Adam Bomb

“So….what did you think?”

“I’m not sure…You?”

“Well, it was well done to say the least.”

In the fifteen days since my wife and I finally found the time to watch Max Mayer’s big screen tribute to living with Aspergers, we’ve had this identical conversation at least a half-dozen times.

I want to be fair. Adam was really well done. Hugh Dancy’s portrayal of Adam was dead-on, except that he was a little farther down the spectrum than our son who does know how to make eye contact…most of the time. (For the trivia minded: Hugh is married to the actress Claire Danes, who recently portrayed Temple Grandin, one of the best known Aspergians. Is there something going on there? A hidden message maybe?)

While it became clear as the film progressed that scenes were deliberately designed to showcase as much Asperger shtick as can fit in 120 minutes, it never had that over-the-top contrived feel.

And I will grant that there are even some “funny” moments I suspect elicited a laugh or two from those in the audience who DON’T live with an Aspergian in their world. We were on the verge of tears when Beth yells at Adam to “stop thinking about himself all the time!” as he wakes her up in the middle of the night to rehearse his interview skills one more time.  Ha Ha – Boo hoo. It really is like that folks.

So what then was the problem? Why are we struggling to wrap our heads around this film?

For starters, if you live with Aspergers, there isn’t much here that you don’t already know. We didnt have such high expectations, so I guess the affect just isnt there.

One point we both agree on, was disappointment with the film’s inability to answer the really big question that is polluting our minds of late: Would anyone find our son (or in this case: Adam) to be, as Beth puts it, “relationship material?”

We don’t come from the “lonely soul, might as well shack-up” world, which seems to be the best answer this film could conjure up. It would have been enlightening to say the least if Beth would have professed her love for Adam either because:

Of his incredible honesty – An Asperger man is never going to cheat on you because if he does, he couldn’t lie to save his life.

His intellect – Women love guys who can rattle off dates, facts and figures (because they know their birthday or anniversary will NEVER be forgotten!)

Or even…dare I say it? Pity. (And don’t tell me women never marry based on that.)

But the real reason I am feeling so ambivalent has to do with the film’s parting shot.

[Spoiler Alert! - Don't read this if you want to see the film. Unless of course, you have Aspergers, in which case, you might not pick up on the subtle message anyways]

As the film winds down, Adam has moved out to California…without Beth, and seems to be doing quite well. Cute girls flirt with him, he’s got a sweet job at an observatory, adoring visitors who lap up his overflowing knowledge and guy-friends who seem to get him.

What he doesnt have is “the girl” and a real relationship.

The film closes with Adam reading Beth’s new book about Racoons in Central Park. We hear her voice float in and she describes them as: “creatures from another world who have stumbled into our own.”  This is Adam’s story, but unclear if he understands that.

What’s the final word? The image that haunts you after the lights come back on?

Everyone collectively heave a sigh of pity here

…That while the Adams out there will never be normal, at least they will be happily lost in their own little worlds.

I’m not sure if I am ready to accept that view, just yet.

Its Your Turn To Share: Letting go of our dreams for our children has got to be the most difficult things a parent ever does. What have you had to let go of, and how did you do it?

LJ

SPED-dar

Note: My usage of some common pejorative terms is likely to offend readers. If you can think of a more delicate way to put it, please let me know.

It is probably safe to assume that most everyone has heard of Gay-dar.

MOT (Members of the Tribe) are fond of their J (Jewish) dar ; especially when it comes to ferreting out celebrities (contrary to common assumptions, Harrison Ford and Billy Joel are still unconfirmed by those in the know).

I recently discovered that my fifteen year old Asperger son has a highly refined SPED-dar. What on earth is that, you wonder?

SPEDs  is the offensive nickname given to those children who require SPecial ED modifications. (While totally unproven, I suspect this may have been the precursor to the even more disgusting SPAZZ moniker which, yours truly once wore with a mixture of aplomb and shame.)

“Birds of a feather flock together,”  or so you would think. While he is not the only boy in his grade with EQ deficits, and not even the only one who legitimately falls in the syndrome, he will not associate with these kids, not even so much as to speak with them. One of the boys happens to also be an avid Runescape player, yet despite this, my son has no interest in befriending him. Wow! That has gotta hurt when even your online avatar is weird.

I don’t believe this is an act of snobbishness, but an interesting statement about his ability to quantify different levels of normalcy and choose something that closest represents himself.

His self-proclaimed best friend is a wonderful young man who is not spectrumized, but who shares his common love of Calvin and Hobbes, Medieval fantasy genre books (the bloodier the better) and Sudoku.

I know what you are thinking- Yup, they’re Nerds.

Because spectrum kids come in all flavors and colors I can’t generalize from his specific world view, but I have learned from observing him that he has a pretty solid sense of who he is and who other people are. He may still see people as “objects” or “things,” but he understands that there are subtle differences. He knows who is cool and who is not, and is able to place himself somewhere in the middle and select his friends from among the group slightly to the right of himself.

What I find even more interesting is the way he responds to questions about his choices. I have inquired many times why he doesn’t reach out to those boys, especially the Runescape kid who obviously shares one of his passions. He will never say anything negative, only sigh, shrug his shoulders and offer a: “well, you know.” Which is not to say that he doesn’t know how to criticize – just ask his younger brother.

It might be that sensing something is off with them makes him uncomfortable with himself. I don’t really know because he doesn’t offer to explain.

Its your turn to share: With all the talk about poor Theory of Mind, have you too noticed that your child can classify and discriminate between different groups of people?

LJ

Stinkin Thinkin – First shots

Alcoholics have this term for describing totally illogical thought processes; its called Stinkin Thinkin. While it shows itself with many different faces, they are all a variety of the following simple example:

Its hot outside, I’ve got new clothes on… sound like a good time for a drink!

You have never seen the depth of illogical thinking until you’ve spent a night under the same roof with an NLD or AS child. I must note that they aren’t exactly the same challenge, as will be seen shortly. To be fair too, they do operate on a logic system that makes perfect sense to them, but it is absolutely maddening to everyone else. As an aside, for those out there who are scientifically inclined, it might make for some fascinating research to examine PET scans of alcoholics and Asperger brains to look for similar patterns.

I’d like to give you a glimpse into what its like under that roof. These next two posts will be divided into chapters (or shots…I can’t resist) with the first demonstrating how an NLD child thinks and the second, our Asperger boy.

Exhibit A

Who doesn’t love a good story? Apparently, not someone with an NLD. While driving my sons carpool on Friday I told over the beautiful act of humanity demonstrated by Detroit pitcher Armando Galarraga who, just one day after being robbed from the record books, had the courage to shake hands with the umpire who blew the call and give him a gentle pat on the shoulder.

My son couldn’t understand why I felt this was important. Knowing that he doesn’t understand the finer points of the game, I explained how some pitchers perform well for their whole career, yet never enter the Hall of Fame, whereas the perfect gamer might post the worst record ever and still be enshrined for this one deed. This was a big deal to lose out, and an even bigger deal to have dealt with it “like a man.”

He: “No it wasn’t” he retorted. “Its baseball and baseball is stupid.”

Me: “Well, yes, that might be your opinion about the game, but this isn’t a story about baseball, its about someone doing the right thing.”

He: “Aren’t there plenty of other examples out there that don’t have to do with baseball that you could have chosen from? Why did you have to waste our time with baseball?!”

Beg your pardon?

I have this vague recollection of a short story I read in fourth grade about a boy whose grandfather’s obstinacy was so compelling, he actually had the ability to will things into non-existence because they simply couldn’t possibly be. They had to tread real carefully around him lest he issue a challenge that would cause a global disaster. Those are the same kid gloves you need to wear talking to someone who really, truly, honestly…doesn’t get it.

Exhibit B

Imagine that tomorrow is Monday and you have a book report due. Actually, it was due four days ago but you never remembered to tell your parents about it and never once brought the book home; conveniently forgetting it in your locker, under a desk, on the playground, etc.

Mom and dad are not pleased and so they ground you from all electronic forms of stimulation until the job gets done.  You respond by:

A) Buckling down and grinding it out the rest of the afternoon, not resting until its done

B) Dividing up the day so as to work on it in intervals so you can take breaks and still have fun, but get it done in the end

C) Throw a fit, complain how much work you get, blame your parents for taking everything away from you, cry, slam doors, cry some more, complain how much work you get, taunt your other siblings, throw things around to make sure your parents are really angry, finally cave in around 7 PM after wasting NINE HOURS and knock the stupid thing off in under two hours…but then throw a fit when you learn that its now too late to play on the screens as much as you had hoped, and then blame your parents for being so mean and unfair?

Nuff said.

To be continued…

LJ

The Buddy System

I am going to confess that I have not been staying on top of the latest literature nor following the hot trends in the exploding ASD world. In the event that what I write in this post is actually consistent with what others are finding; well to you I say: “No Duh!”

Most every book we own on the subject of raising children on the spectrum devotes a chapter or two (or three….sigh….or four) to talking about dealing with, re-mediating and compensating for social deficits. It is one of the defining characteristics of this condition.

I can’t point to a title by name nor quote chapter and verse, but I know that the books we’ve had lying around since the late 90′s contain language that impart more than a passing notion that the ASD child is a “cripple” who, with proper training, might be able to learn how to “walk” with just a slightly noticeable limp.

This is one of the difficulties reading books written by experts and not parents of children with the “disorder.”  Professionals seem to expect their readers to humbly submit to their superior knowledge and empirical data, whereas parents bring to the table a gritty no-holds barred approach that pits mind over matter: “Don’t you tell me what my kid can or cannot do!”

Personally, I think it is healthy to look for the middle ground. You need to know what it looks like from the perspective of one who has seen hundreds of cases, but you also cannot forget that your kid will always be different, even slightly, and to not give up exploiting whatever strengths you know to be there.

Which brings me to today’s happy tale. Its been just a little over a month since he turned thirteen, and I am beginning to notice the emergence of something special in our NLD boy. He has always been incredibly sensitive to his surroundings, a gift that explains his incredible gift for music and drawing. But making friends and understanding the behaviors needed to create a friendship, those have been a real struggle.

The other night we were readying ourselves to leave synagogue and walk home together when he lets go of my hand and hangs back. I turned to him to ask if he forgot something and, with a sheepish look on his face he simply said: “No, I think I would like to socialize a bit.”

I looked around the room for the telltale sign of kids huddling together, whispering in their own secret language, but to the best of my ability, I saw nothing remotely interesting going on.  Not sure if he was joking or if he thought he might carry on a conversation with the wall, I shrugged my shoulders and walked out the door.

About a minute or two later he comes puffing up behind me, catching me as I arrive at our yard. With a huge smile of satisfaction he tells me the name of his new friend.

This is what he tells me, verbatim: “I figure that now that I am a Bar Mitzvah, that means I have the responsibility to be a member of the community. I saw someone who I had not noticed before and wanted to wait for him to finish praying so I could introduce myself and ask him his name.”

Is that cool or what?

Remember that it may not be an actual deficit of ability as it is a lack of understanding the rules of the game.

Its Your Turn to Share: Where have you found expert advice to be just plain wrong?

LJ

Mother of all Meltdowns

It has now been about a month and a half since IT happened. We’ve had bad experiences before but this was the first time I seriously considered calling 911 for help. I’ve never seen anyone have a nervous breakdown, but I cannot imagine it being far off from our MELTDOWN.

IT began as most things in our home do, as a small incident that most kids would have shrugged off. I don’t really know who started IT and can’t remember if IT was a push, a nasty comment, an annoying noise – whatever IT was; our twelve year old stormed over to the table where we were dining with guests and demanded that we put a stop to IT. We’ve become very focused on helping him disengage from sticky situations before they escalate out of control, so we invited him to join us at the table where his talents would be appreciated by the adults.

I must have blinked because in an instant he was gone again, somewhere in the house, up to no good.

Moments later the happy banter at the table came to a crashing halt as the kitchen exploded with violence. Hidden from view we could only surmise what was transpiring.  We let a full thirty-seconds of punching, screaming and general pandemonium pass by before launching an intervention. A helpful rule of thumb in homes like ours is: “no reaction till blood flows.”

You can never know who threw the first punch, so when in doubt, you always go for the one who was “out of place;” the one who had been told to keep away but, like a fly to vomit, couldn’t hold themselves back.  As I smiled weakly to our guests my wife dragged the twelve year-old kicking and screaming up to his room for a lengthy time-out.

No sooner had she closed the door than his bedroom exploded. We could hear him knocking over bookcases and shredding sheets from his bed as he howled in fury. With a final nod to our company I muttered: “I guess there really isn’t ever a good time to lose your mind,” and hustled off to see what was left to salvage.

I found him in a pile on the floor hyperventilating to the point that I was really scared he was going to stop breathing altogether. His glasses lay in a twisted heap of metal and cracked plastic; an early victim of his rage. A quick survey told me that this was the worst of the damage, save for this poor young man who was writhing uncontrollably, practically seizing with misery.

I held him in my arms for thirty-minutes while he calmed down. As is typical for him, he was unable to see his role in any of this. He kept wailing that nobody loves him, that he is always to blame and that we never punish his older brother for making him so angry in the first place that he has to punch him.

I was really, really scared. Scared that we might need to call an ambulance, scared that he had completely lost his mind, scared that I was to blame for not getting him serious, deep help long ago. I know the worst thing you can do for your child is treat them as if under the watchful eye of the neighbors, but this might be one allowable exception – I am worried what they might think if we didn’t do SOMETHING. Yes, we are turning the wheels to get him and the whole family into some serious therapy.

As we were calming down together I planted a seed in his head which as yet has not shown signs of taking root. I tried to validate how hard it has been for him to live with an older brother who has such a difficult time being nice to him. I almost went as far as to mention the Asperger word, but as we have not yet revealed that to the fourteen year-old, I witheld myself from doing so. I often say about this younger son that as much as he has issues of his own from his NLD, he is also likely suffering from PTSD.  

Its your turn to share: What was your scariest moment with your AS or NLD child? How did it turn out?

LJ

A Touch of Tiger

Want to hear the biggest secret about Tiger Woods? The guy has Aspergers.

No, really!

Think about it – from the age of two (the earliest age for diagnosis) this guy has known nothing but golf. His tub toys were soap golf balls, his sheets had pictures of golf greats, his school notebooks were crammed with crazy facts about golf. GOLF, GOLF, GOLF – that’s all he’s ever known.

Sounds a lot like Aspergers to me.

Ever listen to him talk about a lie (in golf, not the ones he’s been peddling to the press and his wife), or size up a putt? The guy is so freakishly focused. You can practically close your eyes and hear John Elder Robison droning on about a techno-geeky innovation or auto part. Same obsessiveness, different toys.

When Tiger hits the bar scene what does he talk about? Latest episodes of The Office? Whether Tide or Gain really get out those stubborn grass stains?

Think about it.

Which brings me to my real point – Tiger may not be a spectrumite, but he is a serious reminder that where there is a singular focus, all efforts and energy tend to be dumped into that bin to the detriment of others.  If we are willing to broaden the definition of “Aspergerian individuals” to include not just those with a genetic disposition, but also those who have, by training, become driven machines, we begin to understand the deterioration of society as a whole in the realm of interpersonal relationships.

If you have an AS child you don’t need to be told how important it is to teach your child every single step of the social dance. From brushing teeth to saying thank you when complimented to knowing how to spot trouble situations and avoid them altogether; you are on task 24/7.

But when your boy is the captain of the football team, when your daughter wants to get a perfect score on her LSATs, the more you push them along this path, the more time you need to set aside to making sure they don’t lose focus on the really important pieces of being successful.

Like not screwing up their family for a few moments of pleasure. Like not thinking they are above the system and invincible. Like learning how to humbly say they are sorry.

Whether the failure is in a legitimate lack of Theory of Mind, or if it develops from an overemphasis on special interests, it is frightening to think how many people are running around out there with no clear ability to grasp the finer points of the world. Maybe Aspergers has become the new normal?

Its your turn to share: What other similarities can be drawn from obsessive individuals to those with AS?

LJ

From the Mouths of Babes

The piece that follows was written by my 12 year old who has a NLD. The ironically titled: “I Get It” is a beautiful illustration of how he doesn’t get it. He cannot admit fault when there is a perceived lack of fairness. It never occurs to him that the problem here is a very self-centered point of view.

A little context: He was caught skipping gym on Monday (“That is not called cutting class! Gym isn’t a class!!!) and was given an assignment to pinpoint three key areas.

1) Which of the school’s core values he failed to follow. 2) What he would have done differently (the rewind button). 3) What he has learned for the future.

There was a momentary debate whether to let him turn this in or not, but my wife and I felt it beneficial for the administration to understand just what we are dealing with. (The Dean of Students let me know that she laughed so hard, she could be heard across the building.)

Its so brutally honest and snarky – this is what life with him is like, each and every day. Enjoy.

‘I GET IT’ ASSSIGNMENT

I did not display the value of responsibility because I was not where I was supposed to be. Instead I was sitting on a rock not thirty feet away from around eight other kids who were playing football in the baseball field without a teacher. It is important that I am responsible because it is very dangerous to be within the grounds of a school that has proofed its security in past years.

If I had a rewind button and I could go back, I would not go into the building to check on the time because that is how I got caught. Or I would just stay near those other kids who were playing football without a teacher. Or I would go to the gym and be so bored I would probably faint and cost the school hundreds of dollars in medical bills. Or I would go in the building through a different door so I wouldn’t get caught. Or I would run  away so I cant get caught and get in trouble.

I would improve by not going in to the building so I wouldn’t get caught. Or I would improve by trying to do something during gym and be kicked out of every game because I don’t usually play sports. Or I could try to write or draw during gym and have all the noise crowd my brain and leave no room for ideas. Or I would just hang out with the other kids who don’t do what they’re supposed to be doing and not get caught because all the trouble revolves around me; right?! If I work on this value, I would be able to do all the wonderful things in paragraph 2.

Funny? Tragic? Rude?

Your thoughts….

LJ

Keep Your Eye on the Ball

Some people see life like a connect-the-dots picture. Before they begin they have a pretty good idea what the result will look like, they only need to follow the numbers to reach an anti-climactic finish. Neat, boring and predictable, unless you choose to draw crazy lines and break the rules.

Life has never been so simple for me. When I put crayon to paper I never know what the end result will be. I think I know what I am aiming at, but somehow seem to take a hundred invisible detours and arrive at a very different destination.

For example: Returning to school after the summer I turned 16, I discovered that my best friend had spiffed up his look with a host of preppy new clothes. He looked very collegiate , back when a bottle of brew and a hangover weren’t the “in” thing. Everyone, especially the girls,  were taking notice.

No self-respecting, hormonal sixteen year old would let such a territorial challenge go unanswered, so I schemed a way to lure my mother to the mall, credit card in hand, to put her boy back at the top of the heap. And this is where things got interesting.

I knew clearly what I was looking for: Plaid shirts, khaki pants, a rope belt, maybe a knitted tie or two and Docksiders (ugh, sounds so nerdy, but this was the Eighties). When the shopping day drew to a close and our credit line out of steam, what I walked away with was this:

Two pairs of gray parachute pants (complete with zippers to nowhere – thanks MJ!), several large, bulky cable-knit sweaters (one, a bright shade of fuchsia), a red paisley print shirt two sizes too large, and a dark-red sleeveless, mesh-knit “hunk” shirt.  No, I am not gay.

I was aiming for Michael J. Fox….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

….and came out looking like Howard Jones!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whoa whoa! whoah, whoah.. whoah… whoah…whoah…things can only get….better?

Frankly, I never did. Career, marriage, family, you name it; what I’ve got today bears no resemblance to the mental picture I was working with. Oh, I am not at all upset with how things turned out. I love my wife and kids (and sometimes, career), but it comes at a price of always looking back and wondering: “how the heck did I get here?”

With time, the micro-changes and small adjustments become clear. There has always been a pattern of thinking differently and looking at something for what it could be rather than what it is. My sense of taste and style are not contemporary…I am just not sure from what epoch they arise.

While there are many advantages to living an “Apple life,”  having insight that is light years ahead of the pack can doom you to a life of irrelevance if you cannot integrate that with what is current. Like the saying goes, the difference between Genius and Eccentric is a few million dollars.

Perhaps we could say that the difference between Eccentric and Aspergers is flexibility or lack thereof? We share common fantasies and an innate sense of justice and fairness, but while I can negotiate what is with what isn’t, he literally cannot imagine any vision other than the one in his head.

Its your turn to share: When is normal not normal anymore?

LJ

Out of My Mind

In an earlier post I shared my personal theory about where Autistic children come from. It’s not the environment, it’s not vaccines, its not the economy stupid…its you.

Why this should come as a surprise to anyone is a real mystery to me. Nobody (let’s leave Trial Lawyers out of this) blames cell phones when they have a Down’s Syndrome child, nobody points a finger at acid rain and puts Dow Chemical in a choke-hold if their child in unable to see or hear, so why the urgency to play the blame game with this one?

Maybe it’s because the disability is so secretive – there are no misshapen body parts, no cranial implants, no tapping canes and dark glasses. Perhaps there is a sense of embarrassment, a need to explain why this perfectly normal looking, handsome young person is fascinated by grammatical rules and the periodic table. Nerds are supposed to look like nerds.

Its true that there is ongoing research that points to certain environmental factors such as “white noise” (see the amazing book titled The Brain that Changes Itself – by Norman Doidge M.D.) that may damage the initial wiring of the brain, but I think to leave out a genetic component is to do a real disservice to the child and the parent caretaker.

In my own circle I have noticed a progression of sorts, what I call Shadow Traits, that point the way to producing an Autistic child. Parents who are obsessive compulsive, right-brain thinkers, prone to sensory integration issues and hyperactive seem to be the most likely candidates. I don’t know in what proportion the mix must be, or if that matters. What I do know is that you don’t need to look too closely at mom and dad to find them; its pretty obvious to most everyone.

Just looking at my own crazy “shtick” is proof enough of this point. Don’t touch me with wet hands, leave my desk exactly the way you found it, sit me down if you really want me to focus on what you are saying, don’t send me shopping without a list because I’ll get lost in the islands of pretty colors and packaging (la la la), and by all means, don’t fry fish within ten hours of my coming home!

We all know people like this. Smart, busy, sensitive to touch and wildly creative – almost to the point of “marching to their own drummer,” but not quite. Over and over again, I am hardly surprised to discover that they have a child who falls smack in the syndrome.

While I do not have Aspergers, I have no problem taking ownership for the traits that would one day give rise to not one, but two boys with those characteristics. This doesn’t make handling the daily episodes of groaning, head-banging and illogical tantrums any easier, but it does allow me to develop a better emotional bond with them, and find the patience to give them as much love and attention as possible.

Autism can be hell, but so can ostensibly “normal” children. In a certain sense, I see my boys as a real gift because they have taught me so much about myself, far more than I would every have learned from a wind-up-and-go family.

Its your turn to share: How do you handle life’s setbacks? Are they obstacles to go around or mountains of opportunity?

LJ

Mr. T

Most people are familiar with the phenomenon that a camera can add between ten to fifteen pounds. Far fewer know that it can also stretch (or shrink) five to ten inches on/off your frame.

Adulthood has been mostly about overturning treasured myths and fantasies from my youth. One of the more shocking revelations was learning that neither Rocky Balboa nor Clubber Lang broke the five-foot-ten barrier (Stallone is maybe 5′ 8 after a spinal adjustment).

Through clever manipulation of angles and specially designed elevator shoes, these Hobbits were turned into towering icons of good and evil. When Rocky looks up into T’s menacing face, it might have been the one real moment in that 120-minute fairy-tale.

Lately, our home has been resembling a boxing ring with some serious pummeling going on that leaves mom and dad feeling TKO’d as they crawl into bed following each exhausting day.

The change was slow to come and was picked up first by my parents back in August. Parental visits have become the litmus test for how well we are coping with the situation. After a few years of: “We had the best time ever! Can’t wait to come back’s!”, the last trip earned us a “see me” on the report card. Our Aspie boy’s new-found love for recreational criticism and overall negativity was an unavoidable feature that plagued the visit.

It wasn’t until a few nights ago that I hit on what is going on. Our two boys were in their beds and talking with me when the younger asked me if I thought a young piano prodigy (a girl!) who he discovered on You Tube was Jewish. Both their faces blushed and a light went off in my head. Welcome to puberty!

If you think cameras distort reality, wait until you see a teenage brain on Testosterone. It all makes sense. He is hoping out of his mind with synapses firing like they’ve never done before. He is scared, overwhelmed (more than usual) and just trying to put everything back to normal. And he is doing it in a uniquely aggressive, Aspie-way. That he is ripping others down to size for walking the wrong way, chewing too loudly or just plain being in same the room is of little consequence to him.

Friday I sat him down for our first “Man-talk” to explain what is going on with him and what is likely to come. I think he was moderately interested. I told that while we understand what he is experiencing and will be supportive, he must understand that we will not permit him to steamroll his siblings in the process. We reached an uneasy pact that has held up for the last couple of days. Might it be time to reinstate time-out for this one? We will see.

For now, “I Pity Da Fool” that gets in his way!

Its your turn to share: What are some of the big puberty pitfalls to watch out for with an Asperger child?

LJ