he wants. He wants to tell me the same joke heâs been telling me ever since we started his homework a half hour ago. He wants me to play straight man, yet again: Abbott to his Costello. I also know I am not supposed to allow myself to be distracted again. Ignore bad behaviour, sweetheart, reinforce good behaviour. Still, thereâs something about this request that sounds reasonable, disarming even, and causes a tiny flutter of happy-go-lucky obliviousness in my chest. This time, I canât help thinking, maybe heâs going to initiate a conversation. Maybe, he wants to tell me a story, tell me what happened in school today or try to explain his own tangled emotions. Something I can make sense of. Something we can genuinely discuss. This also takes me back to his baby days. To my memories of a time that was pure anticipation. When I couldnât wait to see what he might say or do next, when there were so many other waysâother than autism, I meanâto interpret his words and actions.
âKnock-knock ...â he says. Iâve been suckered again.
âNo more, Jonah. This is homework time. You know what you have to do.â
All parents fight with their kids over homework. Iâm aware of this, but the fight doesnât inevitably turn into so much more, doesnât escalate out of all proportion, so instead of looking at a crabby, procrastinating child you find yourself staring down everything he might have been, everything he might not be. The future is a thing of the past. It should be enough to say that you are a parent and like every other parent you get tired and fed up. You worry. You lose your temper. Everyone has something to cope with and this is what you have. So, go ahead, cope.
âThink before you complain,â Joy Berry writes. âComplain only if complaining will help to change something that needs to be changed. If things cannot be changed accept them the way they are ...â
âDaddy, knock-knock ...â
Stay calm, now. Be patient. Cynthiaâs instruction is so clearly audible in my head, I turn to the front door to see if sheâs arrived home and Iâve failed to notice. Or if maybe Iâve read this plain-spoken directive in an advanced reviewerâs copy of Berryâs yet-to-be-published Letâs Talk About Impatience. Or Letâs Talk About Pessimism. Or maybe Letâs Talk About Fucking Up. In any case, itâs too late for advice now.
âJonah, for Godâs sake just read the damn book! This is for five-year-olds. Youâre not trying. Damn it, why do you have to be ... like ... like this?â
Tears accumulate in Jonahâs eyes, and it will take all the patience and hopefulness I can call on to get him back on track. While he bravely tries not to cry, I know what I should do: I should leave the room. Make yourself scarce, sweetheart, donât make matters worse. Instead, all I can think is: Itâs barely October and this is what we have in store for us â Read and Non-respond. For the next nine months.
THE MORE I THINK ABOUT working with Jonah on the sequel to Bad Animals the more sense it makes, which is saying something around here, where making sense of things can be a full-time job. But writing has become one of the ways Jonah copes with stress. Some evenings, after heâs fallen asleep, I find notes scattered throughout the house. Scraps of paper turn up everywhere: in his books, in the bathroom cabinet, in our bed, once even in the refrigerator. They arenât exactly stories; more like memos, negotiations, pleas, clues. Just this opening phrase, for example: âIâm so angry that________â You fill in the blank.
Sometimes, the message is easy to decipher, as it is in Bad Animals. Other times, it can take a while to figure out what the accumulation of negatives adds up to: âI donât think I wonât go to school no more. I donât think school will be no fun.â Do the
âKnock-knock ...â he says. Iâve been suckered again.
âNo more, Jonah. This is homework time. You know what you have to do.â
All parents fight with their kids over homework. Iâm aware of this, but the fight doesnât inevitably turn into so much more, doesnât escalate out of all proportion, so instead of looking at a crabby, procrastinating child you find yourself staring down everything he might have been, everything he might not be. The future is a thing of the past. It should be enough to say that you are a parent and like every other parent you get tired and fed up. You worry. You lose your temper. Everyone has something to cope with and this is what you have. So, go ahead, cope.
âThink before you complain,â Joy Berry writes. âComplain only if complaining will help to change something that needs to be changed. If things cannot be changed accept them the way they are ...â
âDaddy, knock-knock ...â
Stay calm, now. Be patient. Cynthiaâs instruction is so clearly audible in my head, I turn to the front door to see if sheâs arrived home and Iâve failed to notice. Or if maybe Iâve read this plain-spoken directive in an advanced reviewerâs copy of Berryâs yet-to-be-published Letâs Talk About Impatience. Or Letâs Talk About Pessimism. Or maybe Letâs Talk About Fucking Up. In any case, itâs too late for advice now.
âJonah, for Godâs sake just read the damn book! This is for five-year-olds. Youâre not trying. Damn it, why do you have to be ... like ... like this?â
Tears accumulate in Jonahâs eyes, and it will take all the patience and hopefulness I can call on to get him back on track. While he bravely tries not to cry, I know what I should do: I should leave the room. Make yourself scarce, sweetheart, donât make matters worse. Instead, all I can think is: Itâs barely October and this is what we have in store for us â Read and Non-respond. For the next nine months.
THE MORE I THINK ABOUT working with Jonah on the sequel to Bad Animals the more sense it makes, which is saying something around here, where making sense of things can be a full-time job. But writing has become one of the ways Jonah copes with stress. Some evenings, after heâs fallen asleep, I find notes scattered throughout the house. Scraps of paper turn up everywhere: in his books, in the bathroom cabinet, in our bed, once even in the refrigerator. They arenât exactly stories; more like memos, negotiations, pleas, clues. Just this opening phrase, for example: âIâm so angry that________â You fill in the blank.
Sometimes, the message is easy to decipher, as it is in Bad Animals. Other times, it can take a while to figure out what the accumulation of negatives adds up to: âI donât think I wonât go to school no more. I donât think school will be no fun.â Do the
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