Reply hazy. Try again.

Sometimes out of curiosity I check to see what Google searches have brought people here. Sometimes they're odd: "Superman potty seat" (um, that is one distinctly unpleasant image), sometimes they're right on target: "fire drill social stories" (Step right up. You've come to the right place) and sometimes they're poignant: "PDD + parents overwhelm," "autism prognosis". (Can I get you a drink?)

Google reminds me of the famous Magic 8 Ball of my childhood. I'd ask it a question, usually about some wispy-haired boy I was obsessed with. "Does Brian like me? Does he like me like me?" And I'd get my answer:

"Outlook not so good."

And so like me, parents continue to be drawn as if hypnotized to the spare white search box. It's usually the same question, phrased in a million variations: will my child be okay? And sometimes, well, here you are. Thanks so much for coming.

It's an up and down life here on the spectrum. We go from elation at news that our kids started a game with other kids at school, to worry that they're not getting enough support, to abject terror when we consider the gaps in their understanding.

I thought about this a lot tonight as I read first Jordan's, then Kristen's beautiful posts about talking to their kids about September 11. I thought about the conversations that I want (and probably, when it comes down to it, won't really want) to have with my son one day: about how his father and I met, and why I loved him at first sight, about sex and politics and how it felt to see my mother slip away from me too soon. About why people die, and where they go after death. About God and science and how people's brains sometimes work differently. Why that's a gift, and why it's sometimes impossibly hard. And how it can be that people feel the need to hurt themselves and others to make a point.

It's the great paradox of parenthood, isn't it: wanting to have the hard conversations, because the hard conversations bring new understanding and intimacy and maturity. Because they are part of the deal when you become a parent. Hard as it is, I want that for my son. I want that for us.

And so tonight I have this impulse to ask the 8-Ball--with the same sweaty, childish faith I had so many years ago--will it happen? Will we have those talks? And in my mind's eye I imagine the answer bobbing up from the murky blue liquid:

Reply hazy. Try again.

Comments

[kristen]

Susan, this is a beautiful post. And yes, don't we all wonder about these things as our kids get older and start to question more, and our world becomes more complex. There is no reason to set limits on what any of our kids can know or understand, we simply stand by, waiting for the moment when they are poised to ask--either with eyes that search our faces for answers, or the very words themselves.

[Niksmom]

Another exquisite, spot-on post, my friend. And, yeah, what Kristen said...she's way more eloquent than I could possibly be today. xo

[Special Needs Mama]

Your voice is so mesmerizing I sometimes forget to remember the beauty of your content too. Sorry, that's the writing teacher in me. At any rate, you offer the best of both worlds--great writing and even better subject. Thank you for this.

[drama mama]

Ah. Gorgeous post.

You know, I will lose my mind is I don't absolutely believe that the answer will be YES someday. Because I can't operate in grey area (oy - some autism parent I am).

I think that we can have that *reply hazy* feeling, but *proceed* as if answer is *yes*...otherwise, we do a great disservice to the potential of our children.

[Chris]

I believe a lot of parents (sadly, I fear, not most) imagine and look forward to having the difficult conversations with their children, hoping they will strike just the right balance of information, wisdom, and relevance that will bring the understanding and closeness you describe.

I suspect few (if any) parents get the actual conversations right. The mind of a silent, sulking twelve-year-old can seem as inscrutable as an ASD child.

The fantasy for parents of kids on the spectrum of course, is that we have will have had so many thousands more TINY difficult conversations with our children that we will have had more practice than parents of typical kids by the time we get to the BIG difficult talks.

But of course not everything gets easier with repetition.

Case in point: the Magic 8 Ball.

[Kia (good enough mama)]

Sigh. My 8 ball has always been hazy and ambiguous. I think it must be a male. Hahaha.

Seriously though, I hope you get to have all of those uncomfortable talks with your boy, and more! :)