Bathed in the Light
My wife and the little Bear returned this past Tuesday from an appointment with a Behavioral Pediatrician with a disappointing diagnosis. I think I have mentioned that we have recognized that the Bear has learning difficulties. Or at least some sort of disability that prevents him from testing on par with other kids his age. Even though he is about to turn 5, he's more at home with 2 or 3 year olds. After the morning's appointment time the doctor assessed "Pervasive Undiagnosed Developmental Delay" (PDD). Basically, we can see it, but we don't know what it is.
Thanks. We could have told you that much.
But I guess now with this initial assessment we have a piece of paper that we can take to the next step, a local psychologist, and begin a more thorough assessment. Looking it up on the Internet, PDD is a very contentious term. Some say it's too overly broad and doesn't serve any constructive purpose. It points to the autism spectrum, hinging on the fact that the definitely has communication and interaction issues, but isn't specific enough to point to where the wiring is crossed and so how to best guide him towards a more mainstream lifestyle. So now we get on with the waiting for whatever comes next.
When I came home late, the kids had already been tucked in. I poked my head into they boy's dark room to check on them. Lemurs sleepy little voice said, "Hi Daddy." I came in and found him backwards on his bed with his head at the footboard. I asked him why he was all turned around? "To look at the moon," he said. Then I remembered, when the moon is big and full and rising at his bedtime, he likes to look out his back bedroom window while he goes to sleep and watch it rise. I saw that he had pulled back his curtain so he could see it all the way to the top of the window. Outside the world was cold and still, bathed in blue light even though there was no snow.
I lay down beside him, and without shifting his gaze he reached back and pulled my arm around him like an extra blanket and snuggled into me. Both his hands and his breath were so soft, and the two of us just lay there quietly watching the slow smooth ascension like it hadn't happened only a month ago and like it wouldn't happen ever again.
Earlier that day I had learned that the Lemur was back in trouble at school. He had kicked a kid at recess. He had been doing so good this year, but just that quickly we had news that felt too familiar. It made me a little sad.
Sad that he had done it. I don't like the thought of my kids hurting other kids. But sad also because I could picture in my mind the parents of the wounded kid being upset at their child having to be in class with the 'type' of kid who 'didn't know right from wrong'. The 'type of kid' who didn't know that kicking and any other physical acting out was just plain bad. Thinking of him, perhaps, as a bad kid. Being angry at him, and at us, his parents. Thinking thoughts like, "if they had just raised him better".
And why not. It's only natural. I probably would have if it was my child that had been bullied. AS a parent, you rush to protect. But we hadn't raised him differently. I struggle to explain why he is so different from what came before. I don't compare, but I don't want him to have these problems either. Lemur has an appointment with this doctor later in the month. I hope this time the doctor has more insight. Tell us what's going on. Tell us how to help. Help us. I can't help but feel like there's more at risk here.
Laying there next to him, looking out the window with him as his eyes get heavy, he didn't feel like the kid who kicked on the playground. He was a poet. He was gentle. He was needy. He was beautiful. I wanted those parents of that other child to see him now. I wanted to be sure that they understood that we were sorry for the kick and sad, but that this little boy, like all people, are complex and so precious. That everyone deserves to be painted in all their attributes and understood. And loved.
We have a whole assortment in our progeny parcel. The beautiful young artistic academic, the well liked athletic outdoors man, the hard-to-fit-in kid with misunderstood creative intelligence, and now, with the Bear, it looks like we have our little outsider who will always struggle just to keep up. Yet even as I type them I realize these labels are far too limiting. They are all this and so much more. More good, and having more struggles that could be gathered at a casual glance.
But when the people that love them look at them, they all sparkle in the moon light.
Thanks. We could have told you that much.
But I guess now with this initial assessment we have a piece of paper that we can take to the next step, a local psychologist, and begin a more thorough assessment. Looking it up on the Internet, PDD is a very contentious term. Some say it's too overly broad and doesn't serve any constructive purpose. It points to the autism spectrum, hinging on the fact that the definitely has communication and interaction issues, but isn't specific enough to point to where the wiring is crossed and so how to best guide him towards a more mainstream lifestyle. So now we get on with the waiting for whatever comes next.
When I came home late, the kids had already been tucked in. I poked my head into they boy's dark room to check on them. Lemurs sleepy little voice said, "Hi Daddy." I came in and found him backwards on his bed with his head at the footboard. I asked him why he was all turned around? "To look at the moon," he said. Then I remembered, when the moon is big and full and rising at his bedtime, he likes to look out his back bedroom window while he goes to sleep and watch it rise. I saw that he had pulled back his curtain so he could see it all the way to the top of the window. Outside the world was cold and still, bathed in blue light even though there was no snow.
I lay down beside him, and without shifting his gaze he reached back and pulled my arm around him like an extra blanket and snuggled into me. Both his hands and his breath were so soft, and the two of us just lay there quietly watching the slow smooth ascension like it hadn't happened only a month ago and like it wouldn't happen ever again.
Earlier that day I had learned that the Lemur was back in trouble at school. He had kicked a kid at recess. He had been doing so good this year, but just that quickly we had news that felt too familiar. It made me a little sad.
Sad that he had done it. I don't like the thought of my kids hurting other kids. But sad also because I could picture in my mind the parents of the wounded kid being upset at their child having to be in class with the 'type' of kid who 'didn't know right from wrong'. The 'type of kid' who didn't know that kicking and any other physical acting out was just plain bad. Thinking of him, perhaps, as a bad kid. Being angry at him, and at us, his parents. Thinking thoughts like, "if they had just raised him better".
And why not. It's only natural. I probably would have if it was my child that had been bullied. AS a parent, you rush to protect. But we hadn't raised him differently. I struggle to explain why he is so different from what came before. I don't compare, but I don't want him to have these problems either. Lemur has an appointment with this doctor later in the month. I hope this time the doctor has more insight. Tell us what's going on. Tell us how to help. Help us. I can't help but feel like there's more at risk here.
Laying there next to him, looking out the window with him as his eyes get heavy, he didn't feel like the kid who kicked on the playground. He was a poet. He was gentle. He was needy. He was beautiful. I wanted those parents of that other child to see him now. I wanted to be sure that they understood that we were sorry for the kick and sad, but that this little boy, like all people, are complex and so precious. That everyone deserves to be painted in all their attributes and understood. And loved.
We have a whole assortment in our progeny parcel. The beautiful young artistic academic, the well liked athletic outdoors man, the hard-to-fit-in kid with misunderstood creative intelligence, and now, with the Bear, it looks like we have our little outsider who will always struggle just to keep up. Yet even as I type them I realize these labels are far too limiting. They are all this and so much more. More good, and having more struggles that could be gathered at a casual glance.
But when the people that love them look at them, they all sparkle in the moon light.
posted by Will at 2:26 PM
3 Comments:
Shame you didn't get an 'NOS' to go with it! That really sends you off into the deep end. Buzzing you energy zaps.
cheers
Stop making me cry, wouldja? Boy, this really tugged at me...because I so often feel like Lemur...like I just wanna kick somebody...and it gets worse (always) around the time of a full moon. (I know that sounds silly and cliched...but my family's in the bail business and they've always said that crime spikes around a full moon.) We ARE complicated creatures, all of us, and sometimes it's hard to love the kicking part of ourselves. It's so achingly beautiful to read that you love ALL the parts of him. I know from experience that one can be a poet one second and without warning, a kicker the next. I just love the image of him lying there watching the moon...I used to do that all the time in Portland...my bedroom there was sheltered and private...and I could sleep with the curtains open and watch the moon rise next to a huge pine tree...and let it bathe me in its light. Beautiful, beautiful post.
. . . what crossed my mind as i read this is how in spite of the incredible sameness in all human, in all animals, how different we all are . . . our brains are wired in such individual way, and how we live in a culture of sameness, that values fast and more and highest and newest and most symmetrical and relentlessly confident . . . and most of us just aren't built that way, and of course, those of us that don't fit the cultural ideal are supposedly On The Outside . . . but it isn't true . . . we're lucky that we won't get totally lost in the tide of our times . . . we're just holding the rest of experiience in our hearts and minds . . . and watching the moon . . . :) The Bear is beautiful, as aare you, and the rest of your lovely brood . . . :)
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