Does it “Get Better?”

I love the “It Gets Better” message that so many celebrities are sending out to the kids today. And I do not believe its just a “gay issue.” I believe that message is being sent to all the bullied, different, disenfranchised kids out there. But still I wonder, does it get better? Although this post could be about any one of my children, today its about my 12 year old daughter, who happens to have a lot of letters attached to her, including OCD and PDD-NOS. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Pervasive Developmental Disorder Not Otherwise Specified. And you all thought that MDs and PhDs were something special. My daughter can “out-letter” you in a hearbeat! And she’s only twelve! But, I digress.

We had the opportunity to attend a baseball game yesterday. Beautiful day, sunny, light breeze, nice puffy clouds, a good day for a ball game. I knew my daughter might get bored, she’s also ADHD (there’s those letters again!), but we were prepared for that. She knew a few other kids there, she could switch seating with Mom, Dad, and Big Sis. There were mascots to high-five, between inning games played on field, and the big screen to watch. She had her flag to wave, money for donuts, pop, and other assorted goodies, and we were right beside the kids play area, for those “I’m tired of baseball” moments. I just wish she could have worn  ”emotional damage armour.”  She was going to need it.

My husband took her down to the play area during one of those bored moments. Happy, smiling, she started talking to some kids her age. They, in their infinite kindness, started pointing at her face, making “eeew” noises, and asking her what’s wrong with her. they laughed, pointed, and talked about her. “What’s wrong with her?” “She’s gross.” “I hope I never see her again.”

My daughter is not “The Elephant Man.” She is a very tiny 12 year old girl, medium length blonde hair cut in a bob, pretty pink glasses, and a big smile. Oh, she also has 3 marks on her chin, 4 more on her forehead and 1 or 2 on her hands. They are smaller than the head of a pencil eraser. They are caused by her picking repeatedly in the same spot, causing small scabs. It is the OCD in action. No horns, no third arm, no antlers. Just these little scabs.

She came back to me, the hurt showing in her eyes. Her dad’s way to “fix it” was to deny it, as always. “You’re too sensitive.” “They weren’t talking about you.” Just making it all the more painful by denying her feelings, her absolute right to be offended and hurt and angry. At that moment I wished for all the world I wasn’t stuck in a wheelchair, unable to get down those stairs to seek justice for my child. But I was, and I am, and there was nothing I could do, except console and understand, empathize and love.

To the parents of those children, my child has autism, what the hell is wrong with yours? One of my favourite quotes is, “I don’t think the worst thing that could happen to me is having a child with special needs. I think the worst thing would be to raise a child who is cruel to people with special needs.” - Matthew Mickelson Butman