Dad v. Where did the time go?

Hi.

So…it’s been a while. A long while…

Two and a half years, I guess.

Bunch of stuff has happened at the Burrow, just like I’m sure that bunches of stuff has happened in your lives too.  Life goes on.

Noahandtree

Noah with Cousin Maple

So this will be a rambling post that will cover a lot of things that have happened…some that may have not and others that probably will.

The Goob rarely answers to “Goob” anymore, which is kind of a bummer, but she’s going to be a senior this year and go on to colleges and living and all that stuff, probably with a rainbow of different hair colors.  She’s quite awesome. I think she’ll probably be headed to the University of Michigan in the Fall of 2016 to become an English teacher, because she picked up this love of reading and writing from somebody…I’m sure it was probably her mother…but I’m taking credit for it.

She also had the lead in the school play…in which she was of course awesome!  The best!  I may be her parent, but that in no way colors my opinion.  She was phenomenal and I’m sure that if she stuck with it, she could be a huge star someday…but I think that about everything she does.

Even her Ukulele, which she has taken up in the last year, she excels at.  Amazing.

The Boy is doing very well.  He still has social issues, but he’s working very hard on them.  He loves to talk and show you what he’s watching on Youtube.  Sometimes, ad nauseum.  He’s going into the eighth grade this fall.  He’s still trying to figure out what he really likes to do–other than video games.  He also spent a summer vacationing with a living tree.

wifesiri

“What did you ask your phone?” “Nothing, dear.”

The Boy really has been doing amazing things.  He entered himself into a school wide spelling be and came in seventh, standing up in front of an entire audience of people was no big deal to him.  He tries very hard to make friends and it seems like everybody likes him, but that doesn’t necessarily make them “friends.”  Sometimes he’s still a little aggressive trying to be friendly, but he’s working on it.

He’s riding his bike a lot and he’s almost finished the entire Harry Potter series.

The Cheerleader has also gone back to school to finish her degree.  She currently runs the local preschool co-op program in our town, which is pretty sweet.  She’s goat a little bit to go for her actual degree, but she really loves going to school and is obsessed with getting into special education.  She’s still very active on Facebook through her Red Vines and Red Wine page and she also occasionally writes a little for her web page of the same name.

And she’s still quite enamored by me.

Treehouse

The Beginning of the destruction!

The treehouse, after eight years of never getting finished, was deemed a loss and after a neighbor put her foot through the floor of it, a ruling was made that it had to go.  Apparently untreated wood will rot after several years in the rain….who knew?  This was kind of a bummer for me, but the kids had rarely used it over the years so it made sense to take it down.  I really loved building it.  When you work in IT most of what you’re doing isn’t tangible.  You can’t see and touch what you’re working on.  So being able to build something that I can touch and stand on and overbuild and put sky lights in….that’s really cool.

But I still have a bunch of memories and it gave us a summer’s worth of firewood for the bonfire…the treehouse was always so giving….

language

But Ca-a-a-a-p?!?! It wasn’t working…

Here are some videos of the destruction.  Everyone loves destruction. (Sorry about the language, I’ve since been corrected by Captain America himself.) If you click on them, they’ll send you straight toward all the wooden carnage.  It was in pretty bad shape and I think it’ll take us years to get all the glass out of the grass from the broken sky lights.

It took three tries with the Jeep to get the second floor down and another day or so with a sledge hammer knocking out all of the supports.  I guess I was a little too liberal with cementing the posts.  I don’t think the thing would have ever fallen over…but the wood on the inside was the problem.  I’m not that good of a roofer, I suppose.  It was never remotely water tight.

The Twenty-Something (New name, not so specific) is still trying to find his own way.  He breezes back through the Burrow now and again, sometimes for weeks or months at a time as he regains his feet.  We’re real proud of him.

treehouse2

It took three tries in total….

As for me? Lots of stuff has happened in the last few years.  Crazy stuff.  Stuff I really didn’t see coming.  Had a really, really nasty end to my old job.  Was kind of forced out because of new management and new ideas…the new idea being mainly that they didn’t want to pay me when they could pay somebody else less.  So I was unemployed for about two months….but when a door opens…I’m usually looking the wrong way…anyway, now I’ve found a great position working for the University of Michigan in their IT department.  The benefits are awesome, the people are great, and the atmosphere is so much better than what I’ve experienced in the last twenty years in the corporate world. I guess sometimes bad things happen for a reason.

grad2

Look at ol’ Joe College Wainright!

I received my bachelors in Journalism from Wayne State University.  I went back and it took me a year of nights and student loans, but I finally finished my degree. The object in getting the degree wasn’t in breaking out of IT and becoming a local beat reporter–as much as I’d love that.  It was to allow me start an MBA program and hopefully break out of the level I’ve been at in IT for twenty years.

And I did it.  I got the bachelors.

Most proud…but in looking at all these pictures, I discovered something else about myself.  People once thought I was frightfully underweight when I was a kid…that was no longer the case. In fact, looking at all of the pictures, I no longer felt like I looked like me at all. I was always the really skinny kid.  The ones that other kids parents told their children, “take it easy on him, he’ll break.” I loved to run fast, play baseball, basketball, and football.  I was always very healthy.

grad1

Love my wife, but not my face…

But then I started to notice stuff…sometimes time gives you more than just knowledge and experience…

So I decided I’d have to do something about that.  And I have…I’ve lost 55 lbs so far.  About 7-10 to go and I’ll be completely happy.  If anybody would like to know that story, I might do a piece on that some day.

I also started an MBA program online through the University of Nebraska. (Hopefully, someday I’ll be able to pay off all these student loans.) I’ll be half way through it, by the end of the summer.

So, yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever go back to daily postings…too much life going on.  But I do have some ideas for some upcoming posts about some new adventures I hope to be taking the family on and I’ll always revert to coming back here if issues come up with Noah that I think the world might need to know or be able to help me with.

 

DadZombie

I also became a zombie…to lose weight.

 

 

 

Categories: Barnsdale Burrow, Dad, Dadv, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Violence is NOT inherent to Autism

noah_mirror

My son is NOT violent.

I’m not sure who said it first, which news agency, which reporter….I don’t know, but whoever reported it was being negligently irresponsible in their reporting.

It came out late Friday evening, after the worst elementary school shooting in the nation’s history, that the shooter, Adam Lanza, may have had Aspergers…some said that he had autism.

They could have just as easily said that he was diabetic, had brown eyes, was a New England Patriots fan or had a penchant for sweets…none of it…not a single word of it…had any bearing on what he did or why he did it.

To report that it did, as if it DID have any relevance is complete ignorance. Ignorance that will lead the general public to attach a stigma to an already greatly misunderstood and neglected diagnosis.

Violence is NOT inherent to autism. Neither is it inherent to Aspergers, which is on the Autism Spectrum.

Autism is a nationwide epidemic. It is currently believed that 1 in 88 children are on the spectrum.

The Webster’s dictionary Autism definition is as follows:

1) A disorder that develops by age three, that is variable in expression, but is diagnosed by an impairment of the ability to form normal social relationships.

2) By stereotyped behavior patterns–especially as exhibited by a varying obsession with repetitive activities of restricted focus rather than with flexible and imaginative ones.

3) By impairment of the ability to communicate with others.

Is there anything in there that says, “prone to planned violence?” Anything about violence at all? It isn’t. Just like an inability to regulate insulin doesn’t make you prone to “planned violence.”

The fact of the matter is that autistic children are FAR more likely to be the victims of violence and bullying than other kids. Typically, they are quiet and solitary. They are awkward socially, but it does not mean that they do not want to be social.

I write about my son a lot. My son, who is high-functioning autistic, has problems filtering what he says and what he hears. He doesn’t understand what would be considered normal body language and cues. He frustrates easily, that does not make him a violent child. When he gets frustrated by loud noises, crowded rooms, etc…he takes a minute, by himself to recompose himself…to calm down.

He doesn’t go get a gun. Just like a diabetic in an insulin fit eats an apple or a candy bar…they don’t get something to eat and a gun.

Please do not put that completely false stigma on 1 in 88 of the population, further alienating a group that is too often marginalized into their own special education environments far away from the “normal” kids. They have it hard enough as it is, we don’t need people being afraid of them too.

Now there certainly are forms of mental illness–autism is NOT classified as a mental illness–where a penchant for violence is a symptom. I have not seen anyone yet report that the shooter was classified with any of those conditions.

We are all looking for answers to this unspeakable crime…but realize that we are looking for ANSWERS, not unsubstantiated rumors…and especially irrelevant ones.

Categories: Aspergers, Autism, Dad | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

An Ode to Benjamin Wheeler, 6

benjamin_wheeler_6The world may never forget the name of the person who committed this unspeakable atrocity. We will be buried under the horrible devastation that the young man has brought down on twenty-six families, a small town community, a nation and the world.

There is no way to understand why or how this happened. Sure there will be facts and expert opinions and examinations…but we will never understand…we will always mourn…we will all have been the victims of a most horrible and egregious theft. Twenty six lights of laughter and hope and promise and wonder were snuffed out by an undeniable evil on that Friday morning.

His name and the names of his family members will be repeated thousands of times, if not millions in the coming days as the world tries to come to grips with this horrible tragedy…but I will do my best to forget his name. I will not add to his “fame.” I sincerely wish that the media at large would do the same. I am sad that I can tell you who were the perpetrators in Aurora and Columbine and the others…

These shooters were people once…people who died monsters. Monsters who do not need their names shouted continuously which will most likely lead to more disasters.

Instead I will celebrate the lives of the victims. I will mourn the twenty babies that won’t be able to open Christmas presents next week, that won’t be able to graduate, or get married or have children of their own. I will mourn all of the accomplishments and happiness and sadness they should have been able to experience.

I will feel for their parents and siblings and friends. I will remember the names of the victims.

I will remember the name of Benjamin Wheeler, 6.

Why Benjamin? I don’t know. Is he any more deserving of remembrance than any of the others. No, they all deserve to remembered. They all deserve to be celebrated.

Benjamin’s name just jumped out at me and when I heard the idea to remember the names of the victims…his was the name I picked.

I will do my best to remember them all…and to forget the shooter’s name.

But I am just a man. A man with a bad memory. But I WILL remember little Benjamin Wheeler.

When I heard about the incident, I felt as if I’d been kicked in the chest. I hoped that it was a mistake, that hopefully they would find more survivors. My first thought, like I imagine most people’s first thought was, “Why?” Why babies?

There are no answers, no answers that will ever satisfy the loved ones of the victims. Nothing will ever make this right.

We MUST remember the victims. I will remember all I can, but I promise not to forget, Benjamin Wheeler.

Pick a name. Don’t let them be forgotten. Remember.

Daniel Barden, Charlotte Bacon, Grace McDonnell, Rachel Davino, Olivia Engel, Josephine Gay, Ana M. Marquez-Greene, Emilie Parker, Lauren Rousseau, Dylan Hockley, Dawn Hochsprung, Madeleine F. Hsu, Catherine V. Hubbard, Chase Kowalski, Jesse Lewis, James Mattioli , Anne Marie Murphy, Jack Pinto, Victoria Soto, Noah Pozner, Caroline Previdi, Jessica Rekos, Avielle Richman, Mary Sherlach, Benjamin Wheeler, and Allison N. Wyatt.

Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Dad v. The Elf

Clyde is watching you…probably in the shower too.

It’s Christmas time again, which means our elf, Clyde Finnegan has come down from the North Pole in order to scare the crap out of the Boy in an attempt to make sure he continues on the straight and narrow in the month of December.

When I was first introduced to Clyde, I didn’t much care for him.  It was like this annoyingly little pointy-eared intruder had burst into my house to tell me that I simply wasn’t doing enough to celebrate Christmas.  That I was, in point of fact, half-assing the holiday if I wasn’t using Santa’s newest little upstart to create lasting memories.

I wanted to punch him in his tiny little nose.

Seriously, who was he to denigrate our years of holiday cheer?

What does Santa need with another pair of eyes on us anyway?  Kids know that Santa is watching…he’s knows who’s been naughty and…well, you get it.  Why the extra diminutive polar muscle?

You never know where those creepy eyes are going to show up next.

But the Boy took to him right off the bat.  He wakes up every morning with a singular mission to find out where that crazy little elf has gone.

And the damned guy is really sneaky.

He shows up all over the place, doing all sorts of weird things.  Sure they seem all innocent…if you’re on the Nice list…which I’m pretty sure I haven’t been on since the age of thirteen.

The first two years with him weren’t that bad.  The kids loved it.  They stayed in line.  He stayed out of our booze and I never once caught him checking out the Cheerleader while she was changing.

Woah! Clyde, that is entirely NOT in the spirit of the season!

But this year…I think the dude’s gotten a wee bit too comfortable.

He’s doing lewd poses…right in front of the pictures of Santa.

I’m really at a loss for words.  It makes me wonder what kind of Arctic Prison Release Program that Santa is pulling these guys out of…

Apparently, elves crap M&M’s…who knew?  But I no longer want any on my cookies, that’s for sure.

I am seriously nervous about having the guy wondering around my house alone in the middle of the night.  It’s like having a miniature teenager on speed let loose in the living room.  Who knows what he’s been watching on our TV…I dread the cable bill…because I have a sick feeling that there will be a pay per view order of “Elves under 500 Gone Wild.”

It doesn’t matter what I say…he’s going to blame that on me..and I’m going to get really weird looks from the Cheerleader.  It’s unavoidable.

Getting into the booze? Now, we’re going to have issues.

And, oh yeah…this year, “young” Clyde Finnegan has grown a taste for the grape.

He’s eating all the cookies and he brought along his friend, Boris the Plaid Moose.

He said that Boris gave him a lift down from the North Pole…but the other night, I’m pretty sure that he was into the sauce pretty good and riding the poor plaid beast around the house.

I don’t know if “Drunken Moose Driving” is a felony up at the Pole, but it’s going to be one from now on in our house.  He almost knocked down the tree.

Who do you report a wayward elf too?  He’s supposed to be reporting back to Santa…and I know what that look he keeps giving me means…I better watch what I do and say or it’s going to be another year on the naughty list for me.

And I’ve been good this year!  I swear!

“It puts the lotion on it’s skin, Barbie. Or it gets the Nog again.”

And the Boy and the Goob don’t believe a word of anything I say about him.

I’m just worried about the family…I think Clyde is bad news.  I think he’s been drinking too much and “playing in the snow” if you know what I mean.

Who knows what he’ll do next?

Categories: Aspergers, Autism, Blogging, Dad, goob, parenting | Tags: , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Dad v. Happy Birthday Dad!

dadray-300x245

The Big Guy!

No, it’s not my birthday.  It’s my dad’s big day and I’ll do my best not to lay on the old jokes too thick.

But he rode a pterodactyl to school…

Actually, he’s not even that old.  He’s pretty darn cool.

Grumpy, at times, but still very inspirational.

For instance, he labored for 70 hours a week on the line in a GM plant for the better part of 30 years so that we could live where I grew up.  So that we didn’t have to live in a place where we worried about getting mugged on our way home from school.

My dad hasn’t had a drink in over thirty years…which is awe inspiring in my book.

He’s always there with advice.  He’s always there with a sneer too sometimes.

But he’s mellowed out a lot since I was growing up.

He loves to tell the story about how when he’d get home from work, the first thing that he’d do is come into the house and turn off the TV and watch all of us kids run.  Run to do the dishes.  Run to vacuum.  Run to clean something.

He never had to say a word…we just went to work…

Granted, we were scared to death of him.  He could yell a bit…but the point was, he didn’t have to yell.

A couple of years ago, maybe five or six now, my dad had a quadruple bypass.  It was one of the scariest weeks of my life.  He’d gone in to have a routine check up.  Everybody told me not to worry, especially because my work was sending me out of town on a disaster recovery test…so I was in a bunker, ten feet underground with no cell service…completely cut off from the world.

I came up for lunch one day and saw that I had four messages on my phone.  They’d found something during the checkup and they were rushing him in to surgery.

So I was there, 600 miles away, expected to work, while the biggest male figure in my life was under a doctor’s knife…thinking back on it now, I’m not sure how I accomplished much of anything…let alone the 48 hours straight I had to work…

But he pulled through, probably because he works out all the time and has a strong heart.  More than anything, I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t.

I remembered him coming to my baseball and football games.  I remember him sitting me down every saturday morning for his “sermon” which I always sat and listened to…but rarely retained…I just remembered him being there…always.

My dad married my mother when I was very young.  I don’t remember a time that he wasn’t there.  I don’t want to know a time when he won’t be.

He’s my dad and he’s the coolest, biggest, baddest dude I know.

Besides, I can’t tell Noah about how my dad had a pet dinosaur…oh wait, that was Fred Flinstone…but I think my dad grew up living next door to him.

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Dad v. The End of Season Two

The boy last year

This weekend is the annual Little League Football banquet.  A day to celebrate what our kids accomplished.  A day to expound on how much they’ve grown.  A single day to rejoice…that it’s over for another year.

That I will not be out in the cold watching my boy sit on the sidelines while it’s colder and colder and colder…

That I will not have to go through another Sunday cheer competition where inevitably I will have to try and console the Goob…either that they placed or that they didn’t.  Something about these competitions make them cry like newborns every year.

That I only have to go to one football banquet a year…because, truly, they are the most boring events ever.  You get to hear about how every kid has “heart.”  How each one is a “hell of a player.”  About how the coaches are “looking for big things from <insert name here> next year.”

This goes on for four hours…four.  I’m not kidding.

The family and I like to take bets on which cliche will be used the most and we write little notches on the program or a napkin or whatever to keep track…

I wish we could make it a drinking game…but we still have to make it home afterwards.

Of course, they usually don’t say that much about our boy.  Last year the coach mentioned a picture I posted where Noah sidled up to the coach during practice and put his arm around him…

This year they’ll probably talk about Noah’s performance at the end of the year party…the night they lost the Peanut Bowl.  Noah did karaoke…and well, listen for yourself….

Personally, I think he nailed it.  I loved that he was so excited to do it.  I love that he performed so well.  He was awesome, which led to this gift…this gift that kind of made the whole year for me…


Noah! Noah! Noah!

I guess we’re playing again next year…

Categories: Aspergers, Autism, Little League football, parenting | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

Dad v. The Trumpet

louiearmstrong

Louie Armstrong, he is not…

Dont’ get me wrong.  I’m really, really excited that the boy has taken up an instrument and will be playing in the band.

I love that he picked an instrument that, for reasons the Cheerleader and I cannot explain, he’s talked about for years.

The boy is ten now, but when he was seven, he declared that he simply had to have a trumpet.  Of course, he never learned to play that one and it really, really got beat up as it was dragged out around the play porch and only blown to wake somebody up who was sleeping on the couch.

But now, we’re ready for round two with the trumpet…which will be through the schools.

It did not start well.

The boy was so excited, after the Cheerleader brought home the new trumpet…the one we’ll rent for the next year…and showed it to him.  This was the instrument he picked!  His eyes lit up and a big smile expanded across his face.  He took out the beautiful golden instrument and immediately put in the mouthpiece and blew…and blew…and blew…with no sound.

He put it back in the box.  “I don’t want to play the trumpet any more.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to…” he turned and walked back to the living room to watch cartoons…our big monthly bill still stuck in our hands.

“Son, that is no longer an option,” I said.  “This is what you said you wanted.  You WILL learn to play this instrument.”

“I don’t want to.  Can’t I play the drums instead?”

“No.”

Then, we both started in to talking to him.  He “hadn’t even taken his first lesson yet.”  He “can’t quit before he even starts.”  We were “spending a lot of money.” Etc. Etc.

So…he went to band two days later and he says that they showed him how to play it better and he’s learning notes and he’s very excited….

But…there was a day, not to long afterward where I asked him to try to practice and again, he whined.  He’d rather watch his cartoons…friggin’ Beast Wars…so I got his trumpet and went up to his room…opened his window…and called down to him.  He came up, visibly grumpy when he saw me holding the trumpet.

“Watch this,” I said and took the trumpet and pointed it our the open window and blasted it as loud as I could.  It echoed off the houses across the street.  The boy smiled and took the trumpet from me…

Our poor neighbors.

On another occasion, he was supposed to be practicing the three notes he knows…so I set up his music stand, got out his beginners book and the trumpet and he started to practice…blowing every foul and labored note as loud as he could, right in my face and when I turned away, in my ear…but he practiced…Every note painfully showing on my face while the Cheerleader laughed at me.

So I’m really excited for him…and now that football is over, he’ll be practicing a lot more.  Our poor neighbors.

And I’ll still be waking people up who sleep on our couch…

PS. If you’re interested in working from home full time or part time, there’s a section over on the right that says “Learn Online Network Marketing.”  Put your name and email address in there and submit and we can learn how to make more money together.  That is, unless you already have enough money…if so, let me give you my address so you can send me a check…

Categories: Aspergers, Autism, torture, Trumpet | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

Dad v. Parenting in the Elements

Autism, Little League Football, Aspergers

Coaching over the fence.

Being the parent of a little league football player in October and November can be rough.  Oh, sure, it’s rough for the kids to be out there in the cold playing their hearts out…but we’re sitting on our butts in the cold and rain and wind.  Seriously, there are times it’s no fun at all, especially when your little guy usually only gets four plays per half.

And you’re watching them be bored on the sidelines.

Personally, I’m a wimp about it.  I don’t like to be cold.  I dress in seven layers or more when I hear it’s going to be cold…something about all those chills….gives me chills.

But I am routinely amazed at how well the boy does in the weather.

This last Saturday, we won the trifecta: Cold, Wind and Rain.

And the facilities were…lacking.  There was very limited seating in their old stands.  There was virtually no sidelines…and even though these kids rarely use them, the field goal posts were warped and bent.

So we had to bring our own chairs, along with our umbrellas and blankets and patience.

It was rough.

And then…the boys team trounced their opponents.  It wasn’t much of a game at all after the first half.

This is especially frustrating, because it would seem that that kind of game would be a perfect opportunity to get the kids that ride the end of the bench a ton of playing time, but that’s not really what happens.

And, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.  The starting kids, they play a ton every game.  They don’t need the “extra” time…and when you’re up by more than twenty points, the chances of a team coming back are close to nil…even if they do, you can always put those starters back in if it does get close.

This is little league frickin’ football, for chrissakes!  This isn’t college football where you get credited for running the score up on anybody.  It’s not the NFL where each victory means millions for players and coaches.

It’s little league football.  Play the third string and the rest of the team for the whole half as long as you’re up by 14 or more.

Hey…sorry…went off on a tangent there…where was I?  The boy?  The elements?

YES!  OK, so it was windy and rainy and cold and the players had limited space and they’re “discouraged” from actually sitting on the bench, so there isn’t a whole lot for them to do but stand in the cold and watch the other kids play…

And the boy sucks it up and does it…pretty much all the time.  Rarely, does anybody have to get on him about pushing other kids or doing things that he shouldn’t.

And in that environment, when he isn’t getting the playing time or coaching that he should…and he’s wet and shaking and miserable (or at least I was) …is a downright miracle and makes me so proud of him.

Go Noah!

Categories: Aspergers, Autism, Dad, Little League football, parenting | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

Dad v. St. Baldricks

This is how she looks now!

Well, the Goob has just raised the bar for being an exceptional kid.

Goob read about Donna and saw the group of people who raised money for pediatric cancer by getting their head’s shaved last year.

“I’d do that,” the Goob announced.

“Seriously?”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

“You know they’d shave your head?”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“You’d go bald to raise money for cancer?”

“Why not?”

“In high school?”

She shrugged.  “Can I stop going to school?”

And this is how she’ll look after…

“No.”

“I figured as much.”

“Do you still want to do it?”

“Of course I do.”

So my teenage daughter…teenage, when image and appearance can be so over-exaggeratingly important…is going to get her head shaved in order to help kids with cancer.

Yeah, she’s going to shave off all those pink locks for a cause.

In support for all the kids going through chemo, losing their hair from so much poison and fighting for their lives, she has no problem undergoing a little high school ridicule for something she believes in.

She’s that kind of Goob.

I can’t say enough about how proud I am of her.

Click on one the before or after photo and let her know that you support her too.

Categories: Dad v. Autism, Donna's Cancer Story, goob, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , | 6 Comments

Dad v. Beast Wars

Beast Wars, Autism, Aspergers, Dad

I will destroy your morning!

I’ve never been a big Transformers fan.  Not even when I was a kid.  Maybe it was because I could just never get the hang of transforming any of them.  They were apparently far too complicated for me.

But my sons have both loved them…and only handed a few of them to me to break when they had troubles transforming them.

I kind of like the story…kind of…but not really.  The eternal struggle between Optimus and Megatron, the inevitable betrayal of StarScream…

What I really hate about them now is The Boy has become obsessed with watching them every morning before school.

And woe to the parent who tries to interrupt him…for…I don’t know…getting ready for school?  Things like brushing your teeth and hair stand no chance against the awesome might of Megatron (“He turns into a dragon now!”)

The twenty one year old used to watch these same shows years ago.  Back then, there was no “wonderful” netflix to allow him to watch show after show constantly.  It was just programmed on at 6:30 am every morning…right after Pokeman, I think.

“Optimus changes into a big blue guerilla with a surfboard,” Noah tells me…in the middle of explaining thirty other robot transformations…or maybe a million, I’m not sure.  When you’re trying to get everybody ready for school in the morning, it only takes a few distractions to throw everybody off of their grooves.

It’s our morning now!

“Teeth and hair, buddy?’ I remind him again.

With the Micheal Bay’s (ALL BLOWED UP) Transformers franchise, they all came back.  Transformers cartoons up the ying-yang…and even the return of the 10 year old “Beast Wars” with all of it’s 1990’s adolescent CG animation.

And The Boy can’t get enough…especially in the morning before school.

“Just pause it, buddy,” I tell him.  “You can finish watching it in a minute.”

Now starts the whining and moaning.  I’m “tormenting” him.

I’m sorry, but as much as I try to make myself out as one, I’m not and after asking repeated times, it starts to get on my nerves.

“Pause it or I will and you don’t have to finish watching it after we’re done either.”

It’s at this point that I notice how his high pitch whining echoes the whining of the villain on the show.  It makes me wonder, “why do all villains seem to have high-pitched, nasally voices?”  Is that something in our subconscious that just makes us want to kill them…

“NOW!” I yelled at him and wrestled the remote away from him.  Then I paused it and listened to him cry for a moment.  “Why do we have to argue like this?  You know you have to do this every morning.”

He stands up and stomps a few times.  “You’re so mean.  Why do you hate me?”

“I’m not falling for that crap.”  It probably wasn’t the right thing to say, but I was getting more and more pissed and StarScream just didn’t know when to shut the hell up.  After getting him into the bathroom and taking care of his teeth and hair and after taking a few deep breaths infused with wishes for the death of Cybertron, I said, “You can’t guilt me.  You know I don’t hate you.  I love you, but sometimes I really hate some of the things you do.”

“I’m such a bad son!”

“Again, you’re not a bad son, but you’ve got to quit arguing with us so much.  It’s not helping anybody.”

He huffed and sat back down.

Another fine morning you’ve gotten me into, Optimus.

Categories: Apsergers, arguing, Autism | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment