I have a wee bit of Irish in my ancestry like many folks of European descent. The only accent I'd trade my Texas one in for would probably be the Irish accent. Although I have never traveled there, I fantasize about the idea of drinking some good, Irish beer in a village pub. Despite my heritage, the celebration of St. Patrick's Day has been rather understated. Prior to when I began consuming alcoholic beverages, the holiday was merely a day to wear green. Today, I saw the holiday through my son's "autism glasses."
As we prepared our children for school this morning, we dressed the boys in green like many family's around the country and internationally. My twins' only issue was who got which green shirt since they basically wear the same clothes. My son with autism actually found his own green shirt and put it on. At first glance, this would seem normal for most people and, for us, quite a successful start to the day. Overall, it was a good morning on the surface. The only difference was my anxiety level.
My concerns about St. Patrick's Day stemmed from a comment my son made a few days ago when he realized that the holiday was approaching. He stated emphatically that he was going to stay home in his room on St. Patrick's Day, that he would not go to school or go anywhere for the whole entire day. My son has a history of resisting going to school. Resisting is putting it quite mildly since what he really does is fight tooth and nail to not go. He has recently started going to a new school which, so far, has been better for him. He has not protested going to school, although he did halfheartedly say he didn't want to go anymore because he "knew everything already." We have struggled for years now to help our son willingly go to school. Him even hinting that this may become a problem for this school triggered all sorts of panic in me because I'm simply exhausted by the battle.
Last year, my son was mortified to hear that people pinch those who are not wearing green. This bothered him for two reasons, I think. One, the idea of pinching someone was totally uncool in his mind and, second, it allowed others to judge whether he had done something correctly or not (i.e., another could determine whether he'd worn green). He did manage to go to school last year on St. Patrick's Day but I do recall that it wasn't the best of days. This year as the holiday approached, I deliberately avoided putting up any decorations. I spoke with his new teacher to let her know he had issues with the holiday, and she assured me that they did not celebrate it in class.
When my son willingly and quite gleefully put on his green shirt independently, I was very surprised and pleased. I was beginning to relax when I overheard my husband, who was not wearing green, saying to our son, "Do I have green on?" Being the freak that I am, I ran back in and tried to ask my husband to not continue down that path of conversation because I was afraid it would lead to the scary, frightening, horrible word "pinch." Of course, since my son was right there, I couldn't explain myself without bringing up the ISSUE so I was evasive but firm in my request. Perplexed by my reaction, my husband reluctantly quit talking and I had to call him later on my cell to explain my concerns. If my son heard the word pinch, he might be reminded (as he so often is by slight references like that) of his anxieties and, thus, decide that he needed to stay home the whole entire day.
Perhaps I averted some trouble or else I need to take the same chill pill that I so regularly wish my kids would take, but I was thankful that the day went fine in regard to my son's going to school. He even greeted his Daddy with a "happy St. Patrick's Day" when he returned home from work. Tonight, as I think about what St. Patrick's Day meant back in the days it began, to what it has become here in the United States, I find it interesting how autism has affected us so pervasively that even an innocent holiday like this becomes an issue to overcome. I keep wondering if I'll ever quite being surprised by how autism affects us. Just as soon as I feel that it can't surprise me anymore, I find myself jarred by yet another thing.
As I sit and enjoy a fine bit o' beer tonight, I can't help but wonder what my ancestors would think of my son. Back in the day, he would have been misunderstood and would have likely been tormented or punished for his fearful reaction. I'm grateful that I understand him enough to help him, that I can ease his anxieties by being understanding of his viewpoint. One day, I hope to teach my son the history of the holiday and to gently guide him beyond his concerns about being judged or pinched. I can only hope that one day, when he's of legal drinking age, of course, we can all toast to his overcoming his fear while consuming a wee bit of Irish beer just as our ancestors did in the motherland.
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