Every year, as I’ve dropped Joseph off at school, I’ve marked the day when excited 6th-8th graders have gathered in the parking lot with their luggage, waiting to leave for science camp. Through the years I’ve tried not to think about science camp much, as I couldn’t imagine Joseph being one of those kids. For one thing, he wet his bed forever, first weekly or so, then monthly or so. Only in the last year has it become an extremely rare occurence. How embarrassing would it be for a preteen to wet his bed in front of his peers? Secondly, I couldn’t imagine someone who isn’t good with change coping in such a new, dynamic environment for four nights and five days.

But last year, Joseph and Blue Eyes attended the 8th grade graduation ceremony and heard the kids’ parting speeches. Many of them spoke nostalgically about science camp being one of the highlights of all their years at school. When he began 6th grade this year and science camp was discussed, Joseph decided that he wanted to go. His best friend, Dallas, was going, and that seemed to make it all ok.

science-camp-3Dallas is a wonderful young man, sweet and smart and caring. The bond between him and Joseph is lovely to see and, though I sometimes wonder why a neurotypical kid with good communication skills wants to hang with a non-neurotypical kid without such good communication skills, I am most grateful for their friendship. Who knows what draws people together? Dallas stutters but manages to get around that nicely — maybe that’s what gives him compassion for Joseph’s challenges. I once asked Joseph if they’d ever discussed Dallas’ stutters. Joseph said, “No. We don’t talk about his stutter or my flapping. It’d be too embarrassing for us both.”

That’s quite insightful, don’t you think?

But I digress. As science camp came closer, I started a major (but private) freak-out: What if Joseph didn’t sleep at night, which used to happen all the time when we slept away from home? What if he got severely constipated, which also used to happen? The reason we bought our old beater of an RV was because it became the one place besides home where Joseph would poop and sleep, and it enabled us to travel. Other than sending mail to science camp, parents were not allowed to communicate with their kids and we most certainly were not allowed to be there. How could I make sure he was okay?

Joseph’s second best friend, Allen, is in his class and is a very high-functioning spectrum kid. Allen’s parents made the decision not to let him go to science camp for the same fears I had: not sleeping and not pooping. I felt deep compassion for their choice as I lay awake at night, worrying about these very issues.

It’s been said that Satan loves it when we don’t ask for help. My fears were in charge until I finally emailed Joseph’s teacher, expressing my worries. She wrote back that the camp nurse could check in with Joseph confidentially to make sure he was pooping, and that I could give the nurse an herbal laxative to administer should Joseph need it. She reassured me of the camp schedule and said that she and all the other staff would keep an eye on Joseph to make sure he was doing okay. I cried in private to Blue Eyes, who said that yes, he’d probably be somewhat sleep-deprived, but was that problem important enough to miss this amazing opportunity?

With that reassurance, I let go. Ever since Joseph turned six and declared he was ready for neurotypical kindergarten, he has been the driver for his next steps. He wants a dog, even though he’s scared of them? We got a dog. He wants to create a CD? Our friend has helped him to record several. He wants to be on the swim team, even though he can’t dive? That happened. He wants to stop attending special-needs basketball and instead join the school basketball team? He’s on the team. He wants to go to science camp? Well, good morning, campers!

sciencecamp1Yesterday morning, Blue Eyes went and picked up Joseph and some of the other kids to bring them home. One of the boys looked like he hadn’t washed his face since he’d arrived at camp. The boys were so tired they could barely speak. Joseph, though obviously sleepy, was the most-rested kid in the car.

Expectations are choosing, in the present moment, to be disappointed at some future time. With this in mind, I worked with myself not to expect Joseph to tell me all about his experience at once. The vision I tried not to envision was sitting around the dinner table that night, hearing his camp stories.  Joseph doesn’t like to be pressured to talk (have I mentioned the lack of communication skills?).

But when I got home from work, he was ready to talk. Enough. And at dinner, he talked some more. We heard the camp songs, the camp rules; we learned about the bird sanctuary and the night hikes. We heard about the running jokes in the cabin he shared with his classmates, the very boy-behaviors at night (think stinky gas) and the unique characters on the camp staff. We got him to bed at a decent hour and he slept 10 1/2 hours.

And yes, he pooped while he was at camp. Every single day.

He and Dallas have decided they want to go there again this summer for camp. Though I am already noticing a little worry (his teacher won’t be there; who will look after him with such diligence?), I know that, this time around, letting go will be easier.

Several years ago, Joseph turned to me out of the blue and said, “You know, Mom, I won’t be living with you forever.” When autism is in the mix, parents aren’t sure if this is true. We have to look at questions other parents might not, like can they find work and perform it well enough? Do they have the skills to live independently? Can they live in a way that isn’t isolating, but that offers them friends and, dare I say, a family of their own?

The past statistics are not encouraging, but Joseph doesn’t take those into account. He hasn’t read the autism book and he’s not going to, so who knows where his trajectory will take him? The words of Kahlil Gibran come to mind, and are a most fitting way to end this post:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Blessings to all.

Advertisements