Have you ever been ANGRY?
Have you ever been upset?
If you answered yes, this is the blog post you don’t want to miss!
I have talked about some of my past with you. I have talked a little bit about what its like to become an autism step dad. I want to tell my story. I want you, the reader, to see through my eyes, to feel what I feel and to know what I know. BUT… that’s not exactly possible, is it?
I got a call from my brother shortly after my last post about our father locking me in the basement as his form of “rehabilitation”. I don’t remember my brothers exact words but it was something like this: “So, I wasn’t the only one to survive those childhood traumas?” This got me thinking this morning about how everyone has a time of trauma in life, some are more severe than others and some are so severe we can never actually get past them, but everyone has a story to tell.
As I grew up, my father was a major source of constant childhood trauma, the beatings, the verbal abuse, the work-load… it was good and bad growing up. I wanted a “normal life”, but what is normal anyway? Normal is what we see as common. Normal is what we see on the other side of the fence… Normal is fantasy… or is it? Is it really fantasy?
Organized hoarding, that’s how it started.
Before we continue, I want to clear the air, set the stage and paint the picture for you. There is a difference between hoarding houses and trash houses. Hoarding can become trashy (as in my childhood home) but they start very organized, categorized and arranged. What you are about to read was not, at its core, saved pizza boxes and dog poop. It was stuff! Bought for the sole reason that it actually has value.
The day started as a normal day. My brothers and sisters woke as normal. We ate our day-old oatmeal, carved out of the big pot that was left on the stove. We found joy in having food, yet again, it wasn’t much, just cold, congealed oatmeal stuck in an aluminum pot, sitting on the one open burner. The same stove that had a small path in front of it. This path was cutting its way through the house like a snake in the tall grass of a forest. We had no more access to the kitchen sink. We had been washing dishes in the bathroom sink next to the toilet which was usually plugged and in need of the plunger. Our kitchen had become another holding area to dads “stuff”. The dinette was filled from ceiling to floor. A foot path leading from the dinette, though the formal dinning room and across our “spacious” living-room to the front door. This path was only used for accessing the mailbox. The front door was also blocked and hadn’t been opened in years. The mail slot went from outside to inside the house. Situated near the end of the path was a spot where I could sneak away and hide from my “normal”…. a hiding place, a void in the collection that dad didn’t know about. If you knew where to look and could crawl on your belly, it was a hole into a mysterious land of safety from the pain we kids all felt. I didn’t go there often. I guess I didn’t want it to be “discovered” and filled with more stuff. Our bathroom had also come to the same fate as our kitchen. It was a great place to store more stuff, leaving a small space in front of the toilet and sink, but totally blocking the bathtub and vanity. The sheet draped across the unusable door was our only privacy, but it was better than nothing, maybe. The attached garage hadn’t been entered in years, blocked by the back door that barely opened now. The entryway was also access to the basement. By the time I entered the 9th grade, I was bathing in the basement laundry tub. Avoiding the sewer rats that would frequent the home from the open sewer pipe in the basement, which made it easier for dad to clear the plugged pipes. The old ringer style washer stood next to the laundry tub and allowed me some stable hand holds to climb into the laundry tub for my bathing. I would usually wash my cloths while I bathed in the laundry tub. Looking for a safe place to set my feet as I climbed out. The two concrete laundry tub configuration That dad fixed the plugged pipe by knocking it out of the way…. It drained well now, onto the floor. This house wasn’t some dramatic scene from a tv show. It was my home! It was my normal! I was embarrassed. I was defeated. I was learning how to handle traumatic life everyday. God grew me where I was. God gave me strength to overcome and not quit. God was there when I didn’t really know who He was.
Overcoming. Is that what life is about? Taking your knocks and not giving in? In many ways, God was preparing me for this very day, today… March of 2019. I am reminded to not give up, to not quit, to keep going… because our God is bigger than our problems. Becoming an autism step dad is a challenge. It’s not all roses. It’s not all fun. Don’t get me wrong, it has its rewards… many rewards, but it also comes with its challenges. Challenges of the mind, body and spirit. Challenges that some may never know and yet others know all too well. For me the challenges are foreign, but for Jess it’s just normal. For me, things need to make sense, for Jess it’s just normal. For me things need to be fixed, for Jess things are just normal. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying Jess is just sitting back, taking things as normal. What I am saying is that Jess has adapted, learned and overcome (or should I say “discovered contentment”). Sometimes the emotions come back from when I was still in my old house as a child, learning how to manage life. Learning that all things do not make sense. Learning that order can look different to others. When you look at my tool box, unless you know what to look for, it looks “dis-ordered”, but to me, I can see order (not as much as I would like), but its ordered in many ways. When I look at Autism, I don’t see this order. I see random chaos. I see confusion. I see something that needs to be fixed… BUT…. the reality is, it’s not broken, dis-ordered or chaotic…. it’s normal! It makes perfect sense and the reality is, the deficiency is found in my perception of the situation. Don’t get me wrong, I do see clearly to know there must be some controls put into place for health, safety, well being and so on. BUT!!!! It’s not totally my perception that is right. Where sometimes I see no “segue” … Al moves from one scene of his life to another, seamlessly. I get confused and loose track of his fluid connections. It’s a new world, a new way of seeing life, a way I never knew existed.
I told you in the beginning of the blog post you should read it… IF you have ever been angry, well… stay tuned.
Jess says I have incredible patience with Al. In someways I don’t feel patient, and Al knows. He can tell when I’m worn thin. He can tell when I feel like “butter spread over too much toast”. How is it I could ever be considered to be the least bit patient? I’m not good at waiting. I’m no good at sitting around. I AM THE LEAST PATIENT PERSON I KNOW! And yet, my loving bride encourages me with edifying words to build me up, not bring me low. How is it I have come to deserve this woman? How is it she can see such good in a man with the past I have? It’s simple. She is forgiven and in that forgiveness from God, she has grace for me. She can see the good because she has received good and she now overflows with that same grace from God.
Growing up, all I ever saw was an angry father, yelling, screaming, blaming, profane words like I have never heard elsewhere (I was in the NAVY), and name calling…. OHH THE NAMES!! Every racial slur, demeaning terms for women…. stereotypes….if it’s PC now, he violated it then. My father was anything but PC and likely the number one violator of the new “PC WORLD”. I still feel that learned response at times. That unrestrained emotion that leads so many people to hurt others. I don’t let it control me. I wont! Camping there is deadly to self. It takes practice, control and mostly, it takes GRACE. The Grace that God shows us everyday. Autism is difficult. Autism is different. Autism is normal.
Being angry is a decision to react to the environment in a way that is damaging to self. Choose to find joy, when Its difficult… keep choosing and don’t give in. I’m not saying its easy, just possible.