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The Frenzied Female blog has retired in preparation for the book!
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Adventures in Camelot…
It wasn’t ever about the duck.
I offer the article at the very bottom of this post as a recommendation of one resource that I have learned so much from: Bill Nason’s Autism Discussion Page. There are even books that he’s compiled from all of the discussions!
Five out of five stars, y’all…
But really – this offering is made within the context of the news that THE DUCK HAS BEEN FOUND!
Last summer, after a whirlwind weekend trip to Long Island, Cam realized that he lost his first stuffed animal… One that I bought off an end cap in Target out of sheer desperation. When he was an infant, he would grab for anything during a diaper change, so he needed something to hold and play with while we took care of business. The tiny terrycloth lovey became known as “Changey Duck.” In fact, I believe those words were two of his first before the regression began…
Fast forward 12 years later to a loss of epic proportions. Not a single day has gone by since losing Changey Duck when Cam hasn’t openly mourned his loss.
“Where did I lose him?”
“Is he all alone?”
“Did he fly away to a pond?”
“Do you think a little boy or girl has him?”
“Is he scared?”
Some might think that it was just a toy, he’ll get over it! Folks, let me just explain that it was NOT the case. We held memorials, Cam drew pictures that we framed and hung in Changey Duck’s honor. Every night, Cam looped back into his worries and fears about his first friend…
On World Autism Awareness Day, while the boys were at art class, I decided to tackle the linen closet located inside Cam’s bathroom. Things had gotten quite messy as sheets, blankets and towels were shoved in and pulled out by a well meaning 12 year old boy.
I shook out a fitted sheet that I had bought for Cam’s bed last summer and laughed remembering how much he DID NOT approve of its texture. His cotton star patterned sheets have been a staple on his bed since he was 3, but these new sheets were a poly blend and he simply wasn’t having it. Can’t say I blame him, if something doesn’t feel right on your skin, it would be awful to attempt to sleep on it!
As I shook out the sheet to refold it, my main man Changey Duck tumbled to the ground.
I squealed.
I gasped.
I squeezed that little duck so tightly and then let out a full-throated, guttural ugly cry.
You see, it wasn’t ever about a duck.
The duck disappeared suddenly and without explanation, setting everything Cam knew to be true about the world into an out of control spin. But a few years ago, the same was true of Cam’s grandfather, Coach. After suffering from a severe TBI, and years of Cam (and everyone, really) trying unsuccessfully to connect once again to one of his favorite humans, Coach loaded a U-haul and disappeared from Cam’s life entirely – without so much as a goodbye.
It wrecked him.
(This is the first time I’m speaking about it here, but I think it’s necessary for context.)
Coach’s inexplicable disappearance wounded Cameron like nothing I’ve ever witnessed.
He, too, became different.
He developed pretty severe anxiety and OCD with uncontrollable compulsions, and hard as he tried, he could not make sense of the world anymore.
Hard as we tried, we couldn’t help him to do that.
Hundreds of therapy hours later, the duck disappeared, too, and our world was knocked off its axis.
It wasn’t ever about the duck.
It was about the world ceasing to make sense, and trying to regain his understanding of everything that he knew to be true…
I’ve been there. You’ve probably been there.
As a collective society, we are there.
Together.
As Brené Brown so beautifully points out, “Connection is why we’re here. We are hardwired to connect with others, it’s what gives purpose and meaning to our lives, and without it there is suffering.”
We have witnessed the suffering when the connection is severed…
This week, I am so grateful for one loss to begin healing. With time, maybe the other will as well.
❤️
“Objects versus People
Although it is a broad generalization, some children with autism have a greater interest and attention for objects, patterns, and concrete events (e.g., video games) then they do for people. Children will sit for hours engaged in solitary play with objects, with little awareness of what is going on around them. This, of course, is a generalization, with some children showing very high interest in people. However, for those with little social interest, the parents are often left feeling emotionally rejected and heartbroken that their children may never learn to enjoy relating with others.
First, let’s look at why there is a strong interest in objects. One of the strong reasons may be that objects are concrete and predictable. Because of the children’s inability to predictably read the actions of people, often misinterpret and react negatively, and get chastised frequently, interacting with people is unpredictable, confusing, and scary. This often creates strong social anxiety. Objects, sensory patterns (which they are attracted to) and concrete games are predictable, reliable, and the children feel competent since they can control them. Whether it is spinning a top, lining up cars, learning everything there is to know about trains, or mastering the next new video game; these events represent familiarity, predictability, and a sense of control. The social world is simply too chaotic and confusing for them.”
Ain’t that the truth?
More info re: Objects versus People can be found at the Autism Discussion Page here!
“I Was Born in a Small Town…”
DCS – Photo Credit: Sheldon Gibson
It was TOO small, TOO boring, there wasn’t ANYTHING to do, nothing exciting EVER happened there, everyone knew everybody else’s business and therefore EVERYONE knew when you got into trouble.
Not only that, but they knew what you did, who was involved and exactly how you got caught.
AND they knew it by 9 am the next morning.
Don’t get me wrong, our kind of trouble consisted of sneaking out at night to watch meteor showers on a friend’s roof, or driving around at night before we had our licenses, spinning out in the snowy parking lots. We made our own adventures in our too-small town.
As we grew, our most dangerous tales led us driving down wine country vineyard rows in a Pinto or swiping a road cone from a construction site and then guiltily taking it back.
When things were REAL slow, we’d meet out in the middle of nowhere to throw a bonfire party where we thought we were totally hidden. AS IF it wasn’t bound to be interrupted by the police who knew us each by name, or the occasional coach dragging us out of our teenage reverie. It was good, clean fun that never amounted to much trouble, because we all kept each other honest and took great pains to make sure that we were all safe.
I realize now that our town, and the experience of growing up in it, was more than beautiful.
Glenora Wine Cellars – Autumn
The hills that turned into a brilliant autumnal tapestry.
The fog that crept up lazily off of Seneca Lake each morning.
The love of a Saturday morning football game, and the delight of the occasional night game under the lights of a rival team. (Our one-stoplight-town didn’t have lights at the football field, but these days you’d be hard pressed not to find the whole damn town at a game!)
The annual Pep Rally bonfire.
Teachers who ALWAYS had time to listen. And still do.
Our bus drivers proudly honking their horns after every victory, no matter how small.
Finding my uncle and grandfather at the corner restaurant after school whenever I needed some cash.
Walking to and from school at all hours without any fear.
Ice skating on the basketball courts outside when they froze over.
Square dancing in PE class… (Still somewhat traumatized by this)
Sledding down every hill in town.
Wading in the creek (that most people pronounced “crick”) and hunting for “crawfish.”
The roar of the Friday night races, and watching my “Uncle Bill” win. A lot. Woot, #82!
Learning to drive around “horse and buggies.”
I remember being walked home from school by a friend when kids were being horribly cruel, as they sometimes are.
I remember that same friend trying to hit me and my girlfriends with a BB gun from his bedroom window a few years later.
We’re still friends.
So many memories, and the beauty of each one resonates in the feelings that I have for the people.
Years ( more than a few) have come and gone but those relationships? They are still so strong and that’s a testament to that small town and how it raised us.
These memories have come bubbling to the surface recently, because contrary to all of my attempts to escape that small town, I am now at a point of my life where I’m desperately trying to recreate it. I’ve lived and worked in two of the biggest cities in our country, and I’d much rather find myself in a rebuilt Chevy pickup truck hauling flowers back to a little house on some land. I want nothing more than for my son to experience the freedom and the sense of community that come with growing up in a small town.
Yes, there were bad times and certainly my life was tainted with a few memories that Perhaps, one day, I will put to paper. But through it all, I always knew that I was part of something true and beautiful and bigger than myself.
But not too big… 🙂
The Frenzied Female 