The Small Journey of John Roedel
http://blog.johnbigjohn.com
the small journey of John Big John

The straight dope on how I cope. - A conversation on Autism.


Excerpt from the offical John Roedel Dictionary:

COPING- A defense mechanism thingy  that allows me to survive an unpleasant situation.  This usually involves high levels of reality television, music from They Might Be Giants, and lathering my torso in carmel.  This prescription of inane programming, senseless music, and three inch layer of dessert topping helps dope whatever unwanted feelings that have set up shop in my delicate muppet-like heart.  

Note to self:  Carmel is impossible tricky to get out of armpit hair.  Still, as delicious as ever though.  


A day ago I got into an e-chat with a gentleman who recently started reading my blog.  With his permission (and actually he was the one suggest that I do blog about it because maybe one other person could benefit from the conversation) allow me to paraphrase the convo.  He is a dad of a child who was just recently diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome.  For info of that diagnosis please visit here.  


DUDE I JUST MET (hereafter known as "Dude"):  I was wondering if I could ask you some questions.

ME (hereafter known as "me"): Sure.  You should probably lower you're expectations of what type of logical or helpful answers I can give you.

DUDE:  I figured that on your recent blog postings.  Just joking...kind of.

ME:  Glad you like them.  Um..kind of.

DUDE:  I have been reading the posts you wrote on autism and I was wondering how much you understand about Asperger's syndrome.  

ME: (this was where I explain what I know)

DUDE: (this is where the Dude explains how little I actually know about it. he talks about his families situation with their four year old boy )

ME: I can completely understand what you are going through.

DUDE: My question is how do you cope with the grief, guilt, and sadness that comes with raising a child that may not ever be able to function independently?  

ME: How do I cope?

DUDE: Yes.  It seems like you have found a successful way to not let this become something that has sent you over the brink.

ME: Well...that is probably because I have failed to blog about the times I lost my mind and ran through the neighborhood wearing only a Domino's Pizza box.

DUDE: Ok.  But how do you keep yourself from not always doing that?  How do you cope with all the pain? How do you make it go away?

ME: (some lame cliched answer that looking back now makes me want to rip my liver out with a mixing spoon.  I am not sure but I may have actually quoted lyrics by Phil Collins...if I did I am sorry and I will send you 100 dollars for the trauma.)

DUDE: That seems a little easier said than done.

ME: (realizing that my previous answer was a lie to both him and myself) You are right.  I call "BS" on that too.  To be honest I guess I am a little confused by the question.  I don't cope in the way I think you understand it.  I do not have strategies that take away the emotional strife, nor do I have rituals that "dope" down the pain.

DUDE: So what do you do??

ME:Ok, first thing is I am not an expert.  The only certification I currently have is from Marvel comics as a "lifetime fan". Ok....so take my advice knowing that I am no way trained to give any.

DUDE: Got it.  You are an idiot like me.

ME: There is no way to "make it go away". I just let myself feel whatever it is.  This goes for any situation for me, not just in the experiences of raising a child with autism.  If I am sad I no longer bury myself in ice cream to deal with the emotion. I just let myself be sad.  If I am worried I don't camp in front of the XBOX for several days.  I allow myself the right to be worried.  I used to bury everything that was negative in my life and not give myself the chance to let the infection heal itself. Then...I find healthy ways to "cope" with things.  

DUDE: You just allow yourself to feel?  That sounds like a bit from DR Phil.

ME:  I am sure it does.  Look for me if I deny the sad and heartbreaking times to have their moment I have found that I deal with it in other less than healthy ways...like eating an entire jar of Jiffy Creamy Peanut Butter.  Please keep in mind that I would encourage you to talk to a professional if you were having some serious emotional issues.  I am not certain that you can simply make any of the bad stuff you may be feeling just "go away" without dealing with it first.  That is what I do.  I allow myself to feel bad.  That is not the end of the world.  Just yesterday I was at Star Bucks and someone in front of me said they were "coping" with the economic crisis by refusing to admit that it was something they should worry about.  To simply deny how you feel is not a good first step.

DUDE:  I am looking for some strategies I guess of what you do with those feelings...anger...etc.

ME: Turn the anger into something positive.  Use that adrenaline to help search for new therapies, workout, spend time with your child.  Just don't bury yourself if what you are feeling.  Talk to a professional if it something that you feel that is taking over your personality.  I have been there...I know how easy it is to lose identity in all of this.  

DUDE: So thats what you do? Workout?

ME: Uh.  No.  I make the Stay Puffed Marshmallow Man look like Kobe Bryant.  I write, walk, or meditate.

DUDE:  How very zen.    

ME: I would also encourage you to visit asdparentsupportnetwork.com.  There are some great resources there for ways to manage with the unique stress that comes with the territory of raising a child with special needs.


The convo went a little bit past here but the here are the bullets I want people to get from this:

  • People should take advice from me with the understanding that I am a little bit of a schlep.  To give you an example of what you are dealing with is that just last night I got my thumb stuck in the nozzle of my garden hose. Today my thumb is still red, but very very clean.  Point is I am glad parents of special children like my blog, but I also encourage you to seek out professional help in regards to some of the issues that I sometimes am asked about.
  • My wife and I learned early on that raising a child with special needs is something that requires emotional patience. One day may be golden, the next day may suck more than three day old Lobster Bisque. We had to find ways to cope with our emotions by allowing ourselves to feel them, and then to find healthy ways to express them.
  • I have never actually ran through the neighborhood naked 'cept in a Domino's Pizza box.  It was Papa John's....
  • If you are, or know anyone who is raising a child with special needs I encourage you to visit www.asdparentsupportnetwork.com .  I know the gent who operates it and I can tell you that he has been as much of a benefit it our families life as any doc we have had.
  • I will continue the groundbreaking series on my walk as soon as I am done negotiatingthe movie rights with Pixar.


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Work sucks somedays. Can I get an "Amen" from Congress?


Hey Government!  What's up?  Have you lost some weight lately.  You look good.


I would like to tell you a quick story.  When I was a wee little grubmonkey I remember how tired my dad was when he would come home from work.  He was a pharmacist, and to be sure it was a stressful line of work.  He would square off with communicable diseases, insurance companies, and grouchy customers on a daily basis.  This was a grind that would leave him (which I am sure you can identify with) pretty physically and emotionally exhausted each night when he returned home.  His stress levels were raised because he was not only just a pharmacist, but he owned his own business.  

Being a small business owner meant that he had to make decisions everyday.  Yes, some of these decisions would be ones suateed in yucky sauce.  There were times he would have to let a long time employee go, or make a difficult decision when it came to finding a way to dispense much needed medicine to a customer who had very little money.  I think the hardest part of being a small business owner was the fact that there was no way to leave your work at the office.  You had to be on call every day and night.  

I remember it was Easter morning and our phone rang way to early on this sacred Sunday.  It was a customer who needed an emergency prescription filled. (this was before the day of super stores that were open 24 hours a day)  So my dad stopped helping to cook our Easter breakfast and ran to the store to help out this guy in need.  I cannot remember what exactly went down with this transactions but there were some complications that required my dad to stay down there for three hours.  

I remember asking him about it that day.  I asked him why he had to go in on his day off.  He said without any thought that "When you work in a place where people depend on you there are no real days off."

Hmm...let's see...where was I going with this story.

Let me think...

Give me a second....I will remember it.

Oh that's right.  

I had a quick message to Congress.  It is not really specific for either side of the political spectrum.  

GET BACK TO WORK YOU SAP SUCKING, SELF RIGHTEOUS, GIGLI LOVING, WITLESS, HOPELESS, SO DUMB THAT IT MAKES MY EARS BLEED OUT BRAIN JUICE, PONTIFICATING, MONEY WASTING, LARRY KING KISSING, WHITE HAIR INDUCING, GHASTLY, UNEMPATHETIC, SOUND BITE ADDICTED, SMARMY, DEAF TO ANYTHING THAT DOES NOT COME FROM YOUR OWN MISSHAPEN PIE HOLE, SORRY FOUR POUND SACK OF THREE WEEK OLD BULL DOG POOP!

Celebrating Rosh Hashanah is an important thing.  It is certainly something that would normally demand you're observance. Maybe you didn't follow the news yesterday...um...these are not normal times.  Look, I know as much about economics as Judd Apatow knows about writing strong roles from women in his movies.  I am not certain if a bailout bill will help anything, maybe it won't.  What I do know is that maybe you all should stay away from the idea of not working the day after our country see's a trillion dollars of invisible worth vanish.  I am pretty sure that not even gathering officially to talk about this situation is stupider than wanting to fly to Cape Cod just so you can eat at a Red Lobster.  The appearance of work might be a good thing right now...

Do firemen decide not to fight a fire on Christmas day?  Does Dick Clark take News Year eve off?

NO THEY DON'T!   DO THE JOB YOU GET PAID FOR!  IF A SMALL TOWN PHARMACIST HAD TO SCHLEP TO WORK ON A HOLIDAY I THINK MAYBE YOU SHOULD TOO!  YES, WORK SUCKS...

Rosh Hashanah is sometimes called "'the day of judgement".  Let's have a little...


Stay Sweet,


John Roedel 




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A Walk In The Park. Part four.


Above all, do not lose your desire to walk.  Every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away from every illness.  I have walked myself into my best thoughts, and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it.  ~Soren Kierkegaard



Walking takes longer... than any other known form of locomotion except crawling.  Thus it stretches time and prolongs life.  Life is already too short to waste on speed.  ~Edward Abbey, "Walking"



Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time.  ~Steven Wright


Once I realized that the elderly lady's intention was to pass me on my left side of the walking path I was forced to make a decision.

My action options that came to mind were the following:

A) Let her simply pass.  There is no shame in walking a little slower than a woman who probably plays bridge with someone named "Madge" every Thursday morn at the the senior center.  

Fake injury to ensure that when she passed me she would do so knowing that it only happened because I was reeling on the ground due to some sort of physical problem.  ...

C) To reason with her.  Maybe I could just tell her that unlike her body that is 70 % water, my system is composed of 87 % mixture that is made up of pork fat, sugar, Cold Stone Ice Cream, and straight uncut Horseradish.  I could explain that while I concede that she is a better and more fit walker than myself, that perhaps she could slow things down a bit so I could delay my small remaining puddle of testosterone from being forever ripped from my soul.  

D) I could just walk faster than the woman who was probably recovering from hip replacement surgery.

While each of the four options had their own pro's and con's to sort through I knew that my time was running out.  The red suited, white hair-sticking out from the sides of her matching red hat lady was now only a couple steps behind me.  I knew this because I could smell the unique geriatric cocktail on her breath that consisted of equal parts grapefruit and blood pressure medication.  I had to choose now!

I could not select option A because while I am not a competitive person who has the ambition of a spoon, I was not prepared to admit that I could not simply "out walk" an elderly lady.  Call it pride, but I did not want to be the dude who was passed by one of the Golden Girls. Yes before you ask I am certain that the Roedel elders who were watching me from the spirit world on their close captioned screen must have been proud.  

I could not select option B because I was not sure how which type of injury to choose.  I did not want it to be something that she had maybe seen before, and thereby compare my acting to how a person would really have acted like.  I considered that she has never seen anyone rupture a spleen.  I wondered to myself how someone acts when they rupture their spleen.  I was unsure what that would look like, so I considered how I might rupture it myself in a way that she wouldn't be able to notice. Then I remembered that I am a sissy and when I encounter real pain I scream in such a manner that it causes birds to drop dead up to to thirteen miles away.  My high pitched feminine wailing has also been known to mess with satelites and microwave ovens

I decided against option C because after making eye contact with her a few moments earlier I knew that my pleas of mercy would not be met with any Grandmotherly compassion.  It would just allow her as the shark to smell my metaphysical blood in the water.  I knew that she really wanted to not only pass the 30-something year old younger man,  but she wanted to crush my spirit at the same time.  I know this because when I looked into her eyes I saw the same look from a small child twenty years ago who inflicted great damage to my person.  

**TANGENT ALERT** He was a fair haired boy who had walked up to me in our schools gym and smiled a ghastly wide smile at me..  I being the great communicator offered my hand out to bridge the gap between my teenage world and his 1st grade one. Instead of shaking my hand he clinched his fists in two a ball of rage and landed a punch that landed in my um..."private valley of happyton farms".  It was a punch that sent my soul speeding from my physical body and into the rafters that hung above me.  I was able to watch my now purple skinned body crumple to the ground the body at the feet of this demon/boy/one-who-does-respect-my-right-to-someday-conceive-children-of-my-own-someday.  From my out of body perch above the unfolding scene below I remember asking in a broken whisper why this lad had for no reason whatsoever brought the hammer down on Cha-Cha central.  He did not answer...but I remembered his eyes...they were merciless and mechanical in nature.  They were eyes that were filled with only the desire to break me into a thousand little pieces.  

Those are the same eyes I saw in the woman behind me.  I knew I would have better luck trying to convince the President of Iran to vacation in Tel Aviv then getting her to slow her pace a bit.  I knew that option D was the only way to go.  I would have to beat her.

Maybe if I could stand up to the lady in the red suit I would be in some strange way going back in time and standing up to the little boy who gave me a level 9 racking.  I was going to walk for all the extremely out of shape, obese, short men who find themselves being pushed around by the power walking seniors in their respective parks. 

So for the first time in my walking career I told my engine room to crank us up to walk speed 2.  My pace went from my happy jaunt through the daisies gape to a walk with a purpose.  I was walking like a man who was not going to be passed.  From behind I heard a slight growl of disapproval from my ancient adversary.

The thumping of her steps grew faster to indicate that she also had a walk speed 2.

"Sorry Estelle.  Passing me today won't be so easy"  I whispered under my now jagged breathing.

The race was on.....
  
 

KEY WORD DEFINITIONS:

Private Valley of Happyton Farms - Er...the central...um...place...where.  Ok, so you know when a man and woman get married and love each and...crap...uh.......nevermind.

Cha-Cha Central - See Private Valley of Happyton Farms.

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A walk in the park. Part Three (continuing education)

I have received plenty of emails from people asking/begging me to cease my blog series on walking. It has become clear that readers believe I am simply wasting their time with my epic story.  Let me assure you that I am not.

 I have come to the conclusion that perhaps folks are not as into walking as I am.   I find that unacceptable, and I want to spend a moment enlightening you.  

So in the interest of calming the fears that I am intentionally wasting your time please watch the following. Lets take a quick break from my white knuckle story about my walk around the park and take amoment to appreciate walking in general.  


THE MINISTRY OF SILLY WALKS


THE WALK BY SAWYER BROWN


CHRIS ANGEL WALKING ON HOTEL POOL WATER








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A walk in the park. Part Two




With each passing moment John Roedel was one “little man step”  closer to reaching the end of his trek around the lake of Lions Park.  The near fall sun shone down on him from the heavens above in a manner that indicated that he, John K. Roedel, was favored by the universe over all humans.  John was your typical looking Wyomingite, except for the fact that his looks could only be described as “unnaturally attractive.”  His face was strong, yet warmly inviting…like a rainbow that is made of Texas Roadhouse Apple Butter.  His hair was dark and curly like the waves of a mystical ocean, but with the softness of a newly shorn Unicorn buttocks.  John’s eyes adorned his perfectly shaped head like two brilliantly lit Chinese Lanterns.  These hypnotic eyes were all-knowing, yet had a dash of the pure innocence you could only find in the pupils of a newborn doe that stretches it’s legs for the first time on a snowy December morning in a field of white snow.  It has been said by others,  and it happens to be true that John Roedel looks more like Magnum P.I. then Tom Selleck ever did.

Aside from his obvious attractiveness the passers by at the park found themselves blinded by John’s physique.  His body was strong….strong like a combination of Oxen and Yeti.  Despite his efforts to the contrary, John found it impossible to not completely obscure how massive his arms were under his green sweater that day.  Although, he had not ever worked out once in his life, his entire upper body was as perfectly formed as giant oak trees he was walking under.  John’s lower half was as equally impressive to observe.  It was almost as if he was crafted out of the mold of other highly regarded bodies….like in a really attractive Frankenstein sort of way.  His abs’s were as firm as J-Lo’s.  His leg’s as powerful as The Lance Armstrong.  Lastly, John’s feet that plodded away on the darkened path of Lions Park were like those of Moses. (without the more than likely disfiguring blisters that must have decorated his sandy feet) They were holy feet that were leading John to a new land…..a land of….hope.

John is to walking what Ian Mcshane was to Deadwood.  John not only graced the park with his feet, he owned it.  This was his sacred place and he was compassionate enough to let the other slugs share a piece of it as long as they did not get in his way.

John enjoyed walking with the common people of Cheyenne.  It made him feel…normal.  He knew that by allowing others to watch him gracefully glide his body around the lake that he was more than likely inspiring others to try to be more like him.  While passing a mother pushing a baby in a stroller John took a moment to stop his predestined march of glory and give the two of them a moment in time that they will cherish forever.  John held up his hand to request that the mother stop pushing the child cart for a moment.  The mother looked at him with a puzzled expression that John immediately recognized.  In the calmest of tones he spoke to her to offer her words of comfort.

“Do not fear woman.  I am John, walker of this park.  While you have probably admired me from a far, I have never noticed you before.  Today, however I cast my radiant gaze upon you and ye’ spawn to allow you each to bath in my perfection”.

John then with the humility of a gentle ocean wave reached out his hand to touch the babies face.  To which the mother said.

“Please don’t touch my child.”

Poor woman John thought.  She does not believe that her child is worthy.  He smiled at her and tried to speak.  Before he could utter any of his perfectly chosen words the mother interrupted with.

“Leave or I will mace you.  I will mace you right in the face.”

John took that hint as that she was not ready yet to understand why a machine of machismo would have stopped and offered her and the child a moment of social nirvana. Plus he couldn't take the risk of something happening to his face. So, with a nod of the walking King he was John left the obviously crazed woman and child alone. He continued his walk starting to realize that maybe he could never connect with humanity. After all how could he?  He was the ideal walker, and everyone else was just….well…not him.   He remarked to himself that this is probably what Superman or Christopher Walken must have gone through when they realized how awesome they were.  John decided that he would spend the rest of his walk in silence and use that time to commune with nature.

With each manly stride he could feel the cool air pass through his mouth and into his glorious lungs.  The smell of the radioactive pond scum that kept the lake a hazy shade of purple lingered in his nostrils, while the sounds of the rustling trees provided our hero with some audio serenity.  All was well as John made it to the first bend of his walk.

That is when it happened.  That is when the dark one appeared.

As John made his way around the curve he noticed that about 20 yards behind him was a older lady in a red hat and matching jump suit walking behind him.  She was walking rather quickly, and since John had been walking this park for a few years now he knew that there was no way she could keep up that pace.  So for a moment or two he ignored the speed walking geriatric and began to again meditate on how incredibly incredible he was at walking.  His time in the temple of the Holy Ego was quickly interrupted when he heard something that he had not heard in a long time.

Footsteps.

Trying not to look obvious John turned his head around to make it look like he was stretching his neck when he noticed that red woman was now about only 10 yards behind him.  This was rather shocking to him.  He assumed that this older lady must not know who he was.  He was John, walker of the park and you do not pass him.  John spun his body around and started walking backwards.  He smiled at the woman who was now closing the gap even more with him and said 

“Good morning, older woman. My name is John. Yes, John Roedel.  It is a wonderful day for a walk, is it not?”  

She did not respond.  Now that John had the time to look at her face he saw that it was frozen in determination.  For the first time since he watched Hannity and Colmes on Fox he was scared.  Why was she not talking to him?  Why was she not slowing down? Why did she not respect the fact that this was his park to walk in?  

“You might want to take it easy,  this isn’t a race.”  John remarked with a nervous chuckle that followed.

Still she said nothing.  She just stared ahead, walking even faster now.  The woman was now just a few steps behind him.

His eyes met hers.  She was not going to slow down.  She was going to pass him.  This could not be happening!

With the speed of a Chupacabara in heat John spun around and picked up the pace of his walk.  There was no way that he was going to let her pass him.  Deep in his heart though he knew that this walk-race with the seventy year old woman in red was going to be something that would forever define his life….


To be continued....

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A Walk in the Park. Part one

This is part one of my blog series about my walk this morning.  It is an epic tale of one surprisingly good looking man's quest to defeat the powers of evil.  It is a story that will make grown men weep, and women faint.  It is all true.*  It has been compared by literary experts to be the "Gladiator"** of the 21'st century.  Those who allow their eyes to pass upon the following story will be transported to a magical world of harmony and miracles.*** Reading this will make you physically stronger, be able to see better, and will cure acne.****  

Note: no clowns were harmed in writing this. *****



*Well...mostly true.  In a James Frey kind of way. 

** Some have compared it to "Bio-Dome" as well.

*** In order for this to happen you have to drink an entire bottle of Kendall Jackson wine and a weeks worth of anxiety pills.

**** Not all results are typical.  Some people report having leg tremors, monkey sweats, and loss of life. 

***** That is not by a lack of trying on my part. 




Walking around the lake of Lions Park has become my morning ritual.  It is my sacred "Sweet Johnny Time"* that serves as a few moments of zen that allows me to cleanse my heart of whatever emotional baggage I am carrying from the day before.  The concrete pathway that encircles the semi-polluted body of water is my path to emotional healing.  Granted most of my emotional wounds are considered by most to be superficial.  For example for a few weeks I was carrying a heavy heart because one of my favorites on Big Brother was evicted by the house by a vote of 4-3.  I have also become increasingly concerned by how my beloved Denver Bronco's continue to be unable to stop the run.  Also, recently my heart took a beating when at the movie theater the dude behind the "snack-e-poo" counter remarked that perhaps I should go with the smaller popcorn.  He was right...but still I don't like taking life advice from a chap who had a uni-brow** and three rings in his nose.

*Sweet Johnny Time is protected under copyright laws and is not able to be used by anyone else in the free world except me.  T-shirts, Coffee mugs, and letterhead available at my online store

** In no way am I making light of people who have a uni-brow.  I understand that it is a lifestyle choice for some, that while I disagree with I would never presume to judge the person who carried a unified brow-stache.  I, myself have been battling the thin brown line between both of my furry critters that adorn my noogin....



                                                                          A QUICK TRIBUTE TO THE UNI-BROW!

                                     




I love my morning journey.  I plug my ears into my likely tumor causing ipod and I let senior shuffle be the dj who provides my walk with a beautiful soundtrack.  As I have blogged about in the past this two lap jaunt grants me serenity, and often times newfound insights that I have never had before.  Like just last week I found my brain trying to wrap around why I like caramel so much.  I like caramel the way tigers like breaking out of their cages and eating the zoo keeper.  I was amazed to find how many of my life decisions have been made because of my addiction to it.  Carmel completes me. *  If I could go to the land of sugar and gum drops I would marry Carmel and have little john/caramel babies that could be poured over ice cream.  **

*I would remiss by not acknowledging that my beloved wife and children also complete me.  I can not imagine living without them... or caramel.  I am not picking any favorites here.  I love them all equally.  Although I would admit that caramel does not ask me to mow the lawn or take them to soccer practice.  Hmmmm...

** If you find yourself creeped out by this statement then it is probably because you either:

a) Don't love caramel the way I do and therefore are not human 
b) You think that me crossing the gene-pool to have babies with a dessert topping to be fairly unnatural.  If that is the case than you and I have nothing to say to one another.  Open you're mind people!

This morning my walk began in the typical fashion.  I spend a few moments in quiet reflection as I lean against the wooden railing and stare out onto the duck filled lake.  It is in this moment that I connect with The Lord.  We have a routine dialog about my life*.  Usually it ends with God saying something like "Let's go a whole day without making me cringe...Ok Roedel?"  Then I  respond with a "Um..how do I do that?"  That is followed by the clouds parting and the Heavenly Father saying "Try not talking.."

*Yes, God talks to me.  Not in a scary Jim Jones way...but in a John Denver way.  However, in my case God does not appear as George Burns.  He usually appears to look like Christopher Walkin. **

** Not really...but dang that would be sweet.  I have a completely normal man crush on Walkin.  That is if you define "normal" as digging through the mans trash to find anything that he has ever touched.  I am currently sculpting a model of him out of his previously used straws.   Totally normal....


In my few seconds before I make my Oompa Loompa legs take flight I take in a couple deep breaths and prepare my body for physical excursion.  Now I know that my outward appearance would indicate to you that I have the shape of a marathon runner.  While I understand where that misconception comes from I should admit to you that I maybe am not in as good of shape as my Michael Phelps physique presents.  I am not saying that I am absolutely out of shape,  I just get tired when I have to sit up in bed and have to push the cake plate off the bed.  Sometimes I feel fatigued when I have to raise my voice to ask my wife to quit vacuuming the carpet when I am watching my stories.  As I breathe in and out I give myself some good self-talk that I learned how to do while watching a self-help show on PBS.*  Here is my mantra I use to get myself ready for the walk:

I am a walking monster!
I will not stop for anything!**
I am special in the eyes of nature!***
I am going to walk this path like a Chuck Norris protects Texas!

*I only watched that show because the remote fell of the couch and I couldn't reach it.  I called for the children to help...nobody did.  It was a hard moment that I had to "walk off" the next day.

**I only stop in the case of serious emergency.  Like heavy breathing. (which is kind of often) Roaming bands of squirrels that hunt me from the surrounding woods. (which happens every twenty feet of so...this situation deserves it's own blog)

***This is a bold-faced lie.  Nature hates me.  It wants me to die.  What nature does not know is that I died years ago during my only attempt at stand-up comedy.  Take that stupid nature!!



I took off this morning from the railing with a skip* in my step that I usually don't have.  My feet hit the pavement with a newfound spirit that I can only attribute to the beautiful fall air that was flooding my lungs.  The dying summer could be felt with every footstep!  The trees have started to drop their arrogantly green shade and the bugs have seemed to all recognize that the seasonal apocalypse was nearing.  As I approached the quarter mark of the walk I felt great.  I recall thinking that it was wonderful to be alive at this exact moment in time.   Under this cool sun, and with the music of Band of Horse's embracing my sound with their melodic sounds all was right with the world.  Everything was as perfect as it could be...until the lady in the red hat came.

*I use the word "skip" here only because I am lazy to look up another one.  I do not mean to imply that I was "skipping" like some feminine character from Little House on The Prairie who was carrying a basket of lilies for her "ma". 

To be continued.....



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On Geese, Autism, and Acceptance

I spent sometime today watching Geese. I sat on a park bench and just watched them be geese. Here are my observations:

1) Geese probably poop more than any animal, bird, fish, Yeti, or daily laxative guy that I used to share a dorm bathroom with that has ever graced the planet.

2) They don’t like it when little kids try to ride them.

3) Geese can stretch their necks around in a way that remind me of Linda Blair.

4) They are not concerned with being anything but Geese. Does that make sense? What I mean to say is that Geese don’t spend most of their day trying to be a turtle. They are just happy to be who they are. Geese just do what comes natural to them. They don’t over think their existence, they just live like Geese. They don’t spend their lives worry about how other people perceive them, or try to remain interesting by getting a tattoo, or stay up late at night stressing that they have lived a good chunk of their life already. They just simply live each moment in the way they were intended to be.

For just today I wish I was a goose. Not because I am worried about my daily fiber levels but because I want to stop pretending being something I am not. I want to naturally be John without worry about what other people think about that. I want to not constantly worry about not “improving” myself. Or the amount of time I spent concerned about how death is a breath closer with each passing moment. I want to stop worrying about finding out what I am supposed to do with my life. I want to again be a subscriber to the notion that I am not supposed to be/do anything except be who I am.

Honk!

Maybe my goose has always been cooking in me and I never knew it. I think I must have been denying my psychological feathers for years now…

I am not sure if you can relate to this next little tidbit of my loosely crafted psyche but I have always struggled with ambition. Through the first 2/3 of my life I never really wanted to be rich, famous, or successful in really anyway. I wanted to be happy, and to have experiences. I did not concern myself with grades, job status, popularity, or if I drove a fancy car. I wanted to be surrounded by family, friends, and daily moments of happiness. That was until I crawled into my mid twenties, and I started to get worry wrinkles. I started comparing myself to other people and decided that because they had more toys, economic freedom, or sophisticated tastes that I was doing something wrong. I stopped just being able to accept who I was, and kept striving to become somebody else.

Who was this chap that I was striving to be? Beats me. I am sure he is awesome, probably a guy who had a wine collection, a big-time job that everyone would be impressed with, and a wallet filled with business cards of the various professional and personal contacts he had. To be honest I probably would not have like this guy very much had I actually turned out to be him. Not that I have any problems with people who have those things in their lives, in fact the world needs them. For me I was just a plain ole’ goose trying to act like a flamingo.

This conflict between what I thought I wanted to be, and the man I actually was has raged on for years. It has only become more brutal once I entered the vocational free agent market. My 5’2 ego actually for a moment considered that my lack of employment anymore was perfect as I could spend my free time molding myself into the alpha male. I have read books on marketing, start-up businesses, management, self-help, and the like trying to fit this circular information into my square-blocked head. I have taken on jobs that do not fit my personality or uniquely limited skill set.

These Geese today reminded me that is not who I am. I am trying to hard to be something I am not meant to be. I need to let go the yolk and stop trying to be anything…and just be Johnny.

What does my moment of Goose Zen have to do with autism?

Quite a bit actually.

I waste life worrying about trying to “help” my son to become what is considered typical. We spend every kind of resource available on supplements, therapies, or behavioral interventions in the hopes that we can better our little guy. I am not saying that those aren’t things I regret, because I do not. I will spend the entirety of my life trying to navigate Noah through the maze he finds himself in, but I need to do so with a different attitude.

While I want to hold his hand as he climbs over the thousands of obstacles he faces daily, I refuse to try and change the person he already is. While I want him to find ways to control some of his behaviors, I will ever do so by sacrificing who he is…who he is meant to be.

He is meant to be a boy with autism. That is who he is regardless of whatever story I tell myself. I am not surrendering to autism, but it is time that I accept the facts. No matter what we new approaches we try he will always have the “A” word attached to him in some degree. There will be no changing that, and damnit that is ok!!

Noah is more authentic than any adult I know. He lives in each and every moment without thinking more than five minutes in the future. He does not spend time worrying about things outside his control, and he is not concerned about trying to be anything other than the miracle he is! He allows himself to feel his emotions with no filter. If he is happy he does not sabotage it with thoughts of how fleeting the moment is. If he is sad then he accepts his tears for what they are…there is no hiding who he is.

Like the floating Goose, Noah only wants to be himself. He wants to make art, to sing, and to make new friends. Everything else is just noise in his life. He is floating on his pond purely content where he is….and I am going to join him.

Honk!

Being at peace with my son’s autism is not an easy task. It will require me to stop worrying and just trust that there is a plan outside of my control. We live in a world were we need to cure everything…I get it. For me there is no curing autism in our families life. There is struggle, joy, and now thankfully acceptance.

Like the Goose I will just be myself, while accepting my guy for who he is.

I hope that none of us spend another moment wishing to be someone we aren’t.

Spend a quick moment in quiet today and offer a prayer for those who are lost…and if that happens to be you I suggest you go watch Geese.

Honk!

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G.I John

Here is the official transcript from my experience at Baskin Robbins tonight:

                                                 
                                                     CLERK
     Ok, sir that is three kids ice cream cups, and two single scoop sundaes.  Can I see your military ID?

                                                    ROEDEL
                                                 Um, what?

                                                    CLERK
                            If I see your ID I can give you a military discount.

                                                    ROEDEL
                                       You think I am in the military?

                                                    CLERK
                                                You aren't?

                                                   ROEDEL
                                               God Bless You....



I am sure that when many people take a gander at my Danny Devito like frame the first thing that comes to their mind is "Oh my Lordy...look at that Governmentally enhanced super soldier!"

If people like me were ever to be let in to any of the armed services (or frankly any organized business that cares about it's image) then our country would be in serious trouble.  Honestly, if I were on the job then we would lose a conflict with Iceland. 

I don't like guns, or blood, making my bed, or being yelled at.

Otherwise I would be perfect....I could have used the $ 4.32 discount tonight.



As long as they let me watch Big Brother After Dark I will enlist. 





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Emails from Blog



Dear Blog,

Hey there!  Sorry I have not been spending any time with you as of late.  Things have been crazy on my end, and I have not had any spare moments to update you.  We will get together soon!  Tell Twitter I said hi.

Your friend,

Johnny R.


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Dear John,

It is nice to finally hear from you.  To be honest I am not sure I quite buy the whole “too busy to write” excuse.  Didn’t your wife and children go out of town for about five days and left you absolutely alone?  From what my sources have said all you did was sit on the couch eating varying types of Kielbasa while watching reality TV!  I have heard that during this time bathing, and sanitation were completely optional.  (Darwin must be proud)

Since your family returned I believe that you have spent most of your time playing Xbox, going to the movies, or perfecting a recipe for garlic butter.  I am not judging those activities, although I would say that each of them are leading by speed train to Heart Attack Valley.

John, if you don’t want to write just admit it.  Don’t waste both of our time coming up with lies about why you have not.  I thought we had some good times together, but I must have been getting more out of our relationship than you did. 

 I hear Madden 2009 is coming out today so I am certain I won’t hear back from you anytime soon.

Regards,

Bloggy Blogertson


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Blog,

Wow.  There is no need to be so snooty.  Ok, so I might have wasted a little blogging time I could have spent with you while my fam was gone.  Sure…but I needed a little “me” time…ok?  Plus, whoever told you about what I did while I was alone is mistaken!  Yes, I ate a little Hillshire Farms Product, but for the record I also ate my body weight in pizza and strawberry jelly!  And just so you know sanitation wasn’t “optional” like you put it….although clothing was….

Don’t act like you care about my well being!  The last time I checked it was YOU WHO ASKED ME to try and do something crazy so we could have something to write about.   You have always seemed to delight in my  physical/emotional distress!  You need examples of how you have taken advantage of my problems?  

Here ya go pal:


The time you blogged about the bee in my car.

The time you blogged about the time I made a pass at our former mayor

The time you blogged about the day I spent two hours fighting a rubber spider

The time you blogged about being yelled at by Sam Donaldson and his hypnotic eyebrows!

I could keep going on and on blog, but I believe you get the point.  If anyone in our little dysfunctional relationship is the victim it is me!   You only miss me when I don’t have any crazy stories to share…so why don’t you make yourself a big bowl of shut up soup.

John


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John-

Please tell me that you are some sort of Government run experiment that is trying to create the biggest moron that has ever lived.  

The only reason I allow you to post half of the crap you do is because I think it provides some sort of sick therapy for you!  Face it…you are one Tito short of a Jackson Five Reunion!  The real reason you aren’t writing is not because you are lacking anything to write about…it is because you are lazier then Congress.
You are seriously unmotivated dude, what is the next step for you?  Stretch Pants?  You now classify shaving as a “physically taxing event”.

Time to pony up and start writing again.  If not I may lend my services to a gal I know why wants to start writing about scrap booking.

Get it together,

Blog


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Blog-

Have you ever noticed that half of the things you write don’t make sense?   

I don’t even know where to begin to explain how your previous email was coated in stupidity.  

1) They could still have a reunion without Tito.  So that comment is without any validity.

2) The reason I am not writing IS because I have nothing to write about.  If you choose not to believe that then that is your issue.  My life has been boring lately.

3) I will semi-concede that perhaps my drive level has been a little down.  But…no I am not wearing stretch pants.  Yet.  I am in a sweatpants stage right now.  They allow me to show off my crafted physique while remaining bathed in cotton comfort.

4) Scrap booking is lame.


-john


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John

I am starting to worry that you actually believe some of the lies you are saying.  I call “bunk” to the notion of you not having anything to write about.  Over the past few weeks you have had a overflowing bucket of topics to choose from.
Including:

*  Your two week job as a Political Operative for Wyoming’s only Congresswoman.  A job which required you to attend meetings about national security issues on a military base.  You were the worst possible person to ever sit in a meeting like that, and awkward hilarity followed.  This marked the shortest political career in the history of mankind.

* The checkout girl at the grocery store who said that she could give you a “psychic” reading for only ten dollars.  When you politely declined she proceeded to tell you anyway.  The clerk/medium told you to watch out for men with beards and large dogs.  Which is something you do anyway…but still this would have been a good story to share.

* How your family damaged your local Applebee’s restaurant so badly that their insurance is now involved.  That was a fun dinner!

* Your newest puppy Monty who has stolen your families heart.

* Your lengthy discussion with a literary agent that ended with the following phrase “ I had a better understanding of your work before I spoke with you”.   I am not sure…but I am certain that does not sound super positive.

* The reasons why you believe that you are more athletic than U.S. Olympian Michael Phelps.


As you can see there is plenty to write about.  Just get going….quit watching Big Brother 10 (which is jeopardizing your place in Heaven’s waiting room, and write something!

Blog

P.S.  You are write about Tito….


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Dear Blog,

Ok…I will see what I can do.

Sorry for the time off.  

Johnny Tango.










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let me be the moron

I have been getting emails for a couple of very nice folks asking for my advice when it comes to a couple issues involved with their special needs children.  While I did offer my half-witted advice, I did with the following disclaimer:

I AM THE LAST SCHELP-BAG WHO SHOULD BE GIVING ADVICE TO ANYONE.

Seriously. Let me remind you that I am the same guy who got involved in a forty minute stand off with a RUBBER SPIDER!  I am also the bloke who once made my girlfriend (and future wife) change the tire on the busy highway. 

I am the same guy who knocked my children down while running away from what I thought was a South American Killer Bee.  It ended up being a moth..

I cannot make popcorn without getting the fire department involved.

I once accidently washed my hair with Mr. Clean!

My way of balancing my checkbook is to let it get to $ 0.00

I have stapeled my finger on two occasions while trying to fix a stapler.  ON THE SAME DAY!!!

Sometimes I tell the person on the other end of the Drive Through monitor at McDonalds that my order is "To Go".



So, yes I am a tool.  My parenting advice for everyone is...if I can manage it...ANYONE CAN


Here is a small portion of something I have been working on. It is rough,  but it explains why I should be the last person on the planet who should be the father of a child with autism.  So keep this in mind when asking me for advice





Of all the people in the world who should be charged with raising a child with special needs I was most likely near the bottom of the list. There are few reasons of why that is. One of the reasons is that I was, like I have mentioned am emotionally strong as a piece of wax paper. I was also a super selfish person who put myself not only first, but second and third as well. While my weakness and selfishness are the major foundation for my belief that I was not ready for my excursion into parenting a child with autism, it is not the major one.

The major reason was that I was afraid of people with special needs.

Writing this now makes me angry at my old stupid, stinky self!

I am not certain where this fear originated from, but it had been with me as long as I can remember. As a young child I used to be deathly afraid of coming into contact with an individual who was physically or mentally challenged. Although this was a fear that started when I was young, I am ashamed to admit it was one that I carried into adulthood. I cannot say for certain what it was about special people that bothered me so much.

Perhaps as a boy I was scared because special people might have acted a little different then me. There is an optimistic side of me that believes that maybe even as a young lad I was so attuned to the universe that I was afraid of special folk due to the fact that they represented how fragile life was. That perhaps this “ahead of my time” perception of mine indicated if these poor people were so easily broken then I am one breath from having the same thing happen to me. Ok, that sounds a little too profound of a thought process for a kid who used to make crayon tacos and eat them, so I was probably afraid because disabled people just looked different. How incredibly sad and cowardly of me.

For most of my life I was a “judge a book by it’s cover” advocate. That is a nice way to put that my insight of my fellow man was as shallow as the Enron ethics manual. This attitude of mine absolutely applied toward people with special needs. I made the half-witted assumption that if a person was mentally challenged that they had no capacity to think, feel, or experience life in any of the ways I could. If they were special it meant that they were fractured beyond any repair. I never acknowledged that there was a part of me that subscribed to the horrific notion that special people did not deserved the same dignity that I demanded. I treated them like lepers in the bible. I was afraid to be in contact with them because maybe I thought they were contagious and I would get down syndrome as well if I touched someone afflicted with it.

In short, I was stupid. In fact that is probably being a bit generous of my way of thinking. I was dumber than the idea of Paris Hilton in charge of our National Defense. (note to Miss Hilton’s Lawyers: Not that I think Paris is incapable of running our military. I just believe her unique skills could be used elsewhere. Like staring in “House of Wax 2“ or opening a mall)

Life being the teacher that it is always tried to intervene on my behalf to try cure my seemingly endless canyon of idiocy. It seemed that I was kept being put in situations where I would be forced to interact with a person who had special needs. Whether it would be a new family that would move next to us next door who had a child with a handicap or a friend who would have a brother with Multiple Sclerosis I was apparently destined to face my fears. In hindsight “the divine powers that be” were just trying to get myself ready for the journey that was dozens of years away. Growing up, however, I just thought this was just another way life was trying to “stick it” to me. I never used those encounters with the disabled as the gifts they were. These were experience that were provided to get me to understand that just because someone has a handicapped it does not mean that they are not a person just like me. I was a functioning part of the silent discrimination machine that exists against special people.

One of the biggest lessons I missed on was back in third grade when our class went bowling with a class from a special needs school across town. Each of us were being paired with a mentally challenged grade schooler and we would form a bowling team together. You would think that this event would have involved myself chewing on hot coals by the way I complained, whined, and fretted over it. I did not go into this experience like many of my other classmates did with the idea that this was a great chance to connect with kids who might be struggling a bit. I went into the bowling day with an attitude of that one of the disabled kids might try and eat me. While many of my friends had a heart of service, I had a heart beating with pure unfiltered cowardice. I tried to play the “I am too sick to go to school” card that morning. My seemingly psychic mother knew better, she sent me to school despite my Daytime Emmy award winning performance that depicted a combination of mumps, polio, and a bad case of Monkey Shivers. With gloom in my heart I went to school that day knowing that I was going to be forced to interact with special children. I was a miserable little creep that day.

I remember that the young boy I was partnered with a boy named Rustin. Despite only being a year older than me he was much bigger than I was. The fact that Rustin could cast a shadow over me only heighten my anxiety over the situation. The other thing that concerned me was that he could not talk, he communicated most of his thoughts and emotions by either grunting, or clapping. You have to understand that back then, the only way I am really able to connect with people is to try and make them laugh. (That is probably a character trait of mine that still exists in some form today) As a young boy I was usually successful in this approach. Back then I was aware that if I was simply ever used the words “underwear” or “poop” in a sentence you were golden. If by any chance I used those two words in combination then I was assured a laughing audience who might need some medical attention. Unfortunately for me and those who associate with me, my sense of humor probably has not evolved much. If I can’t make someone even break a smile then I usually retreat into my usual introversive self. When I sat down on the bus next to Rustin twenty four years ago, I immediately when to work with my routine of self-recognized hilarity. I was ready to build at least some sort of relationship between the two of us that would last throughout our bowling excursion. Instead what I got was ignored. Rustin could have cared less about the “fart song” I had invented on the spot. Today I don’t blame him, however back then I was silently outraged. I vowed to punish Rustin for not getting my brilliant sense of humor by not talking to him the entire bus ride to the Bowlerama Bowling Alley.

What I learned within the first two minutes of my bus ride was that Rustin was unable to remain still. More specifically he found it impossible to keep his hands from flapping around. Many time over the course of our first ten minute ride together I was constantly being slapped in the arm by his fluttering arms. A couple times, much to my discomfort Rustin would rub his hands across my hair or face. When he did this I would kick into Melodrama mode and made it look like I was being attacked by a land-shark. The first couple times Rustin touched, or slapped me I would look pleadingly at his teacher or mine for some sort of intervention. Instead they treated his behavior as if it was normal and they gave my plight no attention. I was freaking out, how could they not be trying to contain this type of “crazed” behavior on his part? My personal space bubble was not just being penetrated, it was being brutally popped with his flaying hands. Since the teachers were not going to provide me with any support, I knew I was going to have to go all vigilante and handle this situation myself.

Suddenly I felt Rustin’s fingers sliding down the side of my head and near my ear. It didn’t hurt, but it felt like a giant spider crawling on my temple and making way to setting up camp in my eardrum. I had enough! Quickly I grabbed his hand and pushed it away from my face. With that I yelled “Stop it!” and I gave him my best B.A Barrcus (of A-Team fame) look that would indicate to Rustin I was not a third grader who should be messed with. Rustin looked at me as if I had just spoken Martian. A second later all ten of his thick fingers were tapping across my shell shocked face. My head was like a nerf ball compared to his oversized mitts. Clearly my message that I did not appreciate being treated like this did not resonate in him. So I did something that still makes my heart ache today.

I pushed Rustin, hard. I pushed him away from