Split Personality

On Tuesday, when I was picking up C from his after school program, R, the director said, "Ask him about the dominoes." I looked at R quizzically. "It's good," she said.

In the car on the way to pick up M and S, I asked C.

He refused to answer. The more I pressed, the more indignant and surly he became. In an effort to save the evening, I dropped it.

Yesterday, when I picked up C, I asked R what the dominoes were all about.

There's a boy who comes to the after school program who is a fairly high functioning autistic. Many of the kids find him a little annoying. This boy absolutely adores C.

On Tuesday, C was the first to the program room. Before the rest of the kids arrived, C started setting up a domino run - you know, the kind where you push one domino at the beginning to set off a chain reaction felling all the dominoes.

The domino run C created spelled out this boy's name. So when the boy arrived, he was given the honor of pushing the first domino to set off the run. R said it was a moment that made the whole room smile.

I don't get to see this side of C too much anymore - glimmers with S every now and again, but not often. With us at home, C lets more of the grumpy pre-adolescent side through. I suppose that's the way it's supposed to be - he's grumpy with his family, the people he knows will love him no matter what, and shows the nice and kind and fun side to the outside world.

I hear that over the next few years, as full-on adolescence blooms, I'll get even more of the surly and even less of the nice. That there will be a range of unpleasantness and all we can do as parents is be consistent about expectations and set boundaries and be available. I hear that there will be days I won't like my son very much, even as a love him more every day. Even though part of me hopes it won't come to that, I remember my own adolescence and cringe.

I also hear that one day, the nice will start coming back again. And when it does, it's more fun and joyous and comfortable than one expects.

Until then, I'll depend more and more on tidbits like this one - anecdotes from outsiders reassuring me that he is okay, he is still the kind, sweet little boy who used to sit in my lap and put his hand on my neck while I read "Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel" to him over and over again.