Sixty Holes in Your Shoe

I picked up the novel The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time and got about four pages in before I made about 150 realizations about Rowen.

I can't even say I know much about the novel- again only four pages in here. What I do know is that the boy in the book is like my Rowen. His name is John Francis Boone and he knows all the countries of the world and their capitals and every prime number up to 7,057 but he can't tell a confused face from a surprised face on the person he is talking to.

Rowen has similarities to that in that he can tell you a lot about trains or his favorite movie, but when he is upset he can't figure out the other person's position to save his life. The autism monster sneaks up on him and clouds his vision to the point of complete ignorance as to how the other person feels. It's a constant reminder that I have to make to him... do you know that he/she feels ________ (you fill in the blank).

Rowen had just one incident yesterday that gives a quick reminder to John Francis Boone. He exploded over his baby brother wanting to play trains with him when he wanted to be alone. The list of awful things he said out of anger was frightening. And after he calmed down and heard my stern talking to- and disciplines, I gave him a hug when he told me he just can't hold it inside. I know it's hard for him and he hates himself for it. I have to remember that I am battling the monster within and not my child.

Which brings me to one of my realizations. It went through my mind that Rowen would grow up to someday say that no one understands him, not even his parents. How could I when I still try to fit him in a box stamped "normal" on the side? How could I when I often forget about the millions of stimuli cramming his brain when all I see is what everyone else does? John Francis Boone became upset and cupped his ears and rolled forward to shut everything out. It was the cool of the midnight grass that made him feel better. He may not have known what his friend was feeling, but he knew he smelled like soap and wore shoes that had 60 perfectly round holes in each.

I can understand this to the point of Rowen going off the deep end and me trying to bring him back. Problem is, I reel him in to my own understanding of normalcy- this is how we deal with our feelings- rather than putting myself on his level. It's like erasing 33 years of knowledge in my head just to understand my own kid for 5 seconds. I don't think I have to tell you that it is very, very hard.

I do believe there is a lot of utility in helping him work through his anger in a more productive way. I think that is where I most focus on him being "normal-" whatever that means. But if I am being honest with myself, I have to know that this thought stretches into other realms that I am not proud of. Sure I'd like to hit a baseball game with my son without the three-ring circus coming to town. I'm sure Brenner would love to toss a football or anything other than trains and wrestling (think: sensory), but I need to restamp that box from saying "normal" to saying "Rowen."

I'll be interested to get past page 4 and see how John Francis Boone does just that.