Why is it when a day is bad, it’s very very bad?
I’d like – as long as I’m daydreaming here – to have normal bad days. Like, oops, my son had difficulty in math class. Just one class. Just one problem.
Nah, I’d get used to it and stop enjoying the good days.
I remember being told long ago – it seems like forever and in another lifetime now – that bad Asperger days could be very bad indeed. Through the years, that’s turned out to be true.
It never rains, but it pours. And no, it’s not his fault, or my fault. Or anyone’s fault. It just IS.
I think, in some cases, what happens is a phenomenon similar to a rock rolling down a hill. Sloooow start, then whoosh, then impossible-to-stop better-get-out-of-my-way momentum. Lots of momentum. And, predictably, wreckage and ruin at the end.
Whether it’s about a succession of happenings, or lack of sleep, or whatever, it seems to boil down to an already stressed mind. That poor little stressed mind has already had too much to deal with; and then even more happens. Sort of like the last straw. Only that last straw seems to happen again and again, because, of course, the day has barely begun.
I think a clue would be hiding under a desk.
Now, my son can do some odd, eccentric little things, and they mean nothing. They’re just experimentation from a mind free from social pressures or worry. If the rest of us didn’t care about what others thought – in a harmless didn’t even really realize most of them were there, and were convinced they never noticed you (in the same way you don’t notice them) – what kind of interesting mayhem would we get into? Maybe I would climb under a desk. Maybe I would stand behind the teacher’s desk and check out what fun things were there. Who knows?
I’m so wrapped up in worry about what others think I can’t even imagine.
But after a difficult morning, hiding under a desk signals to me that someone is trying to escape, that they need a break. Not to be stared at or scolded and then forced to deal with the world.
Earlier, apparently, some boys imitated and mocked my son, and he thought they were playing with him. The principal was on hand – an unexpected bonus – and sorted it all out.
When I asked him about the teasing – right before school started, too, so there was an entire day to endure afterward – and how he was feeling about it, he gave me a good answer. It warmed my heart.
He told me he was disappointed in them.
Not ashamed, not humiliated, none of the feelings I would have felt (mass of insecurities and guilt that I am), but just disappointed that people who seemed nice turned out to not be so nice.
Even the bad days aren’t so bad when you learn your son has confidence, good self-esteem, and knows it isn’t his fault. He’s just disappointed that others didn’t live up to their potential.
And, hey, he told me, a big grin lighting his face, he got to meet the principal. And you know what? She has candy in her office that she GIVES AWAY.