On Arguing

I sat in a chair, facing a circle of attentive faces.  I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants and looked up to the ceiling, hoping to be rescued by wind, fire, Jesus himself descending on a cloud.  No such luck, just a plain old ceiling.  I looked back at the group, found my fearless leader smiling encouragingly back at me, said, "I really don't want to do this," heaved a sigh, and began.  I had been asked to share my story with the group.  To go back and tell how I came to be the person I am today, and maybe mention the people who helped me along the way.  I had something to say, but I really didn't want to do it.  See, I like and respect all these people who were listening, and I want them to like and respect me, too.  But if I talk about me (then), they are sure to think otherwise.  Because this is who I used to be:  argumentative.  I fought with my sister, I argued with my mom, typical teenage stuff.  But then I went to church and argued with my Sunday school teachers, and I went to school and argued with my classmates, and around and around again until I got others to AGREE to my (correct) point of view.  When I was 18, I went off to college and lived with 3 girls from different backgrounds and 3 entirely distinct personalities, and I fought with them.  On cold, snowy winter days, the only escape was to the dorm's computer lab, but we easily found each other through IM and the arguing started all over again.  The fighting got so bad in December that one of them threatened to kill me in my sleep, and I took her seriously.  Luckily my parents were able to come pick me up and I spent the night in the safety of my bed at home, while my roommate and her boyfriend came in to our dorm in the middle of the night looking for me.  She moved out the next week.

The arguments continued.  One day, more out of irritation than anything else, I decided to tell Jenni that she was only pretending to be a Christian.  When she went out drinking with the frat boys, it nullified her relationship with God.  I expected her to get defensive so I could wear her down and get her to admit I was right.  Instead, she turned the tables on me, pointing out that I was no better than anyone else, just because I didn't drink or swear, I would lie or gossip, say anything I wanted because I thought I wasn't going to get caught.  That was the end of our fight, because I had nothing to say to defend myself.  She was right.  This person whom I had been condemning just a moment ago was doing the exact same thing to me, and I didn't want to admit that I was busted.  I don't really remember any big fights after that; I think I was thoroughly embarrassed at being called out and didn't want to risk any more light being shed on my inadequacies.  By that summer, however, Chris and I had been dating long enough for me to get past the mushy, "I'm so into you" phase, and start to contemplate the "This might really be something" phase.  If that was the case, if I was going to start investing myself in our relationship, we needed to straighten some things out.  Immediately.  So I began arguing with him.  Sometimes it was just the petty jealousies that arise from a long-distance relationship, but many times our fights centered around our opposing, deeply entrenched beliefs.  We argued about US foreign policy, smoking, immigration, our friends, our independence.  I used everything in my arsenal to get him to agree with me.  I would hang up mid-sentence and refuse to talk to him until he ceded my point.  I would rant for HOURS to make him see the folly of his beliefs.  I fought dirty.  I thought I wanted victory, but when I got it (at what cost?), it didn't make me happy.

I learned something very important.  I learned that its okay to disagree.  I learned to have confidence in myself, in my convictions, and to realize that someone else's refusal to acknowledge me didn't take those away.  I also learned patience.  Because sometimes we will agree, eventually.  And when the other person gets there on his own, when he makes the choice for himself, I don't win...but I get harmony.  I realized (eventually) that peace was the thing I wanted the most.  I didn't want to fight anymore.  Recently, I came across these words by CS Lewis, and I think they so eloquently sum up my change of heart:
  "A discussion of real interest may follow.  Of course, the right side may be defeated in it.  That matters very much less than I used to think.  The very man who has argued you down will sometimes be found, years later, to have been influenced by what you said."
This is where I find happiness in my marriage today, in the aftermath of influence, instead of coerced agreement.  Moreover, I have even (once or twice) found myself to be in the wrong.  Giving up the argument in favor of contemplation has shown me the errors in my own thinking.  And Jenni?  The girl I called a slut and a drunk and an all-around bad person?  I saw her on her birthday this year, and marveled at how similar our lives have become, though we've been apart for so long.  I apologized for the things that I said, the way that I treated her so many years ago.  I told her what I said to my Village, that she busted me for all the evil in my life I was trying to pretend wasn't there.  And then she thanked me in return.  She said I made her think about the person she was becoming, and how saying a prayer and then living however she wanted wasn't actually what God wanted for her life.  And once again, I felt peace.

Feelings

We had a parent-teacher conference in November, which was wonderful because we got to hear about all the thoughtful and understanding ways James' teacher reaches him.  How she uses visual cues to help him order his day and learn new concepts.  She recommended that we get an iPad to use at home, because there are so many apps that can help autistic individuals get through life easier, and encourage them to work on new skills.  It was a nice idea, but a pricey one, and also one without any evidence to back it up.  Okay, we could spend hundreds of dollars on a therapy tool, but what if he doesn't respond to it?  What if he just wants to play Angry Birds like he does on his Nana's iPad?  With money being always tight in a single income home, I didn't see how it would be possible.  Then Christmas came, and with it, a gift.  A great big check from Grandpa for whatever we wanted to purchase.  So, okay, we decided to get the iPad, knowing that we would all enjoy its many uses if James ignored it.  I should have known.  My husband obviously did, because he followed up the purchase with nights researching the best apps, and compiled a list.  We went through it together, after the boys were in bed, thinking about what James needed, and where he is going.  The most important was the Visual Scheduler.  An app that lets you compile lists of activities and tasks to be done, complete with pictures and sound.  Example: My Nighttime Schedule...First I can Go to the Bathroom, Brush My Teeth, Put on Pajamas, Read a Book, Listen to Music.  Each icon can be moved to the other side of the screen and the iPad says "All done".  This particular list works wonders when the response to "Time to brush your teeth!" is met with a very emphatic "No."

The visual schedule has another function called a Feelings board.  I went through and made one for each of the available emotions: Happy, Sad, Angry, Frustrated, Tired.  When James got strep throat and refused to take his antibiotic, I added Sick.  Example: When I am sick I can Rest and Take Medicine, then I can have a snack and Watch a DVD/Video.  Once again, complete with pictures and sound, we watched the Sick board each day, then explained that taking his medicine calmly meant he could have a treat...a brownie, some candy, fruit snacks.  It helped, although he still hates medicine.  When the antibiotic treatment was finished, and he was told "All done", he broke out into the "We did it" song from Dora.  But he sits with his iPad and memorizes these lists.  I hear him reciting them in the car, at bedtime.  Whenever his baby brother cries, James says, "Michael is sad.  Cry, have a hug," the options he has been given on his feeling board.  Not only is he recognizing this emotion, in both his brother and himself, but he remembers what he can do, and frequently says, "I can cry" through his own tears when something upsets him.  But the best use the feeling board has gotten happened when I was distractedly texting and he wanted me to get a toy that was out of reach.  I heard him ask, and gave the "In a minute" mumble.  We went through this a few times, as he doesn't usually let up once he has a request.  I kept focusing on the phone (not my finest parenting moment), until he opened the iPad, pulled up the app, selected "When I am Frustrated", and kept tapping the icon, so that "frustrated frustrated frustrated" finally got my attention.  I had to laugh.  I appreciate his tenacity, and also his creativity.  When one way of requesting his toy didn't work, he found another.  And yes, I put down the phone and got the toy.  I should have done it sooner, but then I would have missed his masterful display of the Feelings board.

Another Feeling is Anger.  When James is throwing an all-out, I am losing it, marathon tantrum, he likes an audience.  He likes to rage and cry and hit in whichever room has the most occupants.  This sets off Michael, who doesn't like seeing his big brother upset, and usually the duet of screaming gets to Winston, so that we have a meltdown times three.  Which is great because children crying never gets under my skin *sarcasm*.  To prevent our house from exploding every time James is upset, we have been trying to teach him to go to his room.  Alone, he can rage, he can throw stuffed animals, he can stomp his feet.  Its been hard to get him to stay in there, however, and if I'm home alone, I can't very well leave the younger two unattended while trying to help James come down.  So now the iPad helps him understand what he needs to do. 

Last week, when I had a temper tantrum of my own, I tried to explain it to him.  "Mommy is angry.  Mommy needs to be alone and stomp her feet.  Then I can have a hug and have special time with James."  He repeated my words, but didn't leave me alone.  He sat in the chair in my room and watched me.  He watched me punch the pillows on the bed.  He watched me cry out.  And every so often he said, "Mommy is angry."  Eventually I calmed down.  Eventually I apologized to the kids for losing it.  Eventually Chris came home and I went downstairs to do laundry alone.

I am no longer skeptical about the therapeutic purposes of an iPad.  I am so thankful to both Apple, for making such an effective and easy-to-use product, and to the individuals and companies that develop the apps that bridge the differences between the autistic and the neuro-typical.