Parenting

Imperfect perfection

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I was raised in a house full of introverts with the exception of Luke. At one time that probably made Matt’s bizarre behavior all the more shocking. Anything could set Matt off so we had to make sure that anything didn’t happen. We had to tiptoe around the house in a whisper, no loud music and absolutely no anger was allowed. Anger was wrong. But that didn’t seem to stop my parents from arguing when they thought we were asleep at night or before we woke up in the morning. Matt was the burner on high underneath my pot of water. Just when the water was rolling and coming to a full raging boil, the lid was forced on. Sometimes a little steam would escape, as from a tea kettle, but never before a full roaring scream could be issued. The hot water stayed trapped inside making my blood boil. It was a long time before I learned that feeling angry was ok. When I finally opened that spout, I boiled over with anger for a long time. 

I also had to be perfect. Completely, inhumanly perfect. When Matt hit me I was not supposed to strike back or feel anger. I was lucky to be normal. Lucky! I got in big trouble when I struck back, but Matt was never once told that what he was doing was wrong whether he could control it or not. When my grades dropped in grade school, my dolls were taken away for a semester until I was perfect again. I couldn’t play piccolo in middle school because it was so high pitched that people could hear if I made a mistake. The same thing with singing. But this perfection was not just imposed on me. Mark had to be perfect and so did my mom herself. We all knew that my dad, Matt, and Luke were flawed. 

For example, Mark put his hand on his girlfriend’s knee and got in trouble for that. Luke stayed out all night with his girlfriend and never even bothered to call. He did not get in trouble. I asked my mom about this unfairness and she said she expected more from Mark. I became judge over Mark and Luke. Most of the time I sided with Mark which caused fighting with Luke. Luke and I got in a big fight which wasn’t allowed. My mom tried to stop us. I retorted with, “Why should I stop fighting with Luke when you and dad fight all the time?” But most of the time our house was filled with silent rage and imperfect strivings toward perfection. 

The cure for autism, part 8

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Biofeedback.  Matt was obsessed with little girls. He could hear the high pitched voices of their teasing and laughter on the grade school playground. Their mockery and teasing played like a recording over and over in his head for over a decade. He also heard voices in his head to hurt little girls. Since I was the only little girl around I was most often the target of his attacks. He pulled my hair, scratched up my arms, and swung at me with a closed fist to the upper arm sometimes on a daily basis. My mantra while enduring this was that every bruise or scar was going to make me stronger. Believe me, it has made me a stronger person mentally and physically as a marathon trainee. 

Eventually I did what most little girls do, I grew up. I became my brother’s caregiver. Parents, a strong word of advice, this is a bad idea! It is also a very bad idea to have your children’s friends be caregivers too. Another blog, another blog. I grew up but Matt didn’t. He was still fixated on hurting little girls. Mom found a new doctor who was into biofeedback. It involved hooking Matt up to a small machine to monitor when Matt was feeling anxiety. Using biological cues, he was suppose to be able to stop himself before hurting someone. So in the summer I would trudge around the local parks that were full of laughing and squealing little girls so we could hook Matt up to this equipment. I know this was supposed to be a good thing, but it felt so terribly wrong. 

Still no cure. 

Up north, part 2

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The fortune cookie luck that is ordained for me has apparently not kicked in yet. But I did survive the weekend with the whole extended family and the weather was great. If I do get smitten with good luck maybe I would donate a little of it to my mom. She just missed getting hit by a tornado on her trip back home. Maybe she was lucky that she missed the storm, but she was really pushing her luck.  

I was thinking a lot this weekend about coping mechanisms and how they change over time. My brother Mark seemed to cope with being around the family by drinking. I woke up early on Saturday morning and came out to sit by the fire at 6:30 AM. Mark was on his second beer by then which concerned me.     Other than that, he seems happy. He recently got engaged and is planning a fall wedding. His fiancé is good for him, I hope that he can bring out the best in her as well. I just worry about them. Mark is so much like my dad that I think being a husband and father will be challenging. It can be challenging for the most patient people in the world. I hope and pray that if there is any genetic factor involved in autism that any future children will not be effected by it. 

Luke has two little girls ages 5 and 7. I watched them play in the water, remembering when I was right between their age and watching my younger brothers in the water. It really gives me perspective on how young I was when given great responsibility. Luke worries that his kids hate him because he is a perfectionist who demands perfection. Luke is a great dad. I sometimes feel like my kids hate me and I don’t demand perfection. I don’t demand much of anything. I want them to have something that I didn’t have, a childhood. 

I felt like I could really relate with Luke. We are so much alike as adults even though we coped with life in totally different ways in our youth. The pendulum took us from our extremes to a common middle. He is no longer the party animal. He is serious and thoughtful. I came out of my shell. I no longer feel a lot of anxiety about spending time with the extended family. I am hoping that we can finally forge a relationship.