Emotional Downfall

 Is your kid an asshole? Oh, probably not. He or she is probably misunderstood or misdiagnosed, but asshole is such a strong word. That’s mean to say about your own kid. Well, my kid is an asshole. He doesn’t think he is though because in anger I’ve screamed it at him, "You're an Asshole!"  He simply answers, No, no, I’m not. 

But he is. And if your kid is ED then your kid probably is too. Don’t worry. My son is an asshole too. Other people already think you’re kid’s an asshole anyway. For this book we are going to assume your kid is too. Now, he’s not an asshole like your ex-husband is an asshole or librarians are assholes. Your kid is ED and he or she is, honestly, an asshole. Just admit it. It took me years to admit it too. I started saying it under by breath and then to my best friend and finally to other people. Other people laugh nervously because it makes them feel uncomfortable but sometimes the truth is uncomfortable. Let's try to admit it together. Say it, Say it out loud. Right now. Start with a whisper. "My kid's an asshole." Then get louder and louder until your soul feels it. “My kid’s an asshole.” Like the albatross around your neck, the guilt and shame have fallen into the sea along with regret, anger, and years of quiet disappointment. Now that we have that out of the way, let’s begin.

How long have you been the defender when people want to give you advice about how to handle your ED kid? How often do you think they talk about your weird, mean socially awkward kid behind your back and you’re not there to defend yourself or your child? Probably a lot.

For 18 years I’ve compared myself to other people’s children. I gauge the normalness of my own life by what I see and hear of other people's. It’s the Jerry Springer syndrome. My kid might be an asshole but at least my husband isn’t cheating on me with a midget stripper who is also my best friend!

People like to compare themselves to others as a way to feel normal. I tried to do that because I so desperately needed Tyler and myself to be and feel normal, but then realized that my kid was not normal. I knew the school psychologists and school counselors better than I knew his teachers. I saw the principal often. Every encounter with school staff chipped away at my psyche, my resolve, and my sanity. I felt my already fragile self- esteem beginning to crumble with every meeting or phone call I received from the school about Tyler and his behavior. I started getting panic attacks on my way to pick him up from school. My stomach would tighten and I’d feel nauseous. I felt sick on the way to pick up my child, my baby boy, the love of my life. Some days I had already received a phone call from the teacher or principal or counselor and on those days Tyler would just get in the back seat. Once or twice I’d been known to reach over and smack him after such phone calls so started just getting in the back seat to avoid getting smacked. The times I hit him I would feel bad and talk to people about it to make sure other people hit or spanked their kids. I wanted so badly to be a good parent but I was failing.  My friends said, Hit him. Hit him harder in fact, use the belt even. He must be a kid who needs tough love. He's not getting it. And then they’d tell me stories of how they disciplined their own children  hitting or smacking or belts. 

Other days I would remain calm and question him about what went wrong during the day. While he sat in the back seat tears of anguish and frustration would pour down my cheeks. I held my voice steady though so he wouldn't know I was crying. Since every single day was a bright red, torn paper day, I was trying to discover the source of his behavior problem. I thought it was something I did or didn't do and I needed to know how to improve.  I made sure his homework was done, he ate well, and he was involved in sports and church and had friends. We spent quality time together fishing, hiking, swimming, and skating. We studied for his tests and went to parent teacher conferences. We spent time with family and joined Boy Scouts. I just didn’t get it. I thought it had to be something, something was going on with him and I wanted him to tell me. He just said I don’t know I don’t I don’t know. Sometimes he’d say, “It’s because I’m stupid, or dumb, or stupid, or dumb.” I heard the same excuses but no reasons why. The teacher didn’t know, my friends didn’t know, the counselors didn’t know. And the thing is. I knew the school blamed me. And I knew some of my friends did too.  I just knew it. I could sense it while I sat in the principal’s office or at teacher conferences. I sat there stoic while they told me Tyler doesn’t sit, doesn’t listen, doesn’t follow directions, can’t work in group, hits other children, and is failing. 
I don’t think they believed me when I said I made him read for 10 minutes every night. And some nights I would read to him. What they didn’t know is that the first 5 minutes Tyler would cry hysterically and I would scream at him or at the wall or at myself. By the time he actually started reading we were both mentally exhausted. 
Each day I would rally him together in the morning. I was cheerful and upbeat. I'd sing him little wake up songs or tickle him softly so he'd laugh and wake up with a smiler. 
I'd make the breakfast of his choice, we’d take our time getting ready, and we’d share a laugh and drive to school. I’d say, “Have a great day Tyler okay? You can make it a great day, okay? I love you and I’ll see you tonight, okay?” 
By 11 am my work phone would ring and the elementary school number would pop up. My heart would sink and my stomach would tighten. Some days I had to leave work to pick him up because he’d been suspended or kicked out of class. It never ended.I took it all to heart.

Once in the third grade I had been to a book fair at my job. I bought Tyler a big, colorful Encyclopedia of How Things Work. I surprised him that night and we went over the pictures and entries together. I read to him and pointed stuff out I thought was cool. He seemed excited. So excited, in fact, he asked if he could bring the Enclycopedia to school the next day to show his friends and teacher. I said, “I don’t know, Tyler, it's pretty heavy. You don’t want to carry that around all day in your book bag.” 
He swore he did. He insisted it wasn’t heavy, see, and lift it up so I could see the proof. Off he went to the 2nd grade with his orange Gap book bag and his kid's How Things Work Encyclopedia inside.
I picked him up from school that day but noticed a note attached to the book bag with a safety pin. It read, “Tyler had a bad day. He said you yelled at him, got angry, and made him carry this heavy encyclopedia around as punishment.”

I was livid. Pissed. Infuriated. He was in the 2nd grade, probably 7 years old. I asked him, “Tyler, why would you say that to your teacher? You know that’s a lie.” His response, “I’m stupid and dumb and nobody likes me.” This was his standard response that would apparently elicit my sympathies because a child who everyone hates is a sad child indeed. Today though he had thrown me under the bus. I was fed up with him making me look bad. I was a good person and my kid was turning me into a person I didn't recognize. 

When we got back to our apartment I was crying tears of rage, I was screaming at him for lying, for purposefully and maliciously making me the villain when it was really his behavior that got him into trouble. During my tirade I threw a Pokeman Pikachu night light against the wall of the apartment we shared. It broke on one side but still lit up. Tyler is almost 18 and still remembers the Pikachu night light/slash encyclopedia incident. To this day he has no idea why he lied.

That was just the beginning of him lying about me. He continued to create lies and disillusions that would shatter my world and send him to live away from me. Writing about it now brings tears to my eyes as I still am unable to understand this kid at any level. People still want to give me advice and a lot of it involves violence towards him, locking him out, cutting him off, kicking him out etc. The truth is this kid is ED but what other people see isn’t a child with an emotional disability, they see an asshole. They see a kid who needs more discipline, who hasn’t been disciplined enough. I know people still blame me. Children are a product of their parents and my kid is an asshole. You’d think I didn’t even try to be a good parent after you hear some of the shit he’s done and said and been accused of. I’ve been nice to him and mean to him and I’ve cried with him and about him and now I’ve reached the point where I can hardly talk to him and sometimes intentionally avoid him as much as possible to save my own sanity. I don't want to live in rage or anger or sadness. I want to be a happy person. The time came when I needed to take care of myself.  I decided a while ago I wouldn't let this kid ruin me, my life, or my spirit. And, god knows he’s tried. People don’t understand either. They still think he wasn't spanked enough or he needs to join the military or have someone beat him up. 

So if your kid is an asshole it’s probably not your fault. Your kid was going to be an asshole no matter what you did or said or didn’t do. If your kid is ED, you are not to blame for his/her behavior. It is the nature of the disability. Even specialists don’t know what to do. In special education students with emotional disabilities falls into the category of OHO or Other Health Impairment. These kids are shuffled around and shuffled in and out of the school system and sometimes juvenile hall. They are misunderstood because people don’t like them.

And, parents are embarrassed and defeated by it. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. Say it out loud now. “It’s Not Your Fault.” Now you are free.