless of what they do, you love them. Regardless of how it happens, you want to stop them from hurting. It is not always possible, and that is the challenge of being a parent.
When your child turns to you and says, with the honesty of being a child that "I wasn't meant to be autistic; I was meant to just be a boy" there is nothing that you can do apart from deciding then and there that the fight for them to be "just be a boy" never ends until that is what they are.
This time, he appears to have gone so far that he has ostracized himself completely from his classmates. The fragile friendships that he was building are irrecoverably damaged. There is literally nothing that I can do.
The Boy is a surprisingly sensitive soul. His delight in making a friend of his own, on his own terms at school, however tentatively and precariously, is immense. He has been proud of his achievement, and rightly so.
This has now ended. He is devastated.
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