Dancing Barista

Wintry days are here, and we have a whopping 6-8 inches here in the mid-state of Tennessee. That may as well be 48 inches to us southerners who gasp and shriek with delight at this alien form of white powder that rains down upon us! Roads are closed, businesses shut down, so there is nothing left to do other than to....

HAVE AN IMPROMPTU DANCE PARTY IN THE KITCHEN WHILE DOING THE DISHES!!!

Well, this is what I tried to do when I realized that no one else was home. Kanye came on loudly and I was lip-syncing and white girl dancing so hard when I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

I looked out the window and saw the battle-worn face of Liam coming home from sledding and playing in the snow. I only had a quick 3-4 seconds before I could turn the speakers down so that he would not have a conniption fit at the volume in which "Touch the Sky" was blaring. I had a tough choice to make- continue my kitchen concert and risk his rage, or turn it down and pretend like I had been heating up his hot chocolate the whole time.

I decided to take a risk-I mean, hey! This is my house, dadgummit (who's mom from Bama used that word when she was mad?!) I pay the bills and feed everyone (most of the time), so I can have the volume any way I want it!!!!

This is what I looked like in my kitchen!

When he came in, he predictably rounded the corner with disapproving eyes and shook his head. Like he was the parent and he found me underage drinking in my closet.

"MOM, ...WHY? WHY, MOM??!!

Funtime over. Somehow my 'running man' with a huge grin on my face did not get the smirk I was looking for. I slowly went back to the speakers and turned them down, and eventually off.

I never know which mood I will get back. Sometimes I will get the playful side and get a few more fun moments out of it, but most of the time, this is the reality. Hard to know what's autism and what's teen annoyance.

So, I decided to take this rare day of "nothingness" and get into my creativity of writing. I'm always glad when I do, but it seems so hard to start. Story of my life.

I got some inspiration to write after a friend sent me a touching story about a man named Donald Grey Triplett. Donald was the first person ever to receive an autism diagnosis. The story details are unique and yet the same as those of us grappling with those first few years of autism. His parents did not know what was wrong with their child. After a doctor said there was nothing he could do, they made the difficult choice to institutionalize Donald because that was what you did in that day. Anyone that was seen as out of the ordinary wasted away in a sterile mental hospital. The doctor even told them to move on and forget about Donald- that somehow that was the best thing for him and his parents.

Donald Triplett-wasn't he precious?

But, the parents never forgot about Donald. They decided that they would not allow him to grow up as a patient, but a person with a story. A story that mattered. Their perseverance and hard work made him the man that he is today. He is remarkably still alive at 82 years old! He plays golf and lives independently in the house he grew up in.

But the most incredible part of the story is how his small-town community rallied around him and accepted him. In the town of Forest, Mississippi, in the 1940's and 50's, when difference and diversity was not something embraced or encouraged, this community decided to make him one of their own. They welcomed him in their schools, their restaurants, and businesses. He even made some of the girls swoon!!

Which brought me back to my own situation and how I have chosen to make Liam a part of his greater community. This past year we learned that Liam was not doing so great in school. The IEP that he had was not really working any more and we, wait, what am I saying, I had to make the difficult decision to place Liam on a special needs track. This track would knock him out of the traditional path that most students take. There is even a school close to our home that serves children with his diagnosis, and I have had many people ask me why I have chosen to keep him in the public system here.

And my decision is simple. It comes down to community. The way the kids rally around him at school events and the way his church youth group members high five him when he walks in the door is worth it. My prayer is that he will continue to have community even when it is not in the bubble of school. This will be the real test. Will people accept him the way he is? Will he be given opportunities to do meaningful work? Will an employer see the gifts he has to offer the world and take a chance on him?

These are answers I simply do not have. But, the tide is turning and more and more people are realizing the importance of including those with special needs in the work force.

And just when I was finishing this post, another sweet friend sent me a link to a young man hired by Starbucks as a barista. He has autism and a movement disorder, so the Starbucks employees have dubbed him the "dancing barista". They have taken something that most would maybe see as a disability and reframed it as something with positivity and light.

See his awesome video here.

I don't know you Donald and Sam, but I am grateful for you. Keep paving the way!

And, to the people in the world who go the extra mile for those with disabilities, you are the angels we need.

Thank you.

First Chair

In the hustle and bustle of life, we forget to feel. Well, it's not exactly like that. We just forget that we have all of these emotions pulsing through our veins at any given point.

Yes, that's right. Those things you thought you were pushing down into your belly don't exactly go anywhere. They tend to just float right back up to the surface. Those pesky little things that were created to tell us the temperature of our emotional selves continue to bounce all around us. And, as my mentor said, "If you try to get over 'em, you end up under 'em."

And, alas, the more work I do on myself (by way of counseling others and my own therapy), the more I find this statement to be true.

I found myself out and about a few nights ago, celebrating my best friend's birthday. We had amazing wine, great food, and hilarious banter! It was a fancy restaurant and I was dressed up both inside and out. I had my "outfit" on and I had my witty Self on that night as well.

On the car ride home, I was ecstatic to get to see Liam and tell him how proud I was of him. He had made first chair that day in percussion. First chair is as big a deal as any in our household. This is because the phrase starts with the word "FIRST", and as I have commented on many a blog, this is the word that sends my little guy through the roof!! He both loves and disdains competition. It excites him and freaks him out at the same time. He wants to be first every week, but there's always someone a little bit better than him...until this week.

The idea of chairs in percussion is you must play a scale on marimba the fastest without missing any notes and playing it in time. It occurred to Liam's friend, Zach, (see the blog "Sleepovers") that all of the other players had played the piece at 135 bpm, so Liam should bump it up to 140! Liam reluctantly decided to follow his advice and speed through his scale at 140.

He was so nervous after he played, he ran to the practice room and turned off the lights, waiting to see what the results were!! The pressure was just too much!

The list was typed up and printed off...the band teacher slowly walked over to the wall and slapped the results up so everyone could see who got what.

And there it was...Liam, after almost 7 1/2 months of school, was first chair.

The coveted FIRST CHAIR-I picture a throne in my head. 

So, you can imagine my excitement for him! I couldn't wait to hear the play by play and get a high five. I couldn't wait to bask in the moment with him and see his face light up when he told me about it.

Admittedly, I did get home a bit late, but I knew he would not be fully asleep. So, I tiptoed up to his room to have our big moment. 

"Liam," I whispered, "I am so very proud of you getting FIRST CHAIR today!" **enthusiastic, but still tempered whisper**

Instead of rolling over to give me the high five my heart clearly wanted, he shot up so quickly in his bed, that he smacked his head into my forehead. It was most definitely going to leave a mark- on both of us.

"MOM, WHAT ARE YOU DOING- GET OOOOUUUUUTTTT!!!!" **enthusiastic teen rage in loudly audible voice**

"FINE!!!! I WAS JUST GOING TO SAY HOW PROUD OF YOU I WAS, BUT NOW I'M NOT! GOD, YOU RUIN EVERYTHING!!!" **enthusiastic teen rage coming out in a mommy's body**

Yep. Not my proudest moment. I was hurt- both physically and emotionally. I was angry. And I was lonely. 

In my counseling office, I am teaching my clients to use feeling words instead of the all-too-popular responses like, "meh!", "frustrated", "stressed", etc. These words do not hit the heart the way that anger, sadness, shame, and lonely do. They just don't. So often we use these words to hide the very things that we NEED to be feeling. So, the very things that I am teaching my clients have to be put in to practice in my own life. (oy veh!!)

It's much easier to say that the traffic was mildly irritating, but my actions spoke much more like rage when I honked and cussed in my vehicle. Or, when I try to shrug off something important in my life and call it a "blah" day, I'm more likely extremely sad. I'm in grief. 

My response to Liam was anger, but it came from a deeper place of hurt and longing for relationship with him. When I am honest with my feelings, it puts me in touch with my soul. It allows me to know ...well, ME! I can then begin to know the deepest places in my heart that need healing, that need restoration. If I am constantly using other words to describe myself, I am leaving myself on the operating table of life-bleeding and, sometimes, without a pulse. 

When anger creeps in (as it does a lot of the time), I can begin to see the roots of other emotions that are trying to drive the bus of my heart. When I own up to it (what is actually going on inside of me), my heart/soul/Self then drives the bus. Then, it is I who sits in the "first chair" of my own heart. And I can begin to help my emotions sit in the passenger seat, continuing to give me clues to who I was made to be.  

There will always be a tinge of loneliness, hurt, and anger as I live with a child who has very little capacity to see me. But, on those rare occasions when he does see me, I will relish it! I will know beyond a shadow of a doubt because there are no mixed words in autism. 

There is only truth.