love
Overheard in the Wolfe House #53
[As Sam douses the Christmas roast pork with winter fruits and a port wine reduction on his plate with ketchup]
Michael: Man, Mom, you could cut this roast with a butter knife.
Peggy [blinking back tears]: That’s something your dad would have said.
Merry TubaChristmas!
I’m looking at my clock and realizing there’s still time to head to Dallas for this wonderful tradition invented by tuba players — the only musicians who really know how to have fun.
Always
Mark’s can-fix-it talent lives on in Sam, who just repaired the computer printer. Mark’s “visualize anything” lives on in Paige, who just caught a connecting flight in Kansas City in her stocking feet. Mark’s broad shoulders live on in Michael, who just split the Christmas errand frenzy with me today. Mark’s heart lives in mine, forever.
Angel Voices
When I see my children, all grown or nearly grown, I can scarcely remember them as the babies they were. But every once in a while, I get a rocket shot back, like I did tonight.
Sam was remembering his first experiences with computers as being on video games when he was in elementary school. I reminded him that his very first experience with html was as a three-year-old playing “Cosmic Osmo” on the computer.
As the memory re-lit in him, his face was almost as if he were a toddler again. And back I went.
Timeless.
Christmas is nearly here.
Emotional IQ
Sam and I had the most amazing exchange this morning, one that belongs in some kind of magazine about how mature people should deal with powerful emotions.
First, you’ve got to set a stage for two people completely, utterly and totally misunderstanding each other. We’d both just gotten up — and neither of us are morning people. Plus, I had had only a sip or two of the morning joe, so that’s two strikes against me.
Sam was opening a vitamin jar to get a tablet out and suddenly it just flew from his hand and rolled on the floor. I didn’t see any of this. I just heard him yell “OH!” so loud adrenaline rushed to my nerve endings, so full and fast that it hurt my fingertips.
I thought my reaction was amazingly calm, considering. I turned around, puzzled that nothing seemed to be wrong, and said, “Don’t yell so loud in the house.”
That upset Sam terribly. He left the room.
A few minutes later, he told me that my comment made him feel like a little kid again and brought back bad childhood memories. That brought tears to my eyes. I tried to apologize for the comment, but Sam said we shouldn’t talk about it anymore, since it was about to make me cry.
I told him no, please, I welcomed the chance to say I’m sorry not only for hurting his feelings today, but also for any bad childhood memories and we could talk a little more if he wanted.
Sam said he remembered misbehaving, and it was in the past and it could stay in the past. I told him I thought that was very mature.
Then I said, you know, I didn’t know why you yelled so loud. I thought I needed to call 911 or something. He explained what happened, I told him I understood now why he yelled, and then he said he understood why I felt like I needed to say something about the yelling.
What Sam brought to the conversation that was so amazing was believing me when I said I loved him and never wanted to hurt him. That was part of my apology. I told him that it’s important to me to stick up for myself, and I’ve noticed that when someone sticks up for themselves, it can be hard to do without hurting the other person sometimes.
The whole conversation took all of 10 minutes and brought me such a sense of wonderment. I’m still trying to figure out where this supposed lack of social understanding comes from in people with autism. Sam is so clear-eyed and clear-headed. His father and I could not have had such a conversation early in our marriage. Even later in our marriage, it would take two hours to wade through all the emotional thicket to get to the same place.
I think it’s the opposite. I think the rest of us lack emotional intelligence. We play stupid mental games with each other, and we don’t trust each other.
When Sam doesn’t trust someone, he just doesn’t deal with them at all. How smart is that?
Any girl would be lucky to have him.
An old family recipe
This week the Wolfe house is busy with the making of play-dough on the stove top. The DFW team for Texas Parent-to-Parent will have a booth at the Autism Speaks Walk this Saturday at the Ballpark in Arlington and we plan on giving the kids at the event a super experience for their senses.
I’ve dusted off an old family recipe that was a big hit with Sam when he was little. He was consumed with making sense of the world through his challenged senses. We made this dough, and then added a secret ingredient — a package of unsweetened Kool-Aid to match the color with a flavor “scent.” He loved it.
To wit, put these ingredients in a large saucepan and heat over very low heat, stirring constantly, until it’s thick:
1 cup flour
1/4 cup salt
2 tablespoons cream of tartar
1 cup water
1 tablespoon oil.
Remove from the heat and as soon as you can work the dough with your hands, make a well in the middle and add 1/2 teaspoon of food coloring to match the Kool-Aid flavor. For example — purple and grape; green and lime; red and strawberry; yellow and lemon; and, of course, orange orange and blue blueberry.
The dough keeps for a few days in a rubber keeper or airtight bag. Plus, if your little one takes a bite, you don’t have to worry about any mystery ingredients.
The “Empathy Deficit” fallacy
At the risk of falling to the theory of self-reference, I’ve always been skeptical that people with autism lack empathy. I’ve just never seen that deficit in Sam, nor in any other people with autism or Asperger’s that I’ve met.
I got to thinking about that after reading this piece in the Boston Globe, which goes to some length to describe how our kids apparently are lacking it.
Empathy, by definition, means some kind of emotional response to the pain or suffering of another. Babies and children don’t always demonstrate their empathy the way adults do — that’s part of our socialization — but they feel it just the same.
My guess is that some of us not on the spectrum look for empathy to be demonstrated in a tangible way. Then when we don’t see it, we say “a-ha, that person with autism lacks empathy.”
The Boston Globe article even spelled that out with a list of tasks an empathetic person is more likely to do. Most of them, I could imagine Sam doing, but not always for purely empathetic reasons.
For example, “return incorrect change to a cashier” could also be following the rules and keeping things correct.
The next two, “let someone else ahead of them in line” and “carry a stranger’s belongings” requires a person to break a social rule about getting into another person’s personal space. Sam does this all the time at Albertsons because he is a courtesy clerk and it’s expected of him. I’ve seen it generalize.
“Give money to a homeless person,” “volunteer,” “donate to a charity,” check, check and check. In fact, we talk about picking our charitable causes with purpose.
“Look after a friend’s pet or plant,” been there, done that.
“Live on a vegetarian die.” Sorry, we’re in Texas and he’s meat-eater. But butchering day comes with much reverence. We all know where our food comes from.
Sometimes I think we overreact to perceived deficits.
Sam doesn’t hug me. I don’t ask for it. Here’s why. The few times we do hug, there is so much human connection, I can almost feel the nuclear fission begin. Better not to disturb the universe like that.
I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea …
.. I follow your soul as it leads.
Mark Wolfe, Sept. 17, 1956 … miss you baby.