Take That Autism!

Sometimes Autism sucks.

I never use that word in everyday life. I would be all over my kids if they said the word "sucks", but no matter what word I put in its place it just didn't work. So let's just say it like it is...

Sometimes Autism sucks.

Monday night was one of those times.

This past Monday was Memorial Day. Jacob had been looking forward to this day all week as it was his best friend's 9th birthday and we were celebrating it at Jacob's favorite place in the world, our local MLB stadium.

Years ago it had been a struggle to get Jacob to go to the baseball stadium because of his fear of fireworks. Despite his love for the game, and his love of the team, he wanted nothing to do with it because of the fireworks at the end of the game. But after many times of forcing him to sit through the game and fireworks at the end, it became a non-event.

So it really wasn't on my radar to be worried about attending the game for our friend's son's birthday. But it should have been.

The party started out just fine with 23 kids and adults enjoying sandwiches and cupcakes in the parking lot prior to the game. The boys were having a great time alternating between playing their own game of baseball and grabbing food. It was about 45 minutes to game time, and we began packing things up and that was when the first "BOOM" sounded.

"What was that?" Jacob asked running over to me. "Did you hear that boom? Was it thunder? Was it a gun?"

Uh oh...

I tried reassuring him that it was nothing, a one time thing in celebration of Memorial Day. A cannon maybe? Some kind of old gun? But nothing to worry about.

Jacob didn't believe me and headed to our van. While his friends were anxiously waiting to leave the parking lot and head into the stadium and the adults cleaned up the mess, Jacob's heart was beginning to race. I could see the look in his eye. He was terrified, and beginning that downward spiral.

I honestly didn't think there would be another cannon blast. Between my husband and I, we convinced Jacob that everything was fine and he should walk into the stadium with his friends.

But for Jacob everything was far from fine. As we walked in he began to panic. "It's ok, Jacob. You're safe," I quietly whispered over and over. He grabbed for my hand and I hoped that just knowing his parents were there would be enough to get him through this. Around us, his friends kept talking about the loud "Boom" and what could have caused it. The more they talked, the more I felt Jacob tense up. It was as if he was walking into a line of fire as we walked into the stadium.

There were people everywhere. As we weaved through the crowd trying to find our section, patriotic music played, flags waved, the field below us was full of military being recognized, and Jacob became more and more tense and clung to my hand.  For whatever reason, I thought we just needed to get to our seats and all would be fine. Jacob would see that nothing more was going to happen and we could all relax and continue with our fun night.

It took some adjusting to get our large group settled. Jacob was in the row below us right next to his best buddy. Why I hadn't thought to have him in the middle is beyond me. Like I said it just wasn't on our radar that we would have any problems. He loved baseball and had been to plenty of games over the years with no issues. His little sister was seated among the girls to my left, and my husband to my right. We had just taken our seats and I remember thinking at that moment how glad I was we were so close to the restrooms and concessions, when Jacob sprung up from his seat with that panicky look in his eye and took of running screaming the entire way.

I yelled to my husband to run after him, turned to my friend to make sure she could watch my daughter, and took off running as well.

The joke on my son's baseball team is how slow Jacob runs. He runs (and walks) on tip toe and often I hold my breath after he hits the ball and is running to first base because he is not exactly what you would call speedy. But somehow, when he is scared, that boy can run!

We caught up to him outside the stadium walls, yet inside the fence. He had paused right  in the middle of the smoking area. My husband ran up to Jacob and held him tight, restraining him for his own safety, because when Jacob runs, he runs, without looking, without thinking, and without any thought to his safety. We tried talking to him calmly. We tried reassuring him that everything was ok. And while we did that he screamed, and cried, and hit, and kicked trying to get away. We assured him we would let him go as soon as we knew he wouldn't run, and he would promise, but the moment we let go, Jacob would attempt to run. Or he would be fine for a moment but quickly the panic would rise again.

This was nothing new for my husband and I. We had done this plenty of times with Jacob, held him close to keep him safe, safe from himself. But it had been a long time, and this meltdown was big.

People all around us were staring. How could they not? A boy screaming and throwing a huge fit, punching and kicking his parents. I'm sure to most people they had no idea they were witnessing Autism at its worst.

We tried reasoning with Jacob even though we both knew it was pointless when he is in that horrible place. I think both my husband and I just weren't sure what to do in that moment. We both knew Jacob's intense love for baseball and his MLB team. We also knew how much his best buddy meant to him and how long he had been waiting for this day. We knew our daughter was sitting inside, so we couldn't just leave. We knew two other friends had rode with us in our van and we had to make sure they had a way home. And we knew once you walked out the stadium fence line, there was no return.

So there we stood among the smokers who continued to smoke their cigarettes yet taking this all in out of the corner of their eyes, with passersby gawking at us, employees of the stadium slowly walking by assessing the situation wondering if they should intervene. Around us "God Bless America" hung in the air coming from the stadium, and every once in a while a cheer as the crowd applauded the Veterans being honored each time making Jacob quickly cover his ears anticipating a loud boom. At some point a 21 gun salute went off, causing Jacob to become frantic looking for an escape. We were unsure what our next move was as we continued  to attempt to calm our son, when above us a man starts yelling from the top of the stadium wall.

At first I couldn't make out what he was saying. Nor did it even register that he was yelling at us. But it soon became clear that he was very intoxicated and indeed his garbled words were meant for us, and I made out a few words. "You shouldn't be hitting your mom...blah...blah...blah..." He just kept yelling. "...disrespectful to the armed forces!"

That was when it all became too much for me. I stepped away from Jacob, towards the man high above me. I felt like everyone around was watching to see how this was going to play out, and I yelled back to him, "My son has Autism! Do you have a problem with that?"

He yelled back that he couldn't hear me, and he quickly disappeared. I have no idea if he really did hear me or even if he would have any idea what I was talking about. But my yelling wasn't just for that drunken man. I needed and wanted everyone who had been witnessing this scene to know what they were seeing. Autism at it's worst.

I turned back to Jacob and my husband. Jacob seemed less tense.In fact, he seemed broken, like he just wanted to fall on the ground and sob yet my husband held him in place. Jacob wanted to go inside. He didn't want to miss the opening line ups, his favorite part.

A young guy smoking behind Jacob said something about "that idiot had been saying stuff in the parking lot, too." Another person said, " You're ok little buddy." It was interesting to me how suddenly the tone had shifted slightly. Those inquisitive curious judgmental faces suddenly seemed much more full of compassion and understanding.

Jacob took a few deep breaths and we walked back into the stadium. I wish I could say we stayed. We were there only for a moment. Patriotic songs were still playing and Jacob said, "They are singing!" The field was lined with Veterans. The fans were cheering. And then this...

"Fire away!"

Jacob sprinted from the stadium again, not glancing back for a second. He was anticipating a cannon blast, and he had to get out of there. He didn't realize they were talking about firing in the first pitch. I reached Jacob first, and put my arms around him tightly as if in a bear hug, keeping him from running anymore. While I held him we slowly walked toward the exit. Jacob was sobbing and saying, "I just want to leave. I just want to go home."

"Ok, honey."

At that point my husband and close friend joined us. We were back in our same spot in the Smoking Section. We were becoming all too familiar with this spot. My husband took over holding Jacob and my friend talked calmly to Jacob. I could tell Jacob was too far gone. He looked exhausted. Suddenly, high above military planes flew over the stadium. We all looked up. Even Jacob with tears streaming down his face. I looked at my friend and realized we needed to end this. She was outside with us, instead of inside the stadium enjoying this moment with her own son on his birthday.

Jacob heard the starting line up begin. I could tell he was torn, wanting desperately to be there, but terrified of more cannon or gun blasts to come. Our new plan was to go to Guest Services hoping they could tell us if the Memorial Day celebration was over and if the rest of the game would be a typical day at the park.

Unfortunately it wasn't going to be. Guest Services checked for us, and the plan was for a cannon blast with every run scored. I looked over at my son sitting there with his new much too small baseball cap given to him by Guest Services upon his head, his little face still wet with tears, and knew we had to leave.

After retrieving his sister, who was also crying now because she didn't want to leave, and his friends coming to say goodbye, we began our walk to the van. Jacob was still panicky at this point. He just wanted out of there fearful that his favorite team would score before we could exit the parking lot.

Once on the highway his mood changed. It usually does. Instead of anger or panic, he became remorseful, apologizing over and over for having to leave despite us reassuring him that no one was upset. He was worried that he had ruined his best buddy's birthday party. He was beat down. Tired. Exhausted. Drained. He was finished. We all were.

I would like to say it ended there.

Once home, Jacob played baseball outside with a neighbor friend for a short while, came inside and got ready for bed, and fell asleep fairly quickly. I was relieved that the evening was over, or so I thought.

As I got ready for bed that night exhausted myself, I thought I heard Jacob in his room above me scurrying around. I paused and listened again. Surely it wasn't him. He had been asleep for hours, and I had just checked on him minutes before and he was sleeping soundly. All was silent, so I finished getting ready for bed.

I turned to get into bed, only to find Jacob nestled in my side already fast asleep. I gently woke him, and he rose to walk to his bed without opening an eye or saying a word. Again I tucked him in bed, and quietly exited his room. But right at the door, I heard him say, "mom..." I went to his bed and found him shaking uncontrollably. "Jacob, are you OK? Are you cold?" I asked placing a hand on his forehead like any good mom would do. For the longest time he didn't answer. Concerned I sat on the end of his bed to make sure he was going to be alright. Again Jacob said, "mom..." "Yes honey," I replied.

"I'm scared, mom," he said, "I'm just so scared."

I laid down beside him and held him for the longest time, as he continued to shake.

He was up most of the night begging to go to sleep yet his fear prohibiting him, and often times demanding to know why God had made him this way, a heartbreaking thing for a parent to hear their child say. Finally at 5:30 he fell asleep.

Yes, Autism, you won that day. Thanks for the reminder that no matter how much we plan, prepare, or think our son has overcome the obstacles you present, you are still there.

There's a saying in the Autism community that I hear often when a child does something that conventionally people would assume a child with Autism could not do. It is "Take that Autism!". As I was feeling defeated and deflated yesterday by Monday's events, I realized something. When we were standing in Guest Services getting ready to leave and Jacob was crying and saying goodbye to his friends, he asked "Can we do this again with all of us here coming back to a game?" Even though he was in the middle of one of the biggest meltdowns he had ever had, so freaked out enough to where I was wondering if we would ever step foot at this stadium again, Jacob already was planning a return trip, just not on Memorial Day.

So "Take that Autism!"

I'll give you Monday, but we have the rest of the summer.

Put Me in Coach, I'm Ready to Play

There are certain things that when your child is on the spectrum you have to come to terms with that they may never occur for your child. Over the years I have watched with a heavy heart as a line of adorable children file in to sing for various programs. Many times it is hard to fight back the urge to cry, as my son is not one of them.

I admit, for years I have had a selfish longing to see my son perform. Oh, he does plenty of performing on his own at home. More often than not he is on stage singing and dancing and putting on a great show daily for us. Is it wrong that just once, I would like everyone else to see this side of my son?

So the pipe dream of Jacob being in the school talent show was never much of a reality for me.

We've been talking about the end of the school year talent show since last fall. One day I received a phone call from Jacob's principal at his new school. Jacob had been having a few rough weeks adjusting to the change of a new house, school, teachers, rules, and expectations. On this day Jacob had gotten in trouble, I believe for trying to climb the bathroom stalls at school. His punishment was to spend the remainder of the day in the Principal's office.

Now the principal at my son's school is pretty remarkable. With Jacob only being there a few months, she was still trying to figure Jacob out and the best approach with him. That day he sat for hours in her office doing his work, and as a reward if he worked hard for 30 minutes he could sing a song with her.

Sure enough, Jacob did it. I can envision him jamming with his principal singing "Gangnam Style"even now.

Those days of "hanging out" with the principal, built a trusting relationship between the two of them. And I think for her, she acquired a soft spot for my son. When she heard him sing, she was amazed by his voice and sense of rhythm and timing and began to plant the seed of Jacob singing in the talent show.

This was all back in October, and the end of the school year seemed light years away. I figured it would soon be forgotten, but more often than not when we would run into his principal, she would again ask Jacob if he would be in the talent show. Each time he would smile and say "yes".

Finally about a month ago, I sat down with Jacob one night and asked him if he honestly wanted to do the talent show, because if he did, we really needed to start working on something. He told me "no" and I took his word. As much as I would have loved for him to participate, it was about him, and if he didn't want to, I wasn't going to make him.

Then one afternoon about a week later, the phone rang. Great...it was the school, which typically means Jacob is sick, or has done something warranting a phone call home. Sure enough it was his principal.

"I have Jacob here in my office, and he wants to share something with you," she said.

"Ok...." I said hesitantly, I hate to say it, but bracing for the worst.

"Hi mommy," came a sweet voice on the other end.

"Ok, Jacob are you ready?" said the principal.

And then the music started, and right behind it was Jacob's sweet voice singing for me over the phone.

By the time he finished, I was crying. Jacob had spent the morning with his principal choosing a song for the talent show. We had about a week to practice with the music his principal had sent home.

Since the elementary school is so large, there would be a preliminary talent show for each grade, and then if you were asked, you could participate in the all school show. My hopes were just for that one moment, that Jacob would sing in front of his fellow second graders. He had been practicing and practicing and had it down perfectly. But would he actually do it?

The morning of the talent show arrived, and as we pulled out of the driveway to head to school, Jacob said with a huge grin on his face, "Today is going to be the best day ever! It's the talent show!" But before I could reply his face turned to a frown and he said, "but I'm not doing the talent show. I'm too scared."

I gave him a little pep talk on the short drive, dropped him off with a kiss, and said a prayer that he would be able to do it.

I wanted that moment.

The remainder of the day I was a bundle of nerves. Finally it was time for the show, and I arrived early to help Jacob dress in his baseball uniform. As I helped him pull on his long socks, I was amazed by my son's calmness. There was no talk of being scared or backing out. Instead he exuberated a confidence I envied.

I left Jacob with a kiss, and went to join his dad, the baby sister, and Jacob's aunt on the bleachers. I was nervous for my son. What if something went wrong? What if he got upset in front of the whole grade?

But he didn't. He took the stage as if he had done it a hundred times before. He sang just as he had every time at home. He nailed it.

The second graders loved it! And as all the students cheered, tears were running down my face. But not only mine. His dad, his aunt, his teachers, his principal, anyone who knew how far Jacob had come was also crying.

I had gotten my moment.

As Jacob stood beaming on stage, his principal announced "What do you say second graders, should Jacob do the all school talent show?" And as his peers continued to cheer him on, Jacob said yes that he would do it.

I can't even begin to describe to you how I felt that day. It was a wave of emotions and memories all at once. I remembered Jacob's first day of preschool and how he cried in the doorway of the gymnasium, too afraid to even enter the assembly. I remembered all the times I fought back tears as I watched other kids take the stage at any given event thinking it would never happen for Jacob, despite his musical talents. I remembered how over the years Jacob spent many assemblies at school sitting quietly in the library, or with whomever they could find to watch over him. It was always too much for him. Too loud, too many people, too many uncertainties.

A year ago my son wouldn't have walked in the gym. And now he had just sang in front of his grade and was preparing to sing in front of the entire school!

No longer did I want the moment for me. I realized all along I had wanted it for Jacob. I wanted it to give him the confidence that he can do anything he put his mind to. I wanted it so his peers could see him do something great, something that most of them wouldn't do themselves. I wanted it so all the teachers and faculty could see what Jacob was capable of doing with just the right guidance and a little nudge. I wanted everyone to see my son for who he really is.

And I wanted the world to see what Autism is and can be.

So here it is. I am happy to report that Jacob did in fact get up and sing in front of the entire school. He truly is "Ready to Play" and I hope this gives him the confidence he needs. This was Jacob's "Moment in the Sun".

Last night at bedtime, I laid down next to Jacob and told him how very proud I was of him. I told him how he did something that many people wouldn't be able to do, how I wasn't even sure if I could do it. I told him how brave he had been. I reminded him of how before he was scared to do things, and if ever he had those feelings of uncertainty wondering if he could do something, I wanted him to remember this moment. How great it felt to have the crowd cheering. How proud he was of himself. How truly amazing he was.

I kissed him and walked to the door.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, Jacob," I said as I paused in the doorway.

"I was pretty amazing, wasn't I?"

"Oh, honey, you have no idea," I replied.

"Mommy," he said. "I know you could do it, too."

"They Should Have Cheered"



Jacob's Drawing of Jackie Robinson 

 

"I just don't get it, Mom."

"Some people may find it offensive, Jacob," I replied.

"But his face is black, and I am supposed to look like him," he insisted.

"No, Jacob, it could be taken as offensive," I repeated. "It's not a good idea to paint your face black."

"What's offensive?" Jacob asked.

Which began an extensive conversation. Much more than he probably bargained for as I went on to explain how years ago people were cruel and mean to people just because of the color of their skin.

Jacob was preparing for his first book report that he would present to the class. Originally he had drawn "Henry Ford" out of the hat, but took it upon himself to tell his teacher that he really didn't care about Ol' Henry. She graciously let Jacob pick from the stack of famous names, to which he was thrilled to find "Jackie Robinson" amongst them.

So in the last two weeks as he has been preparing his report, we have had many conversations about Jackie and how baseball has changed over the years.

"Mommy, did you know that Jackie Robinson was the first African American to play major league baseball?" Jacob excitedly asked on the way home from school that first day he had begun his research.

"And mommy, did you know that people 'booed' him when he would get up to bat?"

"I did know that. Isn't that awful?" I said.

"I don't get it," Jacob replied. "I could see if he struck out that they would 'boo' him, but he was one of the best hitters! Why would they 'boo' him?"

I went on to explain to him that people treated African Americans differently during that time, and just how wrong it was to act like that. We talked about how all people should be treated the same, even if they are different. We talked about the people that we knew that were different, and how those differences make them special.

I am thrilled that it is lost on my son. That he can't even begin to imagine a time where people would be cruel to someone just because of the color of their skin. Maybe there is hope that racism, or any kind of 'ism for that matter, is being phased out to the new generations.

And to my seven year old, it doesn't make any sense. He sees people as people. I almost didn't want him to know that such a time existed, as if by talking about it, it would draw attention to differences that he had never acknowledged.

The whole thing is so ironic. Here's this little boy who the world sees as different, yet he sees sameness amongst everyone. A boy who sees every minute detail and notices any small discrepancy, yet sees every person as an equal. A boy who wants more than anything to be accepted, yet accepts the world with no one person better or no one person less.

"I still don't get it," Jacob said again after discussing it for the umpteenth time, "He was the best hitter. They should have cheered."

I'm happy to report that Jacob did great on his book report. He dressed in his favorite team's uniform proudly representing the sport he loves most. His teacher later told me that Jacob volunteered to go first in the class. My son has come so far in just a year.

I wanted to share with you how Jacob ended his report.

"An important life lesson I learned is some people didn't like Jackie Robinson. If someone doesn't like you, don't give up."
 

 Simple yet wise words from a seven year old.

Yes, they should have cheered. I guarantee if Jacob had been present at any of Jackie's games oh so many years ago, he would have cheered. My only hope is that everyone will do the same for my son.

The Good, the Bad, and the could have been Uglier

It's been a smooth ride here lately for us. Ever since Jacob started his anxiety medicine, the roller coaster ride we had gotten used to has leveled off. Don't get me wrong. Although leveled off, we have still been racing forward at top speed as there is never a dull moment with Jacob around. Until his head hits his pillow at the end of the night, we are always in over-drive.

And so this weekend caught me a little by surprise.

First the good.

Jacob had been invited to a birthday party of a fellow baseball teammate who is also in his new class at school. Jacob doesn't get invited to a lot of parties, and when he does, he is super excited to the point it is hard to bring him back down.

Before the invite had even arrived, the mom of the birthday boy had inquired as to how Jacob would do with a roller skating party. Knowing my son, I knew this wasn't his thing. Something new. Something where he would feel completely out of control. So it came as no surprise when I asked Jacob weeks ago about the party, he said "absolutely not!". I left it at that, and told the mom that more than likely Jacob would not be attending.

How surprised was I when a few days later Jacob tells me he is going to the party. Turns out, my husband knew just the right spin to put on the party to make it appealing. Plenty of music, arcades, and snacks were enough to turn his "absolutely not" around. And of course a promise of helping him skate.

I had figured his excitement would waver in the weeks to come, or he would completely change his mind. But Jacob remained steadfast looking forward to his first time ever to skate. Saturday came, the day of the party, and Jacob was more than ready. His dad was taking him, so I anxiously waited for them to return to hear how it had gone.

As the time for the party to end arrived, I  braced myself for the whirlwind that could come storming through the front door more powerful than a tornado. If the party had proven too much for Jacob, the tone was set for the remainder of the day with little hope of recovery.

Yet in he walked with no real fanfare. When I asked about the party, he told me with a huge grin on his face that it had been "super fun" and he couldn't wait to go skating again. "Please, mommy, can we go skating again?" he begged. "Sure! You get to do it next week in gym class," I told him.

Jacob was ecstatic to hear that, and I was relieved knowing that for the next few weeks skating in gym class would be welcomed by him and not a challenge to get him to school in the morning on those days.

He went on to tell me how great of a skater he was. In fact, he was so good he didn't fall once! "Wow!", I thought, "Maybe skating was his thing." He was so good, he even danced while skating he told me.

My husband hadn't entered the house yet, so I went outside to find him and get his version of the party. His was slightly different. Jacob had done awesome and of course he was incredibly proud of him, but when I mentioned about Jacob not falling, my husband just laughed. "Yeah...that didn't happen."

Turns out Jacob fell about 50 times, dashing my plans of him becoming an Olympic speed skater. He told me how Jacob had fallen hard in the middle of the rink and began crying loudly. I could envision the scene, Jacob laid out flat on his back screaming out in pain, while my husband stood over him and people skated around looking over their shoulders wondering if Jacob was indeed hurt.

"So what did you do?" I asked him knowing all too well how Jacob responds in that state. He has to be handled carefully so it doesn't blow up into something much bigger.

"I told him to get up or someone would skate over his fingers!" my husband told me. Sure enough it worked and Jacob got right up. I loved it!

So that was the good. And yes, I couldn't have been more proud of my son for willingly trying something new. A year ago I guarantee he wouldn't have even walked in the building. And if he wants to think of himself as the best skater ever, so be it.


Now for the bad...

Unfortunately Jacob had little time after returning home from the party before he had to get ready for his baseball game.

I almost didn't go to the game as I was supposed to work and wasn't sure if I could find anyone to cover my shift. But I knew the importance of being there. Not only to support Jacob, but being there "just in case". This year baseball had gone fairly smooth for Jacob, but you never know if something could set him off, and I needed to be there "just in case".

I arrived at the game a little late, loaded down with two folding chairs, an umbrella for the sun, a bag full of snacks, drinks in hand, and my other hand grasping the baby's girls fingers slowly guiding her to the field. Before I had even set my stuff on the ground, Jacob was right there invading my personal space. "I'm on the bench!" he happily announced. "hmmm... that's never a good sign," I thought.

Immediately I got a sense of Jacob's mood. He was soaring pretty high, the excitement from the skating party still with him. He was bouncing around in nonstop motion. And he wasn't listening. As I tried to arrange our chairs, and make pleasant conversation with the other moms, Jacob was right there in the middle of it all. " I want popcorn!" "I want something to drink!" "I want candy!" as he wildly dug through my bag of snacks.

"Jacob, you need to be in the dugout with your teammates," I told him. He grabbed a handful of popcorn and went in the dugout. But only for a minute. Sure enough he was right back, demanding more food, grabbing and digging, bugging his sister, in my face. He was just all over the place.

"Jacob, enough!" I told him. "Get in the dugout and you can have a snack after the game."

Back and forth he went, not listening to me, not paying attention to the game going on right in front of him, oblivious to the calls from his dad to find his glove, bat, or helmet. He was definitely not in baseball mode.

And then it was time for him to get on the field. My gut was telling me that things were not going to go well, and I told my friend next to me that I had a feeling I would be taking Jacob home. Jacob slowly sauntered out behind home plate, with catcher's gear from top to bottom. Jacob loves playing catcher. Well...normally.

His demeanor was saying differently. It was as if he was moving in slow motion. First he refused to hunch down, and insisted on standing. Then when his dad got on him to do it correctly, he ever so slowly moved to the correct position.

The first pitch came and Jacob barely flinched. Usually he is a pretty good little catcher, at least giving an effort to catch the ball. But this was as if you couldn't even tell there was a ball headed right towards him.

Another pitch came, and with this one Jacob did move, again ever so slowly, but instead of trying to catch the ball, he splayed himself out flat on his stomach covering home plate. And he just laid there. The umpire looked over at my husband to see what was going on and why this catcher kept holding up the game. My husband yelled at Jacob to get up. I did as well, trying to encourage him.n

"Please, Jacob, please," I thought to myself. "Just get up. Not here. Not now. Please."

He got up, again moving at the pace of a snail. If he got the ball, he barely lobbed it back, the ball only going a few feet. Pitches zoomed right by him. He refused to hold up his glove. At this point it was obvious to everyone that something was up, and the rest of the crowd started yelling words of encouragement as well. But knowing my son like I do, I knew this would just add fuel to the fire. Sure enough, he turned and said, "Come on! Oh my gosh!" toward his dad in the dugout. He was annoyed.

My husband who was sitting in the dugout doorway just a few feet away whispered to me that he wanted me to take Jacob home. I replied that I was already planning on it. So while the inning continued with Jacob's not even half hearted attempts at playing baseball, I packed up all my stuff preparing myself for what could be a major blowout.

We've been down this road many times. Jacob making a scene in public, having a meltdown with everyone staring. It's not fun, for sure. I hate it. I hate that my son feels so out of control. I hate that events that should be fun instantly turn into a fight with an audience to boot.

And so as the inning came to an end, my husband and I knowingly looked at each other as if asking, "Are you ready for this?". We were. But then again, we had no other choice.

The Could Have Been Uglier

It's a whole different story when your three year old is having a fit. People look at you sympathetically as if saying  "Oh, I've been there".  But when your child is seven and looks closer to ten, and he is having a meltdown, people just stare. I don't blame them. But it doesn't make it easier.

We've had ugly scenes in the past. Jacob kicking and screaming as one of us carries him out of whatever public event we happen to be attending. Times where Jacob has just hit us repeatedly. Times where I felt like I could barely hold on to his flailing body, but knowing I had no other choice for his own safety. Times where I want nothing more than the meltdown to end, for people to stop staring. Times where I wish people just knew. This is Aspergers. This  is NOT my son.

My son is loving. He's thoughtful. He's first in line if I suggest cuddling. He's a happy kid. He is not the crazed looking child out of control hitting his mom while screaming at the top of his lungs. That's not my Jacob. That's Aspergers. Not him.

And so as we were stuck back in the middle of the ball complex on field #4, there was no time to wonder how it would play out. As Jacob made his way into the dugout, my husband pulled him aside and kindly told him the news that he would be going home for the remainder of the game. We both reassured him calmly that he was not in trouble. He just needed a break.

Of course we knew it wouldn't be well received, and Jacob instantly was angry and began to yell. But thankfully neither my husband nor I got sucked into it. We both remained calm, and my husband started gently guiding Jacob around the back of the outfield to avoid the crowd of people.

Oh, we still were a scene. I'm sure everyone could hear Jacob's persistent crying and screaming. With no reaction from either of us, we continued our journey toward our van with the baby girl tagging along behind.

"My team needs me!" Jacob kept insisting. "I promise I will listen!" "I don't want to leave!"

I tried reassuring him that even the best major leaguer needs a day to rest. To which he quickly reminded me they at least get to sit in the dugout!

On and on he went. But both my husband and I knew it was the best thing to get him out of there and just somewhere quiet where he could decompress. The day had been too much for him. It wasn't his fault.

With Jacob securely buckled in his seat behind me, I began driving home. It had gone pretty smooth, at least compared to past meltdowns. We've come along way, my husband and I. We've learned that reacting only makes things worse. Getting sucked in to Jacob's anger, only makes things worse. A year ago that scene would have played out much uglier.

Today's score.

Home Team: 1
Aspergers: 0

A True Field of Dreams

When you have a child with Aspergers, you really never know what to expect. You learn to never assume typical activities will go smoothly, and to always expect the unexpected. So you over prepare for everything, and hope for the best, but plan for the worst.

In my mind I've been planning for the worst for the past few weeks. We've had a lot of changes in our home with us moving and a new school. So far it's been smooth sailing, but you never know when a hurricane can hit out of no where and completely sink your boat, so you have to be ready.

See Jacob just started Fall baseball. Nothing new, as he has played baseball on a team for two years now. He loves baseball, and knows the game inside and out. So what's the big deal?

Well, it's kid pitch baseball. Up until this time he has played either machine pitch, or coach pitch. But the game would be changing and kids would be pitching now, and Jacob would be one of them.

Jacob's a decent pitcher. For only being in second grade, he does just fine. He's watched enough games over the years to know how it's done. I have pictures of him standing on the mound at the age of two with his one hand behind his back as if he is ready to fire the ball to home plate. He's been preparing for this moment for years. So I really shouldn't have been that worried. But I've learned as with anything, to not have my guard down, because that's when it can all go downhill quickly.

All week long, I couldn't help but remember those first few games of baseball for Jacob just a few years ago. How when the focus was on him, he would just lose it and have a meltdown. I remembered the coaxing to get him on the field at his first tee ball game, and how he got mad and started crying when it was his turn at bat. I remembered the big hits he would get when he started coach pitch and how upset he would be at the fans cheering. So upset he would just keep running past first base right towards the parking lot. I remembered all the times I had to carry him to our car as he cried because the fans were looking at him. I remembered all the games he wanted to sit on the bench because it was just easier.

And of course I couldn't help but wonder, "Would this be one of those moments?".

Would it just be too much? Would he be too nervous? Obviously the focus would be on him. The home fans, the visiting fans, his teammates, the batter, the umpires, his opponents. Everyone would be looking at him. So naturally I was apprehensive.

After the first inning ended, Jacob came up to me and said, "Mommy, I'm going to the bullpen," with the biggest grin on his face. As he warmed up in the grass beside the field, I could feel my nerves getting the better of me.

The inning ended quickly, and it was time for Jacob to hit the mound. This was it. I held my breath, said another silent prayer, and went to the dugout edge prepared to take quick action if needed and to cheer on my son.

As he took a few warm up throws, I was amazed at how grown up he appeared. How graceful and fluid he looked. The visiting team would have no idea looking at my son that he had Aspergers. As the visiting team's parents chatted in the stands, they had no idea the struggles and challenges it took to get to this place. The first time pitching is a great milestone for any child. For Jacob, it is so much more.

Honestly, if someone would have told me two years ago as I carried my son to the car with tears streaming down both our faces after a meltdown at his baseball game that we would be experiencing this moment, I'm not sure I would have believed them. I know that seems cliche, but it is true.

And so as the first batter comes up to the plate, I waited wondering what was going to happen. A strike! Yes...I needed that. Jacob needed that, too. He continued pitching striking out the first batter. Slowly I felt myself begin to relax a little. He was doing it. Alone on the mound with all eyes on him, and he was doing it.

He pitched the entire inning, striking out two batters.

At the end of the inning as the team hustled in to form a huddle, Jacob casually threw the ball up to the dugout roof. Only those that know Jacob knew what he was doing. He was tossing a ball to one of his fans. Just like the pitchers do in the major leagues.

Never let the Fear of Striking out, Keep you from Playing the Game

I'm sure the guy had no idea. I'm guessing he saw a dad with his young son at the ballpark ready to spend an enjoyable evening together when he graciously stepped up to my husband who was waiting in line and asked if he needed tickets. My husband was taken a little aback, expecting that the man was trying to sell them to him. What a great surprise when he realized they were a gift. Two tickets right behind the home team's dugout!

Or maybe the guy did have some idea. Maybe the large headphones atop Jacob's head drew the man to my son. I'm sure Jacob was waiting impatiently, so maybe he thought he would give this dad a break. Maybe he could sense my son's nervous demeanor, or could see that anxious look in his eye.

I'm sure Jacob was nervous. It was only his second game of the season. Certainly not the second game he has watched. He has watched and re-watched almost every game by his favorite Major League team this year. But going there is a whole different ballgame for Jacob. There no longer is the security of home, and he has to face his fears head on.

The first game my husband took him to, Jacob did great. It was a surprise and he packed him in the van and didn't tell him where they were going until they were almost to the stadium. There wasn't time for Jacob to get too anxious. He did excellent and when Jacob called to tell me about the game, I could hear in his voice how proud he was of himself. About halfway through the game he started getting a little nervous. His team was winning, and he knew that meant fireworks at the end of the game. He started asking for me, saying he wanted his mom. When that approach didn't get him results, my ever thinking child began cheering for the opposing team. What a logical approach. If the other teams wins, no fireworks! But his favorite team ended up pulling it out. They stayed the entire game, even for the fireworks at the end. Sure my husband had to hold him down through some kicking and flailing and attempts to flee, but Jacob did it.

Knowing that Jacob's psychiatrist had recommended he attend as many games as possible, he was due to go to another game. It had been a few weeks since that first game, and it had gone fairly well, so it was time to try again.

My husband came home from work, and told Jacob to change his clothes and put on one of his favorite baseball jerseys. Jacob went in and changed, but didn't make the connection until he saw his dad changing into his team wear as well.

"Daddy, are you going to the baseball game?" Jacob asked.

My husband looked at me wondering how to handle this. Do we tell him and risk the impending meltdown? Or do we continue the surprise effect to ward off any anxiety until there?

"Yes," my husband said, "and you are going, too." My husband and I were both holding our breath, waiting to see how this would play out.

"No way...," Jacob replied, but as he said it a big smile formed on his face.

That was it? No fighting? No insisting on staying home? No kicking, screaming, door slamming, running, or hiding, just "no way" and a smile. Wow!

Jacob has made HUGE progress in the last few months. It has confirmed for us that we made the correct decision starting him on anti-anxiety medicine. Sure, you could tell he was still a little uncertain, but there wasn't that crazed panic that we had seen so many times in the past.

Jacob calmly helped his dad pack a bag of treats for the game. He calmly got his stuff together, kissed me goodbye, and started talking about the game's potential outcome. Someone unfamiliar with Jacob's Aspergers and anxiety would have had no idea they were witnessing something truly amazing, and would have seen it for what it was, a dad and son heading out to the ballpark.

According to my husband, Jacob did wonderful at the game. Although a little more nervous this time walking in, his nerves were quickly calmed. As his team made hit after hit and was dominating the game, Jacob gave everyone around him high fives after each play, including the man who had given them the tickets.. Jacob even made it on the jumbo tron, just him waving at the camera with a huge smile on his face and headphones covering his ears.

My husband said the seats were great. Being right behind the dugout, Jacob was able to see all his favorite players up close. And at the end of the game, my husband yelled out to one of his favorite pitchers, who seeing Jacob grabbed a ball and tossed it up to him. Jacob came home all smiles talking a mile a minute thrilled with his "real major league" ball. And when he told me about the fireworks, it was as if it was a non event.

I hope while sitting next to my son, the generous man who gave my husband the tickets realized that out of all the potential people he could have chosen, he couldn't have made a better choice. I hope he realized how incredible my son is. I'm guessing by the end of the game, he knew that Jacob wasn't your typical young fan. I'm sure it was obvious my son's love of the game and his team. And I'm sure he enjoyed my son's knowledge of the game. I'm guessing he didn't know my son has Aspergers, but probably knew there was something different about my son. But I'm sure he didn't realize the battles and struggles it has taken for Jacob to get to this point.

This kind stranger witnessed a treasured moment. A treasured moment between father and son. An evening together at the ballpark, something taken for granted by so many dads, but not my husband. This moment, is one my husband has dreamed of for a long time.