Growing up, I probably was the center of attention until my sibling was born. That gave me about 5 years to bask in the glow of being one grandma's first grandchild.. and the others first by her favorite (if not most headache-inducing) son. After that, other grandkids were being born, and I wasn't so cute anymore. That was a tough pill to swallow, but eventually I found that I preferred being by myself anyway. I buried my nose in a book, sat in the middle of the street and surrounded myself with neighborhood cats (seriously), and enjoyed the peace and quiet.
Naturally, I did not like being put on a stage. Figuratively or literally. Yet I was forced to be a cheerleader when it was absolutely the last thing I wanted to do on earth. I was forced to dance in multiple church functions. I was sometimes singled out by people at times when I would rather just curl up and die. Not that I prefer outright rejection by society, but being put on the spot or sticking out like a sore thumb is not my idea of a fun time.
So of course, this means that I have a son with Autism, ADHD, ODD.. who, in moments of anger and frustration, seems to do just about everything possible to get himself noticed. As I am his mother, this means people can't help but notice me as well. Today at soccer practice, I had the joy (HA) of having the attention focused on us.
Jack is supposed to have soccer from 5:15-6pm. Today was the last day of the season, and though we all knew that the coach would not be there, the assistant would be. However, the assistant did not have a key to open the place up, so we all literally stood around outside for about 50 minutes. At this point, the later class was starting to show up for their final session. These would be real little kids. Jack was fine with all of this- he was not willing to leave, and I guess I can sympathize. About 6:35 or so, I texted my husband to let him know that everything was going well, despite the much larger than normal group of kids. Jack was being calm enough around them that I was actually proud of how he was doing. I put my phone down after sending the text, and notice Jack walking around with an upset look on his face, and probably tears. I tracked him around the indoor field, watching him intently. He was shadowing the assistant coach, telling him something. The guy patted him on the back, and was probably trying to encourage him. Eventually, I could see that the guy was probably getting frustrated and didn't know what to do. Jack said something to another kid, walked over to the back wall to wallow in tears, and then headed for the door. This is when I got up with his water bottle to see if I could give him a pep talk, since he had very little time left on the clock and I didn't want him to waste it being upset.
This was the point when Jack decided to loudly share how the other kids were cheating (by this, I'm sure he meant the little kids). I asked him quietly to lower his voice, and reminded him that these were young kids who probably didn't know better, and weren't as good at playing Sharks and Minnows as he was. This, of course, meant nothing to him. It all spiraled downhill from there, and ended up with me holding him in place so that he wouldn't get obnoxious or get in somebody's way - since at this point, class was coming to an end and people were starting to leave. So basically we're standing there, me hanging onto Jack despite him yelling at me to let go of him, right in the up-close proximity of everyone needing to exit.
He had some crude language for me in the car, but forgetting that utter ridiculousness for a moment, it hit me that I need to start up with the weights again. My son is getting too big and strong to control in any way. And why should I need to physically hold my child? Well, this is the same kid who thinks nothing of running out of the school when he doesn't like what you say to him (like he did just before I started homeschooling him). He will run off rather than get into a car when you ask him to, when he is that upset. (Remember, the principal had to physically carry him out of the school only a year and a half ago). No, I should not have to do something like that. It's completely insane that my kid can be that out of control with his own body. Yet he is. I have to remind myself sometimes that this isn't my doing. This is his brain functioning in a way that makes little sense. He can't seem to help it any more than I can help feeling like I want to melt into the floor when this stuff happens. I tried to think just about getting out of the soccer complex, and not worry about anyone else. I tried to smile to the one mom I actually got the chance to chat with on two occasions, but pretty much nobody wanted to make eye contact. Oh well. I'll never see these people again. Thank goodness!
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