Dispair

It's tough raising a kid with autism.

I knew that patterns of distrust, discipline, and emotional distance so popular with our parent’s generation would end with me in my relationship with my child. I was so proud of myself going into parenthood.

I am going to believe in my child’s capacity for agency. I will give him the love and support he needs. I will not laugh at him. I will be proud of him and go to all his concerts. I will provide solace for him. The guardrails I set up won’t be barbed with electrified wiring. I will not ignore my child like I was ignored as a child.

What I did not know, is that there are equally insidious patterns in positive support. My parenting covenant is not in discipline but in the expectation of achievement. I am expecting more of him than he is able to give.

My child is all but 7 and already we are told “there are concerns” about readiness for the second grade. I keep getting these calls from school, now text messages, which make it somehow more offensive. Like can’t they pay us the courtesy of saying it to our faces when we pick him up, obediently and on time, every day? My parents never picked us up on time, often not at all. Even they had unplanned house visits from social workers.

I am crippled by my fear of a child who will not grow up, who will not advance, who will not succeed, who will not impress anyone but his mom. I watch videos of other children mastering choreography they mime from tacit consumption of television. Ooh look at that kid do the Formation choreo and they’re only 3! I feel disappointed in my own child’s inability to do that. I watch videos of adults with autism so proud of themselves for getting jobs, drawing animals, making their families laugh. I feel despairing that my child will not entertain anyone with innate skills but will become entertainment as a disabled adult.

My child—beautiful, sweet, kind, humorous—is not going to get straight As like me. His teachers will not be impressed with how he takes care of himself. The world will not look to him for answers.

I fall apart with every text message.

New phone. Who problem is this?

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I hope when the world burns down, survivors will tell the residue that we loved each other and did our best.