Da Boys

Da Boys
Eating Old Fashioned Candy on the Banks of the Mississippi

A blog about the poetic adventures of two curly haired and boys...and Autism.

This blog was started after many friends told me I should keep a journal of my daily activities with my two sons. Our days are usually filled with fun details, sometimes some sad ones but when you have a child diagnosed with Autism.....there is always Adventure!

Thursday, June 3, 2010

The Story of Wednesday

So, I started this blog Wednesday in response to a very rough day. The "Second of the House of Sweet Pea" started ABA (applied behavior analysis) two weeks ago. Unfortunately because of the holiday weekend he missed out on several days of therapy. As anyone with a child diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder knows...changes like this can be horrific. I was not going to tell this story but something the "First of the House of Sweet Pea" asked me made me change my mind. He was watching "Little Einsteins", the episode with the tapestry and asked my why the "Mean Queen" was part of the show. In a rare moment of clarity I said, "Because, there wouldn't be a story without her." This was a sufficient answer for him and a revelation for me. Indeed all of our lives our have "mean" events and the whole point is to overcome the event and share the story.

I want to clarify that the women in this story are not mean people. In fact they are quite the opposite. They work tirelessly for hours on end trying to get these children who are stuck in the dark to come into the light. They get yelled at screamed at, and from the stories I heard about their experiences, bitten, scratched and scarred as well. But they always come back and celebrate when these children do well. I appreciate all that they are doing to help my child...so with that said, here is..."The Story of Wednesday".

The Story of Wednesday

He steps onto the stage.
In the round, there is nowhere to hide.
As the players surround him
You can see his hesitation.
He wants no part in this play.

I cannot go with him
I am the audience.
I cannot direct him,
Only he can deliver his lines.

The stage is set.
The play of cruelty begins.
The reward is set in front of him.
The narrator speaks,
"Tap the table", she says.
He understands and taps the table.

The reward is given.

"Tap your head" , she says
He taps the table.
"No, tap your head.", she says.

He screams.

Is this a different play?
"Tap your head.", she says.
He does not know his lines,
but reluctantly taps his head.

The reward is given.

The audience responds.
Claps and cheers
resound in jubilant support.

"Say, Ready, Set, Go!" she says.
His dark eyes light up.
He knows this play!
He knows the dialogue.
With his tiny voice and a beaming smile he says,

The audience cheers.

The reward is given.

"Tap head", she says.
"Seht..Goh!" he says.
"No, Tap Head", she says.
"Seht..Goh!" he says...

The reward is not given.

He pleads with tears streaming down his
tiny cheeks.
"Seht..Goh!", he pleads.
"No, Tap head," she responds.

The audience is getting nervous.

The dialogue loops,
like a scratch in a record,
It goes back again,
And again,
And again.
The narrator will not go on.
He must do the acting.
To get the reward he must
follow the blocking.
"Seht..Goh!!! he cries.

The reward is not given.

In despair he turns to his audience.
He knocks at the 4th wall.
"Seht..Goh!!!! he pleads.

The audience stirs.
Unnerved by the suspense,
She responds when she was not required.
The 4th wall, lays shattered.

"Tap,head.", the audience asks of him.
"Tap, head."

But he cannot,
He does not know the lines.
Overwhelmed with hopelessness,
His rose lips quivering,
sweat pouring from his tiny brow,
exhausted from the endless crying,
unable to catch his breath,
He looks deep into his audience's soul

And begs.


The audience can no longer bear it.
Will this drama end?
To hide wells of burning tears from his sight,
she gently lowers her face onto the table.
Her black hair spills forward
To close the curtain.

And the reward, is not given.


  1. Sonny, Thank you for sharing a piece of your world. It is very moving.
    Many Blessings.

  2. I always think of your boy when I hear the neighbours kid doing race cars. I don't know his exact disorder, but he is autistic too. For hours and hours he will imitate race cars under my bedroom window, starting as soon as he's up, building op the sounds and mimicking screaming of tyres. And when I'm losing patience because I can't sleep in or sit on the balcony, I think of you and your boy. I walk away and try to pretend the noise isn't there, because it's a million times worse for the families of these children than for me.

    It's hard to imagine for me what you and my neighbours go through every day, but my thoughts are often with you. Cleo