10-31-11
My son is Special Needs.
I am sure if I told this to someone, there would be the inevitable questions like, “Is he autistic? Does he have Asperger’s? Is he retarded?” The answer to all of them would in fact be no. My son doesn’t need special classes. He is very smart and talented and he has lots of friends. He is a good kid. He does have a weakness, though, which makes being his mom difficult sometimes.
Bobby is painfully sensitive.
He wasn’t always like this. In fact, when he was only about 6 months old, we flew out to Pennsylvania to a family reunion. My aunts and uncles fell deeply in love with bald headed , blue eyed sweetie pie. My uncle Dennis announced, with complete shock, “He’s definitely not strange!”
I was confused at this declaration, and inquired further about his observation. Turns out, back East, ‘strange’ would mean that he didn’t want to be held by anyone. Bobby, in fact, was the hippie baby, full of peace and love. He was more than happy to have you hold him or kiss his cheeks. He didn’t cry much and was a joy of an infant.
Yet on Friday, when I was with my boys at their Halloween carnival at school, I was once again hit with the terrible ailment that now plagues him.
All of the kids in costume were to go in the middle of the playground track since they were going to do a costume parade. They would go by grade level, with Kinder and Pre-K first. I shuffled my children off telling them where I would be so I could take their picture. Dax instantly found some of his classmates and Bobby was left standing in a sea of Marios and princesses, and within a few seconds he was reduced to tears, unable to function.
He was terrified. He didn’t know where his classmates were, nor did he have the power to start looking for them. His entire being shuts down, and it is even hard for him to calm down once he sees his friends.
This isn’t the first time this reaction has come. He has been known to break down in class over very small things. His teacher has even pulled me aside with the dreaded parental question of, “Is everything ok at home, Mrs. Brenan?” You would think we were getting a divorce or something. I have to explain that my son is just, well, sensitive.
I feel bad giving him a label. But in reality, it is not all that uncommon to deal with. I actually have it pretty good compared to some horror stories I hear. Kids who can’t even make friends due to their fear of even talking to someone. Bobby is at least fine in most instances, which actually makes these mini breakdowns so confusing at times.
I am shy. I always have been. I have learned to overcome a lot of it, so in a lot of ways, I completely understand what he is going through. I certainly don’t make fun of him or call him a baby since it isn’t as though he chooses to be this way. There have been times when we ask him why he is crying, and he honestly doesn’t know why. How very confusing for us as parents, and even more so for Bobby.
Having a special needs child does mean that you are a different kind of a parent. It means that I can’t just assume that Bobby will run off to play with his classmates at a Halloween carnival. It means that more of my attention is often allocated to his well-being in certain situations. It also means that my aspirations as a PTA president or even head coach for soccer are probably going to need to be put on hold.
It doesn’t mean I won’t be involved. There is no way I can’t be. It would go against my nature. However, it also goes against my nature to be the person who is selling tickets when I could be hanging out with my own kids at a school event, making sure their evening is awesome. It means that if Bobby has a meltdown, I cannot be responsible for 700 other kids and their issues.
I can honestly say that yes, it is disappointing that my dream of following in my mother’s footsteps to be PTA president will probably not come to fruition for a little longer. I also know that childhood is precious. In just a few short years, Bobby will figure out how to be brave and how to keep his emotions in check even when he is nervous. He will be able to hold his head high, even if he is not sure where he is going, and I will simply be the mom left at home while he goes out. But in that window, I can be his everything. I can give him the tools to navigate childhood and adolescence. I am more needed as the president of his self-esteem than of any school council.
I will always be a huge part of my kids and their upbringing. I am sure that in a couple years I will throw my hat into the ring to be a more prominent member of the PTA. But until then, I am happy that with a landslide vote of one person, I have been voted to the best position I could possibly have; I am mom to Bobby.
