Raising a child with autism is the equivalent to front line combat. Well no shit there whomever shared the obvious pearl of wisdom with the internet, I applaud your insight and genius. I've also come to learn children with autism probably invented sarcasm. Having never been to war, not a real one thankfully, I'm no expert in modern day combat methodology or where exactly anyone stands on which square of the chess board when it comes to the human rights charter or rules of engagement. My interest is military history, my family lineage served in WWI and WWII, lest we forget and my only preparedness for engagement with opposition of autism was raising my now young adult ADHD daughter, dear God was that hell on earth for someone as pigheaded and foolish enough as me to repeat every damn mistake imaginable and The Art of War by Sun Tzu, worth a read when you have a moment. Just like serving in the Marine Corp you need to be ready for absolutely anything all the time because you will hit a roadside IED when trying to figure out flavour of Prime drink is the preferred choice while the shopping equivalent of the opening scene of Final Destination 2 unfolds behind you at the supermarket check-out. You will take multiple headshots from random snipers at dinner time, homework time, anytime simply because an indecisive impulse decided to mess with your universe. You will be pushed to the utmost limits of inhuman psychological torture because spaghetti and macaroni are two different food things and cannot be eaten for dinner on days ending in Y. Autistic blowouts aren't pretty, then neither is war, should you the brave mature adult survive the Blitzkrieg before breakfast your parental general issue kit will include an infinite supply of patience you can use in very limited quantities for short amounts of time, this is your first line defense. You will master stealth, go for hours of random walks, endure endless conversation and unrelenting questions about absolutely everything. You will break down, you will succumb to frustration, you will cry because you will fail but you will learn.
I haven't learned much in nine years, yes folks I'm an idiot with mouth writing checks my ass can't cash. The internet fails to share a lot, Google is not your alley, it will betray your fragile confidence. I have broken down, I have cried, I have failed and I sought help, drugs are helpful to have in your arsenal. Taking a moment to reflect that I am mastering my breathing techniques while l my emotional dulla is trying to enhance my calm and I'm reading Sun Tzu again, having calmed my inner turmoil to observe autistic children like ogres have layers.
Beneath the layers of obscenities, indignation, crotch shots and Yoko Ono screaming sessions I find a sharp wit nine year old boy with a heart of gold, a passion for motorcycles and laying the smackdown on dad's unsuspecting candy-ass. Not to mention his passion for cooking and mild admiration of Gordan fucking Ramsey. That's my boy who explained to his granny the necessity for frequent repetition of curse words and then explained to his other granny the practical exercise to closing the barn after the horse has bolted prevents the other horses from bolting too. It's worth mentioning both instances were the result of repeated flatulence. You, the mature adult will find all fart jokes funny while keeping your serious composure after your kid went dropping a rip-shit-tear-arse in front of the butcher's counter of your local supermarket with near nuclear ferocity is no laughing matter for the poor unfortunate souls desperately gasping for life nourishing air as they reconsider vegetarian living.
I have admitted defeat, surrendered to the Armada, laid down my arms at the feet of Caesar and I too was sent to prison by a military court for a crime I did commit whereas my wife deserves the Victoria Cross. Commanding a special needs family requires strategic precision, unshakeable fortitude, unwavering determination, true grit and Shaolin inner peace to resist the urge to drop a Jericho missile on my dumb ass because I'm not helping the situation by trying to help the situation by not listening to her instructions because I'm playing verbal Russian roulette with an angry wrestling midget. Cock shot!
There you have it, the right stuff, your limited edition G.I. Joe Decoder Ring, none of the Google broad spectrum, feel good, cure all self help scrolling. My sympathy to the parents sharing foxholes keeping their heads down during heavy shelling the internet cannot prepare you for those road trip skirmishes. Remain calm soldier, practice your breathing and resist the urge to deport your offspring to North Korea. Then again when all else fails.
If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them....maybe you can hire The A-Team.
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