My Creative Son

Today, I'm at the library with my number one son. On the way over he asked, "Can we have our ten minutes now?"
This question is usually followed by his asking, "What do you want to talk about?"
To which I reply, "I don't know, it's your dime."
Once we get this formulaic ritual out of the way, he begins talking about almost anything.

Today he said, "I think I get my writing skills from you. I'm a good writer, when I want to write. Sometimes I don't. At school, they mess up my creativity by making me stick to a plot."
To this I reply, "I know what you mean."
He then asked, Do you ever mistake a cat for a fox? I really want to see another fox so sometimes, when I'm looking, I think a cat is a fox for a second. It's not but I keep looking."

Sticking to a plot, an idea, a point isn't always an easy thing, especially when your mind floats from one topic to the next. My number one son, is one of a kind. Sticking to a plot or idea is hard for him unless it's important to him. For something important he is very focused. This is great if we both agree on what's important but we often see importance very differently.

Recently, he was having a lot of trouble at school. He'd been assigned several new assistants who just didn't mesh with his style. When I'd ask him what was wrong, he said, "They just don't respect me. They treat me like a special kid."
How do I tell him that he is a special kid but that being a special kid can't be an excuse? It seems a rather subtle distinction. It's not.

Number one son is not a typical functioning kid. He never has been. While only hours old, I knew that he was not like most other babies. When he looked at me, I could see it in his eyes. He'd be keenly aware of his surroundings for a while (about 20 minutes). After taking everything in, he would turn his gaze inward and shut down. The world was often too much for him. The noise, the sights, the smells were overwhelming.

He didn't talk until he was well past his 2nd birthday. I began to wonder if something was wrong with his hearing but I knew there wasn't. I wanted some explanation as to why he had yet to speak. When he did start talking, it was in full sentences. I think the first thing he ever said was, "Mom, when are we going to eat?" He'd ask that same question over and over, following me around the house from room to room. Without realizing it, I'd drift from room to room hoping to shake him. When he was three, I had to ask the pediatrician if his behavior was normal. The pediatrician seemed to have been waiting for my question. Soon we were meeting with a panel of experts who tested my son. The panel decided to go with Aspergers as a diagnosis. It opened more doors. A lot of his behavior's fit. A lot did not. He really was too unique to be so easily defined.

He still is impossible to define. He has some social blind spots. He has less emotional armor than many kids. According to the school, Asperger's no longer qualifies him to receive special ed. He is now granted special ed due to a diagnosis of bipolar disorder.

Labels can be hard to carry. I've tried to explain to him that some things will always be hard for him but that he has talents and gifts that are his alone. The world needs people like him, who think outside the box. Sometime, the "inside-the-box thinkers" need a fresh perspective. Most importantly, I've tried to teach him that while his diagnosis/label helps define him in some ways, it is not an excuse and it's not who he is. It's not a free pass to act less than honorably.

My clever-as-a-fox son sometimes tries to use his "specialness" as an excuse. Last time he was tested by the school psychologist, his IQ was a 140. I had to wonder if it might have been higher if his attention didn't wander so easily. He often matches his wits and cunning with those who are much less wily. When these are authority figures, it doesn't always go well for him. His life isn't easy.

I'm not as smart as he is but I understand him. We seem to have a supernatural connection. If I awake during the night unable to sleep, within minutes, he awakens and finds me. The other night we both had a nightmare at the same time.
Sometimes he says out loud what I've been thinking.

As I sit and write these words, I try to decide what to write next. Do I express my concern for this child who may be too attached to his mother to really connect with kids his own age? How do I help him fly on his own without leaving him feeling abandoned? My mind drifts back to our Just10 minutes this morning. Maybe I'm trying to force a plot upon his story. Maybe it is I who needs to learn to be more of a flexible thinker.