So we tried it: the after school activity! After trying to find the right teacher or coach, and a group of kids at the roughly appropriate skill/age level, I thought we found a match. Dance with girls. The kid is girl-crazy. Valentine's Day was rough. James found out that the love of his life - his Occupational Therapist - had a boyfriend. No matter that she was almost 18 years older than him. He was scared her paramour was going to beat him up. So his over the top reaction (after many tears) was to CANCEL the day. "How can I meet girls? You met Daddy in church." Cool, let's go prowling Sunday mass for chicks. Sigh. I suggested a dance class specifically designed for special needs kids. There were all girls, roughly age ten, and one other boy. Day one was tough, but we muscled through. Next week was different. Obviously the first class catered to James. I felt like an idiot. Class was fast paced. Everyone lined up in size order with tall James in the back. Not a great placement for paying attention. Why couldn't they be lined up across? Before I could make a suggestion, the steps were demonstrated, one, two, three, four, five: do it, one at a time across the room. James got the first step down and they were on the last. The girls were blowing past him in line because he was slow. One banged in to him and he was pushed him into a column. He started crying. She recoiled. He noticed and cried harder. Another girl sat down with her hands over her ears. Now it was time for individual free-form. Um, no. As we sat and waited his "turn," I tried to get James to stop crying. "I am not louder than the music. Why can't she put on headphones? That's what I have to do" he wrote of the noise-bothered gal.
Next it was time to partner up. The girl who backed away from James earlier ran when she realized she was next to him. He was now inconsolable. "She thinks I am a monster." It was a fiasco on 15 levels. It was too advanced. I found these girls had been taking dance for 3 years. And despite the class being offered at his sensory gym, it was not for special needs kids. I am not saying they didn't have issues but they could talk and move and walk down the street alone. We went home and James cried for two hours. It was now my fault. "How could you do that to me?" was the constant question. I thought we got through it. I thought the night was normal. I didn't think anything of his going to bed early, either. It was a rough day! James then proceeded to very quietly and secretly tear the bedroom apart, specifically my possessions. If it was Daddy's it was untouched. His act was intention and horrendous and horrible. Unfortunately, the woman who doesn't yell, doesn't get upset, doesn't let him ruffle her, lost it. Boy, did I put the fear of God into him. The next day he wrote all about me in his "book." "Mommy is not a good mommy. Mommy is not my friend. . . ." Then I went over his punctuation, spelling and sentence structure. It flabbergasted him. I said nothing about the content but I apologized, not for being angry, but for my reaction. It was wrong. And then low and behold, he apologized. And then life was again good. Thank God.
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