Daddy/Son Club – No Girls A-wowwed!

During our routine chaos, I chose to register our son, who we’ve nicknamed the Captain, in a local adapted soccer program held one evening per week. (Because the Captain has Autism Spectrum Disorder, regular programming has never been an option for us.) I had resisted registering him in any organized extra curricular activities in the past because he was attending a five-day-a-week preschool program and he needed the down time as…well, as down time. But this year, with school only happening two days a week, we’re finding the Captain is driving us a special kind of crazy. If it isn’t him who needs the extra activity, it’s us. So when the soccer opportunity fell into my digital lap, I decided to sign him up.

My husband has never played soccer. He never really watches soccer. In fact, the only thing I can confidently say he’s done that is ‘soccerish’ is bought an Adidas shirt – and probably only because it was on sale. Football and hockey are the sports of choice in our home (unless the Jay’s are on a winning streak, then we jump on the baseball bandwagon), but soccer is certainly not the sport I would have expected to light up my husband’s face.

On Monday evening as I was laying out my scattered ‘drive-around’ schedule to get both children to their Tuesday evening activities, Mr. P excitedly declared he was officially on Captain duty every Tuesday night from now until March.

Mr. P is one heck of a good daddy – but this was strange, all the same.
“I should be there with him,” he told me. “This is something he and I should do together.”

I nodded, shrugged my shoulders and said, “Perfect – I’ll take the big kid to dancing then.” I left it at that, but as I walked away from the conversation, my heart was feeling squeezed.

I’ve been pretty lucky with the big kid. She likes the stuff I like. Even better than that, she’s freaking awesome at the stuff I like. Her bedroom is littered with medals and trophies, leotards and smelly leather shoes. She comes home from school and says things like, ‘I’m gonna sign up for the spring play’ or ‘is it okay if I join the cross country running team?’ When it comes to finding things to bond over, the big kid and I are all set. Pick a geeky activity, and we’re on it. She joins the team and works her butt off, and I’m cheering from the sidelines like a looney bird on bath salts.

Not to say Mr. P isn’t actively involved in our little girl’s achievements – he’s likely the proudest daddy out there. But he didn’t grow up talking about pointed toes and set design. His youthful world was made up of organized sports – hockey and football, rugby and softball. When he speaks about his dad, it’s usually in relation to some kind of sport – scratch that – it’s always in relation to some kind of sport.

So when I walked away from my husband that evening, my heart hurt as I realized what I have taken for granted. While I’ve been lugging dance costumes and bagged lunches out the door at 6 am for Saturday morning competitions, my husband has not been tying skates or taping sticks. While I’ve been gabbing with moms about our little prima donnas, my husband has not been sitting on a cold bench coaching his son and his little friends.

While I’ve been getting closer and closer with my daughter during our times spent diving into her youthful ambitions, my husband has not been sharing dreams with my son of try-outs, tournaments or Olympic medals. They have never shared moments void of the women in their life. Their Daddy-Son Club has always allowed room for us girls.

Now, Mr. P has never said a thing about this. He never would. In fact, he’s probably mad at me for writing this because he accepts, loves and appreciates our son as he is (and he is awesome). But for a man who grew up using sports as a form of communication, he hasn’t been able to use it as a tool with his own son.

Which brings me back to soccer.

When you send your kid to an adapted program, your expectations are only that you get them there. What happens when you get through those doors is far less significant than getting them through those doors. Sometimes the kids run around in circles, sometimes they cry, sometimes they steal balls from other kids – or worse, throw them in their faces. (Every parent is in the same boat and as we calmly redirect our children, we look at each other with the ‘I’m so glad you get it’ expression shared by special needs families.)

But sometimes something clicks and on Tuesday, something clicked when the Captain discovered he likes soccer.

When I arrived home with the big kid on Tuesday evening, I was greeted by two equally animated men. One was speaking in an excited gibberish about kicking a ball – and the older one, (with a goofy grin on his face), was wildly nodding his head and chanting ‘He did so well! He did so well!’ The Captain called his grandparents to tell them about his exciting evening and used spectacular language skills to share the story. With crystal clear words he told me “the coach says I need to keep the ball close to my body” and my husband showed us videos of our son’s keen interest in this intriguing new sport.

And I could see it happened. They found their ‘thing’.

Even if it’s short lived, for now it’ll be used as their special form of communication.

This fall marks the official beginning of the Daddy/Son Club and this time, (as the Captain would say), no girls are a-wowwed.

Autism Canada Unveils Its New PSA

Autism Canada has unveiled its new Public Service Announcement. The PSA has an inspiring message about autism acceptance, and encourages people to “see the spectrum differently”. Click here to watch it.

It’s Everyone’s Halloween

This post (author unknown) has been circulating on social media:

With Halloween upon us, please keep in mind, a lot of little people will be visiting your home.  Be accepting.  The child who is grabbing more than one piece of candy may have poor fine motor skills.  The child who takes forever to pick out one piece of candy may have motor planning issues.  The child who does not say trick or treat or thank you may be non-verbal. The child who looks disappointed when they see your bowl might have an allergy.  The child who isn’t wearing a costume at all might have a sensory issue (SPD) or autism.  That BIG boy might appear to be an adult, but may be developmentally delayed.  Choose your words wisely.  Be nice.  Be patient. Its everyone’s Halloween.