Harry Potter... 24/7

Well, it's official.

NJ has discovered Harry Potter.

As is my habit, I regularly skim the aisles of the local bookstore for new titles that NJ might enjoy. My wife does the same. And together we've provided him with some pretty solid material through the years.

Mom, I must say, introduced him to his first opus - Jamberry. The two of them literally wore that book out. The covers fell off. We had to buy a new one.

Then it was onto Archie comics. That was my doing. Most recently we also introduced him to the world of Diary of a Wimpy Kid. He knew Roderick's rules long before they reached the silver screen.

And now, it's Harry Potter.

Not long ago, we rented the first HP movie and watched it with the boy. He fell in love. His passion for detailed systems... for ordered social settings... for magic... for the ongoing struggle between villains and heroes... it all made him prone to Harry Potteritis.

He has come down with a chronic case, I assure you.

Suddenly, I am conversant in that crazy lingua potter, and find myself in 20-minute conversations with NJ regarding Dumbledore's new spells... the "Balsisk"... Herme-OH-nee, as he calls her... etc.

Watching him enter this new world makes me wonder at how magical his little mind really is. He can just flick a switch and "get" a whole mini cosmos in about 15 seconds. He can ascertain the rules, the dynamics, the whole thing more quickly than I figured out what a muggle was.

We're just getting started on this journey. But it all makes me wonder...

Harry Potter is somewhat misunderstood in the world of the muggles. Others don't get him.

His own uncle - the big jerk - even calls him a freak!

Harry, however, is much smarter and more gifted than all of them combined. He harbors a great destiny within him. It's just that he needs someone to help him unleash that magic, so that he can use it to help save the world.

That someone eventually arrives in the form of Hagrid, a large, hairy man with good intentions... but bad personal hygiene.

Hagrid shows Harry the world of Hogwarts. He steers him around the halls of the school for wizards, and helps him avoid disaster, although Harry must experience headwinds and overcome challenges all on his own.

I'm sure NJ can relate to Harry on more levels than one. And... please feel free to call me Hagrid.

Peace,

Jay

Aspie Wins BSA Pinewood Derby

My apologies for the hypey headline... but I just couldn't help myself.

I have a little "Aspie Heroes" sidebar on this blog. And it should include my son, NJ.

This past weekend, he took 1st place among dozens of Cub Scouts competing in the Osceola District Pinewood Derby.

For anyone who doesn't know... The Pinewood Derby is an annual event sanctioned by the Boy Scouts of America. The Cub Scouts participate by crafting their own homemade wooden cars and racing them down a gravity-fed track.

Each heat involved four race cars. And they keep racing until a champion emerges.

Before I get to what happened this weekend, and last weekend... let me give you some background.

I was a Cub Scout myself. And I remember my Pinewood Derby experience like it was yesterday. For whatever reason, I crafted my car almost entirely by myself. The BSA gives you a kit that includes a square block of pinewood, about 7 inches long with grooves for axles. You get four nails for axles. And you get four plastic wheels. Other than that, you can do whatever you want within the rules to make your car the fastest.

I worked hard on my car. And then I went to the derby all excited. And my car came in last two races in a row and was summarily eliminated. In fact, it didn't even make it all the way down the track - either time!

For a seven-year-old, it was totally disappointing. And then I learned that like ALL the other boys there were using graphite to lubricate their wheels. I kind of knew what graphite was - the stuff in pencils? But I had no idea what this had to do with anything viz race cars.

As it turned out, the other boys had worked on their cars with help from their dads. This is an acceptable - and encouraged - arrangement. My dad preferred for me to do all the work myself, to build character I suppose.

But the sting stayed with me for, oh, about 33 years.

Until this year...

Now. I know you're not supposed to live through your kids. I know you're not supposed to carry stuff around with you. And I'm here to say: that's not what I'm about to describe.

Instead, NJ and I agreed to work hand-in-hand on this project.

He would have to be involved in EVERY step of making the car. Designing. Cutting out the body shape. Sanding. Etc.

First thing we did was have NJ sit down with a big piece of blank paper and design his car. He had been thinking about it. "We're going to make it look like a skateboard," he said. I taught him that you need the side view... the front view... the top view... So he drew the different views of the design.

And he even drew the design details - the paint scheme, etc. I mean, we're talking Frank Lloyd Wright here people! ;)

But the plans were good. And we used them to cut out NJ's car body.

While I did let him practice using the electric jigsaw on a piece of wood for a minute, I did the primary cutting of the body. But then I turned him loose with the electric finishing sander to shape and smooth the body. He was REALLY good with the sander.

Next we polished the axles. We polished the wheel hubs. NJ painted the car with his mother while I was away on business.

The next morning, we went to the Pack 308 Pinewood Derby. And lo and behold... NJ won every single race!

He took first place, and was rewarded with a nice big trophy. They had Olympics-style music playing. The spotlight was on him and the other top-3 finishers. I mean, it was a big event. There were hundreds of people in attendance. NJ literally skipped away from the racetrack with a smile on his face.

And I couldn't help but feel that a big circle had been closed. I got the chance to give NJ the Pinewood Derby experience I never had... and it played out beyond our wildest dreams... beyond anything I could have planned or imagined.

It was, in short, a God thing. And so is NJ.

A Method to Get an Aspie to Do Something He Might Not Want to Do

I've always had dreams of being a father... probably starting in childhood, actually.

Among them has been "having a catch," in Field of Dreams parlance.

Well, as it so happens, getting NJ to "have a catch" can be like opening a really fresh Chincoteague oyster. He resists and you can get to feeling pretty clumsy by trying to get him to open up to the activity.

But I simply insist that my boy plays some form of baseball with me. Dammit, I helped to change his first poopy diaper. I walked the wooden floors of our Annapolis craftsman till 3 a.m., night after night... with him in the baby sling. Because he did NOT appreciate stillness when he was trying to get his beauty sleep.

My point being, the boy OWES it to me (I know, I know... it must be a guy thing).

So I took NJ down to the local Sports Authority to buy a bunch of plastic baseballs and a practice bat. We also bought him a glove.

And it was down to the local park to start a'practicin'.

As I coached and cajoled, he would tighten up. I would back off. And try coaching a little more. He kind of took to it, and began bapping the balls pretty good. Our last round he hit about 75% of the balls - including some admittedly unofficial "home runs."

But his patience wore thin. He kept asking: Do I HAVE to practice? I would simply say, Yes, NJ, you do. Let's keep hitting.

We did a little more and took off before he soured on the whole experience...

Fast forward one week...

We're in the back yard.

Round 2 of the Cal Ripken Jr. Father-Son Instructional League Playoffs 2010!

Except this time, NJ loses patience very quickly. After just a few swings, he started asking when it was going to end.

We had been playing "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs" on the Wii beforehand. And he wasn't pleased with being pried away from the game.

So I told him: "Hey, let's pretend the balls are gummy bears... and your bat is a Hot Enougher!"

A bit of background... In the video game, the character uses a kind of torch (the Hot Enougher) to melt gummy bears.

His eyes lit up and he was INSTANTLY transformed into a willing participant. It was amazing!

"What's that?" he would ask about the ball in my hand.

"This is a gummy bear!"

"And who's it going to attack?"

"It's attacking Sam!" (a character in the game).

"Here comes! Look out Sam!"

Dad throws ball. Um, gummy bear.

Kid WHACKS ball with bat. I mean, with the Hot Enougher.

And the thing goes flying.

Pitch after pitch, we repeated the same process. I played into HIS interest and turned our practice session into a real game, with imagination, with fluidity... and tailored to where his mind really wanted to be at that moment.

I actually wound up being the one to shut it down. He would have kept on hitting into the twilight. And what was weird was, he was easily hitting balls he would have missed before... and really roping them well over my head.

I learned something. While we often point out how Aspies don't think enough about what other people are thinking... I sometimes don't have enough consideration for what HE'S thinking.

It's so easy to write it off as some kind of "special interest" that I shouldn't get caught up in - or that I should perhaps even discourage.

BS. Nonsense.

He's got a right to his thoughts, even his little obsessions.

We all have them. Except in adults, and with certain popular interests, we usually call them passions.

I learned I can play to NJ's passions, and meet him halfway.

And somewhere in the middle, we can have a LOT more fun than we would have staying in our own little worlds.

Peace.

Compassion and Gratitude

"WE DON'T HIT! REGGIE, STOP IT NOW."

Me. Yelling. At someone else's kid. In front of them. At a Cub Scout meeting!

What is the world coming to?

Well, this little fellow needed a wake-up call of some kind. He simply wouldn't respond to regular instructions to stop hitting while playing with NJ.

These two have known each other for years. They've wrestled for years.

It's the nature of their relationship. And that's totally cool.

I think "guy stuff" is required for any kid to develop semi-normally. And frankly, wrestling often breaks down into fisticuffs when you're a little boy and you don't know boundaries.

But normally, that kind of ends by three or four.

Reggie is seven going on eight. And even though NJ was actually getting the better of him in terms of wrestling... Reggie continued punching and kicking at NJ as my son pushed him back and laughed at his outrageousness.

Well, eventually he moved onto to his mother, a friend of NJ's mom and a very sweet lady.

I could hardly bare to watch, and in fact would later intervene.

But not before I took NJ and Reggie outside to run off some steam.

Sure enough, they get 30 feet away and commence the wrestling. And sure enough, Reggie starts punching again. When I saw him swing and hit NJ in the face, I pretty much went into my Exorcist voice and physically pulled Reggie to one side.

"I told you to stop. Don't you EVER touch anybody in my family. EVER. If I ever hear about you hitting NJ again, if I ever see it again... (My mind rifled through the legal calamity that might befall me were I to lay out my next line, so I toned it down)... Something bad will happen to you."

And I left it at that. And I separated the boys.

And STILL the kid kept trying to go around me to reengage in the shenanigans.

I was gobsmacked, to quote Gordon Ramsey.

Clearly, the child has no sense of proper behavior... to the point that he will simply defy a rather large, and totally pissed off, daddy who is threatening him in an obtuse but fairly assured way.

This was not the first time it has happened.

Later, I talked to him mom, telling her I had to separate them physically. Telling her I had to raise my voice at him. And listening to her explain what's been going on...

"This year, his teacher says he's not talking to anybody in class. They say he knows the math. He's like three grades ahead. But he doesn't do it. He doesn't like the assignments." Etc.

I noticed during speaking with other adults that the Den Leader continually pointed to her nose to try to get him to pay attention. His eyes almost never met hers.

Hmm. Do we have another Aspie on our hands here?

Suddenly, my rage at this little guy had morphed into compassion. There was, and is, a definite "issue" as they say in the medical parlance.

Until now, his mother and father have been adamantly anti-drug... anti-therapy... anti-... well, anti-anything, if it involved admitting that Reggie's lifelong behavior strangeness might be something with a diagnosis.

But the first signs of a correction for Reggie's issues arose during our conversation.

"He's going to go into Mrs. Roberts group this year."

The lady in question is one of the most amazing, effective and compassionate people NJ has had the chance to work with. She runs the social group he goes to a couple times a week at school. He loves her, and she seems to genuinely enjoy his company too.

This is a great sign. They're opening up to the possibility that Reggie's problem could have serious consequences - socially and developmentally - if not addressed asap.

I pray that Reggie gets some help right now. No waiting. Puberty is just around the corner, and when you get there, you're lost. It's over. Interventions don't take when all you can think about is hiding the evidence of masturbation.

I have definitely seen Reggie on good days. Sometimes, he behaves admirably. But apparently this is getting worse, not better.

We were able to give her sound advice on who to talk to for a good eval. We listened, we totally related. We went and found Reggie and gave him some big hugs, which he actually seemed to enjoy.

In the end, I simply said to myself: "Thank God NJ's mine." I felt very gracious. I almost always do when it comes to that lad, but I can see that there are people who are earlier on in the struggle than NJ now...

I can see that every single kid has his foibles. None of them are perfect - well, they all are, but you know what I mean.

And most importantly, we had a chance to reach out and, hopefully, help just a little.

Ski to Hot Chocolate!

What does the title of this post mean?

Not much. Unless you happened to be standing in line at Sierra-at-Tahoe ski resort last week.

That's where NJ spontaneously broke out into this refrain. It's a silly little song he began singing. And we all joined in. Sure, it was repetitious. But after awhile, you simply give yourself over to the absurd fun of it.

It was just part of a very interesting trip to California.

There, NJ learned that "family" meant more than his mom and dad and occasional visits from his Nanna and Poppop from South Carolina.

He immersed himself in an ocean of family craziness... and love.

In particular, he buddied up with my sister's daughter, who is one year older... and just as inclined toward the absurd.

They bonded instantly. And they played for three solid days. Intensely.

They traded video games. They played board games. They watched Up! (great movie). They played with Tank the dog in the garage, where he - a giant Lab - entertained them for approximately 20 minutes by eating an enormous, raw potato.

The house was full of holiday guests at that time. And Caroline, NJ's niece, was overheard telling him: "Don't you wish everyone would leave, so we could start having fun?"

She really does "get him" apparently.

To see NJ soaking up all the easygoing family love for days on end... and reciprocating... was balm for the soul. He snuggled on the couch with blankets, drank tea, watched football with Grandpa.

One night he took center stage. He stood in the middle of the living room and sang ridiculous songs to a rapt audience of aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and a couple additional house guests.

He sat at the kitchen counter, gobbling cookies and answering questions. He warmed up to Grampa, giving him a big hug on the second day. He asked people how they were doing in the morning.

And yes, he spent plenty of time in the bedroom playing his computer games, too. (I don't underestimate his need for decompression time, especially amid a new and busy environment, no matter how loving.)

It was, all in all, an incredible experience. NJ absolutely took to his giant extended family in Northern California. And they absolutely fell in love with his amazing little personality - his self-assuredness. His absurdist sense of humor. His gentle, seven-year-old love. His penchant for singing silly songs and monologuing about video game adventures.

My favorite moment: having to tell him, rather lamely, to "calm down". He was dashing through the house, back and forth, amid a game of hide and seek with his cousin. But they were both laughing too hard, and having too much fun, for me to say it a second time.

Peace.