IT’S DIFFERENT FOR GIRLS (Joe Jackson)
September 28, 2018

I was not an innocent young thing when I was in high school.  I snuck out to go see bands play in Hollywood, went to parties as often as I could, and kissed a lot of boys.  I had a group of close girlfriends, what would now be called my squad, who I spent most of my free time with, sometimes including some of our guy friends in the mix, or meeting up with them wherever we would land.  We all experimented with drinking, some drug use and boys.  Not all of us left high school virgins, but some did. We weren’t wild or reckless.  We were actually considered “nice” girls.  We were pretty typical teens in the early 1980’s.

I met my first boyfriend when I was 15, and was 16.  I was in 10thgrade and he was in 11th.  We dated and hung out for quite a while before he became my first. I had it in my head that I should wait until I was 16 to have sex.  I don’t know where that notion came from but wait we did.  Despite having a caring relationship, we broke up when I cut my long blonde hair short as I got more into punk rock.  So much for young love!

Your first time is supposed to be the cherished memory you carry with you.  The general sweetness of the nerves and fumbling and genuine belief that you are in love and this is the next, natural expression of that young love. At the time, it was all of that…plus in all honesty, it was fun.

I didn’t have a boyfriend for a while after that first relationship.  I kissed a few boys at parties (kissing was probably one of my favorite activities – I know I’ve written about my love of kissing before) but I didn’t have my second boyfriend for quite a while.  However, my opinion of sex was forever changed not long after the breakup.

One Friday, we all found ourselves at a post football game house party. A fairly usual occurrence. To this day I remember what I was wearing (A black mock turtle next sweater that was my mom’s when she was in high school, a wool pencil skirt, fishnets and black pointy toe pumps) and I can picture the front entrance of the house, double doors, with the garage and driveway to the right, with a large BMW sedan parked in the driveway, close to the garage door. There were shrubs that lines the walkway to the right of the door that led to the driveway.  There wasn’t a light on the garage, but the porch light glowed brightly.

We arrived late.  The party was already in full swing.  Music was playing and kids were spilling through the sliding glass doors in the living room out into the lit up back yard. A guy I liked was there and though he didn’t often show me any attention or regard, he came up and started talking to me.  He gave me a beer and we continued to talk about bands we’d seen.  It was loud and he took my hand and led me out to the front yard.  No one was out there.

He kissed me and I kissed him back, thinking, wow he likes me.  He moved me over to the driveway, backing me up against the garage door, still sort of kissing me. Then he moved his hands to my shoulders and started sliding me down the door until I was on the cement driveway behind the car.  I felt uncomfortable and nervous and suggested we go back inside.  I started worrying about what was going to happen next and yet I couldn’t quite escape him.  He still had me pinned down and was sort of squatted over me.

He pulled my skirt up and reached down and ripped my fishnet stockings open as I squirmed and tried to get away.  Then he pushed inside me.  No fanfare, no utterances of care.  It was over quickly, though it felt like ages laying there in the dark, on a cement driveway, pinned between a garage door and BMW, while my friends and lots of other people were inside having fun.  All the while he acted like it was a normal thing.

No one worried that I wasn’t inside the party because my friends knew that I thought he was cute. They figured we were making out.  They were probably happy for me that he had shown interest in me.

He actually extended a hand to help me up after, though he smugly went back inside alone, while I attempted to pull myself together and get my clothes back in order.  Eventually I went back in, found a drink and shook.  I couldn’t understand why that had happened and I kept replaying it, wondering what I did to make him think that it was what I wanted or that it was okay.  I doubted myself.  I blamed myself.  I didn’t understand.

Date rape wasn’t defined for at least another decade after that experience.  Those kind of experiences were brushed off as boys getting carried away or girls leading them on.  You know, you can’t get a guy all lathered up and not let him get off.   Peers weren’t supportive and parents were fairly useless.  You were not believed, you were judged.  You learned to just live with it and carry on.  If you were lucky, you didn’t get pregnant (because this was early 1981 and AIDS was just emerging so condoms were not readily used). If you were lucky, no one found out and you weren’t branded a slut.  If you were lucky, this wouldn’t have happened to you.

Sadly, it seems that today, almost forty years later, it’s not that different.

 

 

 

 

 

 

WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS (The Beatles)
September 18, 2018

I saw a post today, shared by a friend in Australia, about a friend of hers who just had a baby. There were complications with the delivery and her daughter has been diagnosed with cerebral palsy.  The post was asking for donations for the baby’s current and future care.  I wanted to write on the post that with seventeen years of experience with a similar child, it’s going to be okay and that despite the dramatic entry and overwhelming sense of the unknown, life will be joyful and their child will be loved and happy.  I held back though because I’m never quite sure if people want to know this while they’re in the throes of trying to understand their new reality.

This doesn’t just apply to this particular situation.  I struggle with it in all kinds of situations.  I have come to realize that often people don’t want to know that there are other people who have walked the path before them and can shed some light on the journey.  I also worry that it comes off as “know-it ally”, which is never my intention.  So I often opt to hold my thoughts.

I, for one, am truly grateful for advice and support, and I cherish the guidance of those who have similar parenting journeys because between all of us working together we have quite a network of research, connections and experience that enriches the lives of our children beyond what one lone set of parents can do no matter how savvy.

One of my fantasies is to one day create a compound living situation, preferably near the beach, with a therapeutic swimming pool, accessible gym complete with an infrared sauna on the property, where other families like ours could all live with their 24/7 adult kids (either in independent homes or with family) and support one another.  Some of us have kids that will likely remain with us for life but there are ways to provide some independence for them within a fixed community and to allow parents to have some independence as well.  It’s a fantasy but not completely outside the realm of possibility.

b653c0dc39dfd54a18c0d046eabb44bc--tiny-house-cabin-small-homes

We can go it alone but in my experience it’s always better with friends…

 

 

 

TALK TO ME (Chris Isaak)
September 15, 2018

Cole’s first junior year report card arrived yesterday.  Straight A’s. He’s fairly consistently receiving A’s and a very occasional B on his high school report cards and always with E’s, and is always proud of himself when the grades are revealed.  We are proud too, of course.  For Cole, the grades are both a mix of subjective grading, his effort, and his understanding of the given subject.  He has modified work and the benefit of one on one class time with his Special Ed (SpEd) teacher.  It doesn’t diminish the grades and is certainly reflective of the attention he puts forth in class.  He takes a fair amount of pride in maintaining his grades and in the attention he receives for doing so.

I just wish he put forth the same interest and effort in developing some of his communication skills and independence at home.  He would gain so much by engaging in conversation with people outside of school, including me and his dad.  He has friends who desperately want him to use his Tobii (eye gaze generated voice output device) to talk with them.  Teens, even understanding, kind hearted teems, don’t always welcome the parent invasion when they’re hanging out.  Having time with friends, independent of a parent or even of a support adult to help facilitate conversation, would be so incredible for him.  It’s such a valuable facet of friendship.

th-3

I’ve gone so far as to suggest to some friends that they tell him that they won’t chat with him until he starts chatting with them using his Tobii.  His friends are too sweet to listen to me and continue to talk to him despite his aversion to the Tobii.  He met a girl this summer who is very similar to him in diagnosis and also uses a Tobii, though she is happily reliant upon it and uses it well and often. I’m told she pressed him to use it during summer school and he was slightly more receptive, which makes me hopeful that he with the right motivation he’ll warm to it.

I understand part of his reluctance, or disdain, for the device.  Cole’s a people person.  He’s very keen on eye contact and adept at communicating some of his needs and reactions through small sounds and various facial expressions and smiles.  The Tobii obstructs his direct view of people he’s “talking” with.  It’s also taxing to use, both physically and mentally, so an element of laziness factors in too, especially if he’s asked to use Tobii with his dad and I.  We’ve developed a strong understanding of him, but even with us there’s so much left to our interpretation.  He’s often just not bothered enough to be frustrated or care. I really wish he were.

I just want him to use his voice…to express his thoughts, opinions, and needs.  I want him to deepen his friendships by opening them up through mutual communication and the intimacy that comes from friends sharing. I want him to engage new people in conversation or to initiate conversation. I want him to show interest in other people by asking questions or simply saying “Hello” aloud.  I want him to expand upon his education by using his voice to express his knowledge and understanding.  I want all of these things for him…

If only he did…