As a parent, you want to be able to encourage your child to fly as
far and as freely as their dreams will take them. As the parent of a
child with a disability, you have to dance on the fine line between
support and realism. This sucks big, hairy moose balls.
Like most kids his age, Gabriel adores cars. At least once a month he tells me a story which features him driving a car, well… sometimes he is the car, but the stories are usually the same: He’s running errands. That’s it. Going to the supermarket, the bakery, picking the kids up from school, stuff like that. His big dream is of doing something that many people consider a hassle. I have to gently coat my Mary Poppins voice with sugar and tell him that he’ll never drive a car.
Sometime a debate ensues:
Gabriel: So I can’t drive a car because I’m blind, right?
Me: That’s right.
Gabriel: But I’m also a kid and kids can’t drive. So when I’m a grown-up… ?
Me: No, baby. You’ll still be blind.
Gabriel: So, no driving? Like, you mean never. Never-ever never?
I take a moment to compose myself. It’s the five thousand, six hundred and eighty seventh time I’ve taken this same moment and it blindsides me every time.
It all comes crashing home, the things that my son will never see.
The sky just before it rains, game 7 of the 1962 World Series, my face, Sponge Bob Square Pants, his shoes, his friends, a Christmas tree, pictures of his Grandma in heaven or any of her brilliant artwork, his shoes, rainbows, snowfalls, nudie magazines and those big ass trees in California. He’ll never be a surgeon, a demolition man (not intentionally, anyway), a cop, an interior designer. It never gets any easier. I can’t even write this dry-eyed.
But here’s the thing. He does not know this.
In those five thousand, six hundred and eighty seven moments, I have managed to pull strength from reservoirs I didn’t know I had. I am somehow able to take my feelings out of the equation. I do what I have to do.
Me: No, baby. You will never, ever, never be able to drive a car. BUT – there’s a good chance that someday in your lifetime cars will be able to drive themselves. OR – If you get a good job and make a lot of money when you grow up you can get a car and a driver. OR – You’re a cool dude, I don’t see you hurting for rides.
I’ve found that a 1:1 ratio of brutal honesty and crazy optimism works best. Imagine if he heard me crying. I’d be doing nothing more than staining him with my sorrow. Making him feel that he should be saddened by his life or worse, be pitied.
Parents have to teach our children to make their way in the world, that’s our job. We have to give them the tools that they need and we have to help them find ways around the obstacles that they face in life. We also have to teach them to believe in themselves, to lift themselves up and love themselves as much as we love them. The best way to do this is to tell them as much truth as they can handle in the happiest way possible.
My kid is blind and it sucks big, hairy moose balls. For me. When I’m alone in the dark, by myself, with a fifth of wine and Tim McGraw singing about Timmy Thompson in the background. For him it’s just a little something he has to work around.
Like most kids his age, Gabriel adores cars. At least once a month he tells me a story which features him driving a car, well… sometimes he is the car, but the stories are usually the same: He’s running errands. That’s it. Going to the supermarket, the bakery, picking the kids up from school, stuff like that. His big dream is of doing something that many people consider a hassle. I have to gently coat my Mary Poppins voice with sugar and tell him that he’ll never drive a car.
Sometime a debate ensues:
Gabriel: So I can’t drive a car because I’m blind, right?
Me: That’s right.
Gabriel: But I’m also a kid and kids can’t drive. So when I’m a grown-up… ?
Me: No, baby. You’ll still be blind.
Gabriel: So, no driving? Like, you mean never. Never-ever never?
I take a moment to compose myself. It’s the five thousand, six hundred and eighty seventh time I’ve taken this same moment and it blindsides me every time.
It all comes crashing home, the things that my son will never see.
The sky just before it rains, game 7 of the 1962 World Series, my face, Sponge Bob Square Pants, his shoes, his friends, a Christmas tree, pictures of his Grandma in heaven or any of her brilliant artwork, his shoes, rainbows, snowfalls, nudie magazines and those big ass trees in California. He’ll never be a surgeon, a demolition man (not intentionally, anyway), a cop, an interior designer. It never gets any easier. I can’t even write this dry-eyed.
But here’s the thing. He does not know this.
In those five thousand, six hundred and eighty seven moments, I have managed to pull strength from reservoirs I didn’t know I had. I am somehow able to take my feelings out of the equation. I do what I have to do.
Me: No, baby. You will never, ever, never be able to drive a car. BUT – there’s a good chance that someday in your lifetime cars will be able to drive themselves. OR – If you get a good job and make a lot of money when you grow up you can get a car and a driver. OR – You’re a cool dude, I don’t see you hurting for rides.
I’ve found that a 1:1 ratio of brutal honesty and crazy optimism works best. Imagine if he heard me crying. I’d be doing nothing more than staining him with my sorrow. Making him feel that he should be saddened by his life or worse, be pitied.
Parents have to teach our children to make their way in the world, that’s our job. We have to give them the tools that they need and we have to help them find ways around the obstacles that they face in life. We also have to teach them to believe in themselves, to lift themselves up and love themselves as much as we love them. The best way to do this is to tell them as much truth as they can handle in the happiest way possible.
My kid is blind and it sucks big, hairy moose balls. For me. When I’m alone in the dark, by myself, with a fifth of wine and Tim McGraw singing about Timmy Thompson in the background. For him it’s just a little something he has to work around.
No comments:
Post a Comment