Archive for the ‘Contests’ Category

What makes a “good” Aspie mother? (with a giveaway!)

Monday, February 10th, 2014

 

Last week, Gina Crosley-Corcoran of the blog The Feminist Breeder wrote on her Facebook fan page that her oldest son was recently diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome.  When I saw her post, I responded as I always do to parents sharing this news for the first time: “WELCOME TO THE CLUB!”

In my essay in the book The Good Mother Myth, I write about my son’s diagnosis:

…I hardly mourned when my son was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome when he was seven. After all, as countless psychologists reminded me, this was likely the same neurological quirk that made Bill Gates the wealthiest man in the world.  Hell, in my wholly overeducated social circle (I am one of very few with “just” a bachelor’s degree), you’d be hard pressed to find a young boy without a spot on the autism spectrum.  

The words here are elegant and composed, but in 2007 I was a wreck.  In truth, I had been a wreck ever since my perfectly adorable infant opened his mouth in February 2000 and SCREAMED.  He wouldn’t stop for months.

 

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So I did mourn: I mourned the stubbornly persistent belief that parenting was supposed to look like it did on TV, that my child and I would be so naturally in sync that I would know his every need, that my child would be warmly accepted into the fabric of modern society by virtue of his very existence.

Instead, I had a kid who was regularly singled out by frustrated relatives as well as preschool, kindergarten, and grade school teachers for not being their version of “normal.” I had his preschool classmate tell me, upon learning whose mother I was: “I don’t like Elliott.  He screams a lot.”

I have to pause here an collect myself because I am tearing up.  I haven’t thought about that preschool experience in years, yet the memory still makes me clench my teeth so hard I can feel my crowns loosen.

It is painful to imagine a world that might not love your child as much as you love him.  This is true for any parent of any kid, with or without special needs.  A childhood diagnosis, however, kicks this panic up a thousand notches, for moms especially.

Why moms?  Because we parent under the excruciating glare of  The Good Mother Myth.

 

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Gina herself has an essay in this anthology, a poignant look at abuse and neglect she suffered in her childhood and her determination to break the cycle with her own kids.  I write in my own essay about how much I fear passing on my family’s tendency towards anxiety:

My seven-year-old daughter Miriam bites her nails.  She chews them down to angry red nubs that even I, her loving (good!) mother, must admit are really quite ugly.  “It’s a bad habit,” she laments, using language she learned from a Berenstain Bears book on the subject.  “I want to stop it, but I can’t.”  I tell her I know how she feels.  When I was her age, my fingers were raw and bloody too, like the tips of ten half-eaten hot dogs.  

You didn’t ask, but I’ll tell you anyway: I believe that autism is genetic.  My wholly unscientific theory is that in the latter part of the 20th century, nerds and geeks who might have been isolated from one another were suddenly let loose on the campuses of research universities and liberal arts colleges where they met, fell in love, and decided to breed (this theory holds true for my friends in same-sex couples, who selected donors that shared their interests, like, y’know, science and engineering).

Gina is very well-known in the blogosphere and in social media, so naturally the post about her son drew a lot of traffic.  What drew even MORE traffic was a series of followup comments and posts between Gina and autistic self-advocates who objected to what they perceived as Gina’s desire to “cure” her son of his condition.  I won’t take a side in the debate, which as of this writing has devolved into a very bitter affair that includes name-calling, accusations of lying and harassment, the works.  Nothing good comes of that, online or elsewhere.

Here’s what I do know: there is genuine and deep pain on all sides.  Autistic adults hurt because they feel humiliated and denigrated when the complexity of their lives is reduced to the image of a missing puzzle piece and ridiculous stunts like turning the Empire State Building blue.  I can’t speak for Gina, but holy crap did I feel hurt and vulnerable when people tried to tell me the “best” way to support my son’s diagnosis.  For a few years there I walked around like an open wound.  Every suggestion stabbed my heart to a very familiar refrain:

“YOU ARE NOT A GOOD MOTHER.”

 

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There is good news: my son is the coolest boy in the universe, and I would not change a damn thing about him.  Not a damn thing!  I WANT to give him the tools he needs to be a happy, socially successful adult., so I offer him help with skills that don’t come naturally–like reciprocal conversation, sensory processing, nonverbal communication, etc–but I wouldn’t change him.  He knows he has Asperger’s, and he’s not ashamed of it.  In fact, he wrote a short essay for his school newspaper about his life as an Aspie.  I love him so much that I want not only to be a GOOD mother, but the BEST mother that he needs.

I don’t always succeed, though, and that’s why I’m sharing some other good news:  the kind people at Seal Press, publishers of The Good Mother Myth, want to send a Radical Housewife reader a copy of the book for FREE.  Yes, FREE!  In addition to Gina and me, contributors include Sharon Lerner, K.J. Dell’Antonia, Soraya Chemaly, Jennifer Baumgardner, and many other smart, funny, thoughtful parents who are committed to doing the best they can.

Which is pretty good, I think.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

“Atheist Voices of Minnesota” contributor interview & giveaway!

Wednesday, September 5th, 2012

Readers, you are in for a treat. I’ve secured an interview with one of the contributors to the just-released anthology Atheist Voices of Minnesota, and its publisher, Freethought House, has generously offered a copy for me to give to one of my lucky blog readers. Follow the directions on the Rafflecopter widget at the end of this post to find out how to enter (offer open to US residents only).

The contributor who chose to talk with me is the author of the essay that opens the collection, a piece that Doubt: A History author Jennifer Michael Hecht called “sensitive” and “compelling.”  A clue to her identity: her name appears on the cover….and it ain’t Stephanie or Greta.

THE RADICAL HOUSEWIFE: Have you always been an atheist?

SHANNON DRURY: My go-to joke is that I was baptized Catholic but it didn’t take. I was raised in a secular home by two products of the adage that the best way to raise an atheist adult is to send him or her to Catholic school–especially in the late ’50s and early ’60s, when nuns were still smacking naughty children with rulers.  My mother told me she was singled out for particular abuse because she had the bad luck to be born redheaded AND left-handed, both of which were considered early predictors of demonic possession.

I bought my mom this Nunzilla wind-up toy back in the ’90s.  It breathed fire as it stomped toward you.  She said it was eerily accurate.

RH: Wait a minute.  I know for a fact that you are a great fan of Pema Chödrön, the well-known Buddhist…..wait for it….NUN!  How can that be?

SD: Hey, just because I don’t think The Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything is a god or gods doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned the quest.

I read quite a lot of Buddhist philosophy.  Longtime readers of my Minnesota Women’s Press columns know how often I sprinkle in ideas from Thich Nhat Hanh.  Stephen Batchelor, a former Zen monk, has written a number of great books, including Buddhism Without Beliefs, Living with the Devil, and Confessions of a Buddhist Atheist.  And Pema Chödrön is one of my very favorite writers of any genre.  I love her to bits.

I suspect that if you asked Chödrön herself for The Answer, she might reply that it’s neither the Buddha nor the number 42–it’s love.  Which is what my essay in the book is all about.

RH: Your essay, “An Atheist Grieves,” made me cry.

SD: It made me cry, too.

RH: Was it hard to write?  You’re laying bare some pretty raw emotions: the death of your maternal grandfather, the death of your close friend, the deep anxiety felt by a parent who wants desperately to make sense of the world for her curious children.  

SD: It’s more difficult to read than it was to write, honestly.  It kinda just poured out of me in a few particularly wrenching sessions at the laptop–after years of puzzling and puzzling over why the death of my friend Liz has been so goddamn (pun intended) hard to get over.

When my grandfather died in 1979, it made some sort of sense to me.  He was old (though today 65 doesn’t seem as ancient as it did when I was a third-grader), he had seen his children through to adulthood, including marriages and the births of their own kids.  Though my parents weren’t Catholic anymore at that point, they still relied on its framework to sort the whole thing out.  Grandpa Cliff had a full funeral mass, and everyone said that he was “in a better place” and that kind of thing.

Liz and I were the same age.  We met at Carleton College and both graduated with the class of 1994.  She died just two months after her oldest daughter started kindergarten.  Her youngest daughter was not even a year old when Liz got her cancer diagnosis, and she won’t have any memories of her mom healthy–that is, if she remembers her mom at all.  What the fuck is THAT all about?  How do you sort THAT out?

RH: I have no idea.

SD: Most people have religious rituals to guide them through grief.  I didn’t.  The original title of the essay was actually called “What an Atheist Grieves When an Atheist Grieves,” because over time I realized that I wasn’t simply mourning her, I was mourning a lot of other stuff, too.

RH: Like what?

SD: My illusions of immortality, for one thing, though everyone confronting the death of a peer feels that.  I think I realized that my smartypants attitude about organized religion wasn’t exactly keeping me warm at night, if you know what I mean.  As I write in the piece, “my atheism requires maintaining a delicate and oftentimes painful balance  between intellectual superiority and emotional terror.”

RH: Intellectual superiority, eh?  No wonder you don’t talk about your atheism much.  You could get yourself punched in the face for saying something like that.

SD:  Oh c’mon.  Do I really think that I am smarter than my beloved neighbors, dedicated parishioners of St Joan of Arc?  Of course not!  But when you watch some dope on YouTube claiming that the Bible’s word refutes evolution, the dinosaurs, miscegenation, climate change, homosexuality, and “women’s lib,” it’s hard not to feel like unbelievers are awesome.  And then there’s the Taliban…..ugh.  I do feel sympathy for people of faith who have to contend with the lunatic fringe that makes them appear guilty by association.

I also tend to avoid embracing my atheism for fear of being stereotyped as yet another member of the secular white liberal elite.  Secular, white, and liberal, yes.  But elite?  I’m a garbageman’s daughter, for cryin’ out loud!

RH: Admit it–you almost said “for Christ’s sake” there.

SD: You know I did.

Anyway, the real reason I don’t talk about my atheism much is that faith, and its lack, seems like a pretty private thing to me.  It feels akin to discussing all the gory details of your sex life–though I suppose that’s the very excuse that Elton John made, once upon a time.

RH: Anything else your readers should know about the book?

SD: It features contributions from Pharyngula blogger PZ Myers, HuffPo regular Chris Steadman, science writer Greg Laden, an introduction from Greta Christina, and writings from many other interesting people from across my home state.  It’s available as en e-book on Kindle or Nook, too, though readers should know that the copy they could win is fully analog.

RH: I am aware of your love-hate relationship with technology.

SD: Tell me about it. Just take a look at this raffle widget it took me hours to enable:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

RH: It took me a little time to load because I have “The Inbetweeners” streaming on another tab.

SD: I may be an atheist, but I have seen hell–it’s a computer with sluggish wifi. Love that show, by the way.

RH: How often should people enter?

SD: Multiple times a day until 12:01 am on September 17.  The winner should also think of a witty inscription for me to inscribe on the title page, which will make the book a genuine collectible, suitable for keeping in the glass case with first edition Harry Potters or selling on eBay.

RH: How generous!  Good luck to all entrants!