rules for boys

Yesterday was not one of our better days. Having had such an amazing experience with the kiddo last weekend, I was somewhat surprised when our church picnic ended in Johnny spiraling out of control.

To be completely honest, I couldn't tell you which child set him off. I do recall some long bright blonde hair, but that describes multiple little girls who attend our church, and the minute I noticed the look on Johnny's face and his hostile posture, I began to run, seeing with tunnel vision from that moment on. I do know that every little girl that could have possibly been the catalyst to Johnny's meltdown is at least two years younger than he is, and none of those children have a history of malicious behavior. From what I could gather, the girl had accidentally tripped Johnny while they were playing, and she herself had begun to tumble, so she grabbed a hold of him to right herself. The problem with this is that in the world of Johnny, intention is directly tied and proportionate to the level of pain he feels. If you hurt him, you must have done it intentionally, and meant for it to hurt. If you hurt him a lot, you must have really meant it.

I've tried countless times to explain to Johnny that this isn't how most people work. Sure, there are individuals who will on occasion intentionally hurt someone else, but 9 times out of 10, if someone got hurt while playing, it was an accident. In his mind, those odds are reversed and the only times it is unintentional is when he's the one who accidentally hurt someone else.

Anyway, so I see Johnny rushing toward a little girl with his teeth barred and holding his hands out like claws, growling. It might have been comical if it weren't for the fact that I knew he was dead serious and out for blood. I ran across the yard and threw myself between them, scooped him up, and took him over to where I had been sitting on a bench. I locked him down on my lap by trapping his legs with my own and began to apply pressure in the form of a giant hug/restraint. Johnny proceeded to claw at, attempt to kick and bite me, and managed to get in a few good swings. Once I got him calm enough to carry him away, I took him into the house to be away from the situation. He screamed at the top of his lungs, a shrill and desperate cry that was anything but fake and most fully the expression of complete frustration and rage. Every time he gets that upset, my heart breaks for him. My own childhood flashes through my mind, and the overwhelming sensation of helplessness, confusion and frustration that I felt on countless occasions so similar in nature all come rushing back to me. He yelled and screamed that he couldn't calm down, that he was angry, that he wanted to hurt me, that he hated me, that I made everything worse, that she meant it, that she was horrible, that I let her be horrible to him, that I wasn't being fair, that I needed to die, that he needed to die. He launched himself at me multiple times, but I kept pushing him back into an empty room, insisting that he go and calm himself down privately. When Johnny is freaking out, there's nothing private about it, but I maintain that he needs to separate himself from everything and everyone when he is that far gone. I remember that level of all-consuming rage. I remember being so far gone that I couldn't even fathom how to stop from spiraling even further. As an adult, I've experienced that a handful of times, but as a kid, I remember it being far more often. Yesterday I felt so incredibly helpless because while I've found coping mechanisms as an adult that keep me from getting to that point again, they don't translate to things a 6 year old can easily do. Hell, sometimes it is hard enough for my 28 year old self to manage. So as my son continued to freak out, I kept a safe distance but remained as a barrier between him and the rest of the people there.

I won't lie, I broke down and cried.

Usually I'm at least able to hold it together until a situation is over and he's long since returned to whatever activity he was taking part in. Most of the time I can keep the tears in until I've put him to bed, cleaned up some of the house, and sunk slowly onto my bed to allow myself to process the events of the day. But yesterday? Yesterday I bawled as silently as I could manage, praying that my son wouldn't hear from the other room. My one friend Niki came over and gave me a hug and held me while I cried and told her how exhausted I am from moments like this. I love my child more than anything else in the world and feel amazingly blessed to have him in my life, but the powerless feeling of not knowing how to help him is crushing at times. Intimately knowing his pain but being unable to show him a way to fix it is one of the most infuriating feelings I've ever experienced.

When Johnny did finally calm himself, he still wanted to blame the little girl for everything. He began to beg to go home, and I felt that it would be a bad example to set that I would change my plans for the day just because he threw a tantrum. His dad was supposed to have him for the rest of the day anyway, and I needed someone to back me up and reinforce the idea that he is not allowed to hurt other people, including me, so I texted Steve to come and pick him up. By the time Steve got there, Johnny had gone back to playing calmly with the other kids and acted like nothing had happened. Steve, on the other hand, was quite stern when he picked Johnny up, and later relayed to me the conversation they had in the car on the way home.

There are times when my ex husband is able to find a brilliant way to approach a situation with our son that I would never in a million years have thought of. I'm not saying that Steve is by any means incapable of parenting Johnny, merely that as with most divorced family situations, (and often within those where the parents are still together) mom is usually the bad guy who handles the day-to-day and dad is the fun one. Having nannied kids for 10 years, and being the parent with primary custody, as well as having the same diagnosis as the kiddo, I'm often the one taking charge with how we approach a problem-- and Steve is usually extremely supportive. Steve's way of handling the situation yesterday when I didn't have a clue what to do with Johnny was perfect for who Johnny is and how he views the world: dad explained the rules.

While Johnny knows he isn't allowed to hit or attack other kids, and that is by no means a new concept for him, Steve approached it by pointing out that Johnny is a boy, and boys have special rules in life. There are a lot of cool things that come with being a boy, he explained, but it also comes with the rule that you never EVER hit a girl, for ANY reason. This new revelation about a special rule that he has to follow because he belongs to the male gender was just what it took for something to click in Johnny's brain. "Oh, I should apologize to mommy!" Yeah, buddy. You really should. (And he did!)

Steve's approach has bought me some time. We are still working on securing a new TSS and BSC for Johnny through CenClear, where he is receiving family based services right now, but in the meantime, I have a new way of approaching Johnny when he physically attacks me. Interestingly enough, I'd say that about 90% of the time he gets into a fight that causes him to become physical, it is an issue with a girl. This "boy rule", which is most definitely a very real and important rule, will be my constant reminder to him when things get heated. Hopefully soon we will have extra help on hand and can begin to really figure out ways to promote self-calming strategies.

Boy Rule #2? Always pay for the date. We'll approach that one in a few years...