Angels and Freaks

Yesterday I was chatting with an aquaintance at church. He was asking me about Liam and autism in general; he confessed to knowing very little about the disorder, so I gave him the basic rundown. This gentleman doesn't seem overly outgoing or given to excessive praise, but he said the following to me: "I watch you with Liam and I think you are an angel." I get variations on this theme a lot. People will say, "You are so good with him" or some such accolade. It makes me uncomfortable every time. It's not because I can't take a compliment; I thrive on praise and savor it like stolen candy. I still carry around a letter my mentor wrote to me in grad school 12 years ago. I check my ratings on ratemyprofessors.com way more often than is professionally necessary. I can absolutely take a compliment. I am uncomfortable about this particular compliment because it's undeserved and saying so would make me sound. . . like I can't take a compliment.



Let me try to discern where this praise comes from. I'm going to put myself in the position I was in before I had Liam--before I was "in the life". You see a mother with a disabled child. The child is disruptive, non-compliant and difficult--generally causing a scene. The mother is loving and patient. You think to yourself: how does she do it? I could never do it and ultimately, Thank God I don't have to do it.



Here's what you don't see: the dozens of hours of behavior modification training the mother has gone through, the stacks of books she has read about her child's disability, the hundreds of hours spent in meetings with therapists, doctors, teachers and other professionals. You definitely don't see her lose her shit and scream at her child after a particularly horrific episode, "You wonder why you don't have any friends? It's because you act like a freak, that's why!" You don't see inside the mother's heart in some dark, dark hour when she wonders if there will come a time when she can no longer care for this child in her home. You think these mothers are angels or saints. I thought that too. You think they were chosen because they could handle it. The truth is that sometimes they can't handle it. But that usually happens when you're not looking.



Another mom said to me once, "I watch you with Liam and you're just so patient with him. I know I could never do that!" This insight was particularly stinging. It was clear that she pitied me. She must imagine that parenting Liam is some thankless job I'm stuck with for the rest of my life. She hasn't known the joy, the delight and the miracle that Liam can be. I don't think she'd understand me if I tried to describe those moments. Instead, I answered, "Yes, you could do it. If it was your child, you wouldn't have a choice."