They are fortunately few and far between, so when they occur they tend to catch Micah’s aides and me by surprise. Today was such a day. Late in the afternoon when I finished work and was just starting to read a good book in the time I had left before Micah returned home, I received a text from his aide which included two photos of Micah and the words “I may need you to talk to Micah, he is not listening”. The photos showed Micah covered with dirt and sweat in the woods somewhere. I dropped my book and called his aide to ask what in the world was going on. She explained they were in a park about 20 minutes away and were hiking until Micah stopped to sift some of the leaves and dirt. She allowed this to a point but when she said it was time to go, he said “no” and would not move from the wooded spot he was sifting.
I tried using my meanest, most authoritative mom voice on the phone which did not produce even a small change in his behavior. I suggested his aide try to physically assist him from the area but she was nervous about trying to do that, so I told her I would be there as soon as I could. Thankful that they were only 20 minutes away, but getting getting crankier as I drove each mile, I remembered another time, years before, when Micah went to a local water park with one of his aides and refused to leave when it was time to come home. The call for help came from his aide with the same result of no change in his behavior by hearing my stern voice from the cell phone held at pool’s edge demanding he get out of the pool (most likely not even heard due to his happy splashing). That rebel day was a bit dicier than today as I had to talk my way into the water park with the goal of not paying the entrance fee while I retrieved my wayward son. He was smaller a few years ago and was concerned enough about the wrath of mom to skedaddle out of the pool when I appeared at the pool edge and demanded he exit.
Today, as I drove into the parking lot of the park, I saw to my relief that Micah’s aide was standing by her car with a very dirty Micah sitting in the front seat. My guess is that he most likely finally complied with her request to leave as he was bored with the sifting, or perhaps he knew the gig was up as his aide told him the enforcer was on the way. Alas, we will never know.
When I got close enough to talk with him I was astonished at how dirty he actually was. He could be a person of any race as most of him was covered with dirt. I insisted that Micah apologize to his aide as I stared in disbelief and watched strangers giving the three of us curious looks as they passed by. On the way home I informed Micah that we would go directly to the hose by the barn to wash off as he was not entering the house covered with dirt.
Apparently all rebellion had been sifted out of him as he got out of the jeep and headed to the hose by the barn and let me wash what seemed like pounds of dirt off of him. After being hosed down, he took his clothes off outside and wore his beach towel into the house to his next destination, the bathtub. End of rebellion, he soaked in the tub and ate a hearty dinner after.
As peace settled over the house I was left wondering about this odd role of “enforcer” that I have. It is a role all parents have, but generally (hopefully) their children outgrow the need for it. But with autism in the mix, the enforcer role may be periodically needed throughout Micah’s life. Will the calls for help with Micah still come in 10, 20 or more years? Or will rebel days be less enticing as he will be older and more mature? Questions that linger in the post rebel quiet of a summer night.
Jan Lessard Peightell June 27, 2022