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| The little dumpling with his teddy (far right). Taken during his new school's first day of summer class. |
Now that we're moving on to a new school, I feel that I do not feel as secure without that safety net. Being around teachers and therapists, and waiting in the lobby with other moms and dads and grandparents and househelp who are more or less dealing with the same ordeals I go through with my child every single day, pretty much makes up most of my friends. They are my support system. They listen, and they understand. 99% of the time, they have been through the same stuff I've been, felt helpless and close to giving up like I have. Their disapproving eyes do not steal disapproving glances when my child flaps and kicks and spins his way around the room. Instead, it feels like I have 10 extra pairs of eyes, that look at my child with adoring awe, as we all try to be in his shoes and feel and see how he feels in order to understand him more. I have 10 extra pairs of hands where my own might not reach him on time, if in case he trips or is about to land very badly during one of those perilous devil-may-care pirouette. Being with them every single day is a safe place for me and my child. There is no judgment. No condescension. No awkward conversations. We would laugh at somebody who comes in with dishevelled hair, because her ponytail got screwed up while chasing after her ADHD child. She would laugh with us, and maybe even for a second, forget how tired she is. She wouldn't mind laughing with us about her messed up hair. After all, she knows we've all been there. Some of us might even have messier manes than hers. We are our own little tribe. We share the same heartaches, rejoice in our little milestones other parents who do not belong in our tribe may otherwise overlook. We will hold each other's hand when one of us is close to tears and feel like she just couldn't be strong enough. We remind each other of our blessings, of our tiny successes, of our strengths. If we had gnats in our hair, we'll pick those out of each other's heads too, I bet. We are our own little tribe.
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| The little dumpling and me (the kid on the left with a funny hat), and some of my tribe members. Taken during last year's summer class. |
I just feel incomplete, like losing a limb, now that my dumpling has switched schools. Of course, my tribe is happy for me. They will listen to my experiences and provide supportive encouragement. They are as happy as I am, but at the same time share the same fears that I have. Some moms who've done it offer their advice, and those moms who are yet to be "released" from special ed class, listen with perked anticipation, as they eagerly wait for the day when they will be sharing their experience with the rest of us. I'm sure other parents love their child as much as we love ours. But I think something about raising a child who is different, breeds a stronger, more resilient mother. You would need to don this armor and learn to bare your fangs at people who obviously don't know any better. You wouldn't learn how to do that if the child you have isn't "special". Without my tribe, and being in the midst of other "regular" mothers, I could feel myself tiptoeing around, and feeling my way into the water so to speak. It's not that I am ashamed that my child is not like the rest of them. Heavens, no. For me, it feels like this information is intimate. You don't approach a stranger and tell them at once that your son has ASD. It's like telling a complete stranger that I'm wearing a thong under these pants! (for the record, I'm wearing granny panties. Under my pajamas. At 11 in the morning.) You just don't spill it out like that. And I still haven't found the perfect time to spill it out. It's during these times that I miss the comfort of being around other people who are just like me.
In my dumpling's new school, I'm the cheese that stands alone. Sometimes I find my own corner and guard myself from the rest of them by being sooo deeply engrossed in a book. When I find myself in harmless chit-chat, I keep the questions coming.. about themselves, and their children, in the hopes of evading questions about me or my son. I know I will have to open Pandora's box sooner or later. Maybe, I just want to give them a chance to get to know my child for who he is, what he's like, and not for what he is diagnosed with. There's no shame in that.
On being the cheese that stands alone, I can't say I like it.. but I am comfortable in it. I like my inconspicuous corner reading a book. I am comfortable writing in a blog with 0 AWESOME COMMENTS and greets me every morning with BE THE FIRST FOLLOWER! Writing for me is therapeutic, bold even.. The fact that I am writing all this, out there, it can either be read by anyone anywhere some time in the near future or not read by anyone ever! But I am still writing. Who knows, maybe I'll find a new tribe here.
