A track star, not a social butterfly

I was pulling into the parking lot of the high school (which is next to the middle school and where the track is located) to pick up Nick promptly at 4:30 from track. The significant element to this story is promptly at the time that I was supposed to be there—and not one minute earlier. I have been in the habit of getting to the track at 4:00 to watch him run and compete with his classmates, but I had decided: not today.
It was a bit selfish on my part, but I needed a break from watching him not be like his other classmates. And I know that sounds harsh, but let me explain...

When I watch him it is so clear that he doesn’t socialize with the other kids, and he so easily seems to get lost in the pack. He sort of just hangs out and waits for a kid (selected by the coach) to help him out. A burden to the team? I really don’t know, and I don’t care, beecause he can be there if he wants to be.  And the kids and coaches do support him and seem to like him very much, so if he’s happy, then I’m happy. So as long as he occasionally runs and does not get ignored—because he could so easily be ignored, and break my heart—then all is good enough. Right?

So yesterday I’d decided that I would not watch him and just show up with the parade of other moms or dads driving in to pick up their own track-star teenager (hey, we can dream), while the kids were all waiting with their selected groups of friend, and Nick standing just slightly off to the side in his group of one, but looked just fine, happy enough, and waiting like everyone else: Like a typical 8th grader…and the reason why I came on time!

Ignorance is bliss is what I said to myself as we pulled out of the school and Nick was showing me his track wound (apparently, a little scrape from falling while jumping hurdles), which required a large bandage patch on his elbow. I played with fire and asked him if he had friends at track and he quite candidly said: No.

Ouch.

But it wasn’t a No in a sad or an embarrassed way, as I would have been if asked that question by my mother and said No… which I wouldn’t have said even if it were true. I would have told her that I did, and would have been upset that she even had to ask.

But I’m not autistic. And Nick is. And his autism doesn’t allow his lack of friends to bother him; actually, he seems to prefer it and I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. He just doesn’t care about making friends and seems to run away from the prospects of a kid coming near him  to chat.

I think it is a combination of shyness and the lack of verbal ability. As a late talker and burdened with the inability to make conversation other than to simply answer one word questions (or nod his head)… he doesn’t like to be placed in a situation to chitchat, no matter where he is. (And yes, he’s had years of social skills classes, but it doesn’t seem to be catching on in the real world—at least not yet.)

When I think of this issue, I think of his very first school psychologist. It was in a different town than we currently live, and he was helping me with Nick in kindergarten to just starting the 1st grade. On the eve of our move and Nick’s last day at that school, we were chatting and I fought back tears while telling him that I was worried that he would never have friends and would be alone in life. And he told me, and I still remember the exact expression and smile on his face, “Oh, not a kid like Nick!” (Meaning that he would be surrounded by friends because he’s such a great boy.)

I wonder if that’s still true.

As it stands today, his friends consist of his 41 year old uncle (my brother, who has ADHD and likes the same shows as he does and can easily be just as silly), and the neighbor's kids, who are 5 and 6, who he finds entertaining to watch and will approach them when they are at our house.

I do have a couple of friends who have kids with ADHD and autism, but even when we get them together, it’s like they’re playing apart. It doesn’t work. They don’t mesh. But it doesn’t seem to bother Nick; instead, it seems to amuse him that they don’t socialize with him—like Nick would prefer not to have to socialize with them—a kind of relief, perhaps, but he seems perfectly content to just watch the kids and be among his own group of one: memberships not allowed.

Track

I watched Nick at track practice the other day. I had to go early to pick him up for a doctor’s appointment (a psychiatrist appointment for more meds… sigh. A boy of 15 (12 when he started) has a shrink…sigh, sigh, sigh.). So, I got a chance to watch him at track. Now let me tell you that I have done this before, and will continue to watch him at track because I’m so proud of him for even participating in an extracurricular sports program while he is suffering from acute anxiety at school—hence, the need for meds—and for a second year of track, too.

Yay for Nick!!

So, what’s it like to watch him with the other kids—typical kids? Well, my feelings are a bit twofold, as one can only imagine… On one fold, I love watching him, and sometimes I get to see how he fits right in with the other kids... I mean, running is a solitary sport, right? Up until it’s not. Right? Now you must be thinking: what the heck is she talking about; what’s she sniffin’ over there in Plymouth??

Nick is not really a smiling kind of kid. He’s happy, but he doesn’t always show it on his face. So when he’s at track, one can’t tell what he’s thinking… I know he likes track, otherwise he wouldn’t want to go, and I certainly wouldn’t make him. So I have to believe that he is happy in track and enjoys himself—as he has told me that he does, the many times that I’ve asked. The other side of this fold, is that when I do watch him at track, I feel like I’m chewing on my heart, for reason I’m going to tell you now.

On this particular day, it was raining outside and practice was held in the gym, running and playing racing games, etc….

And I had to witness him play a group racing game (team game), and did.

How’d it go? Well I got that ache in the pit of my stomach that said: shit, fuck and damn, why do I have to be here. Why couldn’t I just fantasize that he is doing great in a group activity and smile obliviously and be happy.

Huh? Why? Why did I have to witness this…?

Kids were broken up in two teams: one team on one side of the gym, and the other on the opposite. They were competing with each other for the team that could run the fastest, while touching various lines. The team opposite Nick’s ran first: the clock stopped at 20 seconds…

When his team was next, I held my breath and watched: the time stopped at 25 seconds. And any clueless spectator would have been able to deduct that it would have been a much better time if Nick hadn’t slowed them down.

Shit, crap, damn…was that a moan I heard from a few of his teammates?? And were they all watching me because they knew who I was?

Now I am not picking on my son; I love him dearly—obviously—but he didn’t even seem to try. The buzzer sounded and the kids ran, and Nick was about 10 seconds behind them and he wasn’t working hard to catch up… even slowing at some points.

The heaviness I felt was not that he was slower than the other kids… even on the field, he is slow at the races, as if he thinks that racing is about going as fast as he wants to: like there’s no team spirit, no rules. I don’t care if he comes in last, but I do care if the other kids are wishing and hoping that he isn’t on their team.

Remember picking teams in high school? Someone was always picked last, and that meant that they didn’t want that person on their team.

And I can’t help to think that that’s my son, too.

It’s like chewing on your heart to watch…it really is.