flanamom

[flanamom]

To Leave, or Not To Leave....

Yesterday afternoon, my two sons (Liam, 10, and Rowan, 8) and I piled in my mother-in-law’s car to go to see the Acapella Jam put on by the local high schools. Rowan just discovered Pentatonix, a group that is famous for singing acapella and having a really cool beat boxer. Rowan has also been very into YouTube, so he had recently had me log into our family account so he could post a video of himself imitating Pentatonix, in particular the beatboxer. I noticed how good he naturally was in catching a beat and imitating sounds. One of my old students saw his YouTube video and sent me an invitation to the Acapella Jam.  She specifically said, “Hey your son Rowan?  He would really like this. You should come!!”  So, we marked our calendars.  

We sat down - Liam by the aisle, then me, Rowan, and the boys’ Mum-Mum -  and a few middle school groups were performing on the stage, prior to the main performances. They were beginning singers, playing around with the harmonies and spitting beats that were slightly to the left and right of the actual rhythm.  Rowan sort of perked his ears up and scooted towards the front of his seat, perching almost. He said to me, “Those guys are kind of good.” I said, “Yeah, they are.” Liam (Rowan’s brother) sat to the left of me, beaming from ear to ear, saying how this group was “SO AWESOME!” in a really emphatic voice, eyes wide with awe.   The middle schoolers left the stage, and the emcee emerged, announcing the official start of the program.  All of the sudden a group called Vocal Point emerged, hushing the crowd into a pulsating silence.  The singers stood in a semicircle, and one voice shattered the silence  - and then all of the voices on stage were one, moving up and down the music scale like rich satin. The background was peppered with the stylish beats of a beatboxer who hummed rhythms with his eyes closed, feeling the music flowing in and out of his soul. His beats were his breaths. I looked over at Rowan, and he sat with his head in his lap, rocking back and forth and side to side. His hands were on his ears and his face was drawn up in distress.

I couldn't tell what he was feeling. Was he in pain?  Was the music hurting him?  Was this his choice, or was this a reflex?  Was he “getting” why we were here - why people like to hear music?  I asked him if he was okay and all he said was,  “I'm hungry,” and then he put his head back down and kept rocking. The applause between the sets sent him driving his fists into his ears, and I asked him if he wanted to leave. He said, “No, but when is the last song?”  I didn’t know what to make of that response.  Is he okay with this?  Does he need a schedule?  Would a program of musical performances have helped?  After a few more songs into the event, he stated that he wanted to go home.  He looked at me, hands cupping his ears, and then leaned over onto my lap.  

As a parent, I'm not sure if I did the right thing.  As his mother, I constantly question myself.  Do I allow him to give into his sensitivity to sound and leave the situation, or do I push him to do what's socially acceptable? Am I hurting him? My mother-in-law sat to the right of Rowan, and she kept looking at me questioningly, asking if he was okay and leaning over to redirect his behavior from time to time.  Should I be disciplining him for this behavior - even though so much of it seemed to be more of a reflex than an intentional desire to disrupt or disrespect?

I didn't know what the right thing was to do, and it’s a stress that’s constantly pressing me. I'm writing this blog post because I imagine parents of autistic children very often work through situations like this alone. We don't know what the right thing to do is, and there's no one to ask but our own intuition.  I feel as if everyone I meet has advice to give.  There are the extremists, those out there who don't believe autism exists. I see them rant on social media outlets, proclaiming that autism is a result of bad parenting. They post videos of children having meltdowns in grocery stores or department stores, and they caption the post with something like, “That boy would be be slapped across the head in my home,” or “This is why my mama spanked me.” I understand the frustration. I've been in situations where children have been misbehaving and parents seem to ignore the behavior, like it's not happening. I have to admit that I have been judgemental before as well - I think the natural tendency is for people to theoretically insert themselves into situations that annoy them, perhaps in an attempt to placate their own egos, proclaiming they could do better. I've heard countless times, “Oh, Rowan is totally capable of understanding what he's doing,” or, “You're going to let Rowan do that?” And I listen.

And usually I'm silent. I don't want to have an argument about my parenting style in front of my son, because that's not my parenting style. To be honest, I’m still in the process of figuring out what my parenting style IS when it comes to Rowan. I feel like I don't know enough. I don't know when to get up and leave a music performance. I don't know when I need to tell him to put his hands over his ears and stick it out.  I don’t know if it’s a bad idea to take him to events in general.   I don't know so many things, and it tugs on me daily. What I do know is that today Rowan reluctantly sat through a performance of young acapella singers and witnessed a competition of beatboxers, many of whom were my former students. He even met one of them after the show. I just wanted to give him some exposure to music culture, because I feel like I so often choose to avoid situations like this and just stay home all day - where it’s SAFE.  

On the way home, I asked Rowan if he had a good time.  He nodded and said, “I will tell you that I enjoyed it and I will actually tell you something in secret when we get home.”  

When we got home, Rowan told me, “Mommy - I.L.M.”  

I said, “What does that mean?”  

He smiled and said, “Well…’I’ is actually the word.  You know, the word, ‘I.’”  

I said, “Yep.  Got that.  What else?”  

He opened his expressive blue eyes and said, “Well, the next letter is ACTUALLY the first letter of another word.”  

I thought briefly, squinting my brows together in over-emphasized concentration.  “Love?” I asked.  

“YES!!  Very good, Mommy. And the last letter is a first word of another word.”  

“Music!” I exclaimed.  

“YES!!” and with that declaration, he spun and zipped into the front room, beatboxing a tune as he went.

I guess - at least this time - my intuition was right.