the small journey of John Big John

Get Over It?

john@johnbigjohn.com (john roedel) — Wed, 16 May 2012 15:22:59 GMT

According to the ground-breaking research that has been done at the Roedel Institute of Higher Thinking and Super Evolved Consciousness (otherwise known as RIHTSEC in the scientific community) one of the worst things you can say to someone is the following:

"Get over it."

Even typing that makes my chest hair rise up and try and breakthrough the orange swordfish shirt I am wearing. Yikes, sorry for that visual. You may have trouble sleeping with the image of my personal matted raccoon that lives under my chin poking it's head out through my white buttons. If you suffer from three consecutive sleepless nights due to this picture being branded into the theater inside your eyelids I suggest you seek immediate medical help. I don't want my chest hair to have claimed anymore victims than it already has. Anyways...

"Get over it" is something that people say to me all of the time. I probably hear this because I often drone on and on about something that is for other people is a fairly benign issue, but for me is a matter of life and death. I have a very hard time "Getting over things" and not just because I am a short dude. Although I freely admit that as a guy of limited verticality I usually am more obliged to "go under" an obstacle than to "get over it". I will leave it to you armchair psychotherapists out there to figure out if there is a correlation between my height and my emotional immaturity.

For many things there are things that I simply can't or refuse to get over. Yes, some of the issues that I still lament and rage against are things that I choose to not overcome. Perhaps there will be a point in my life where I will be willing to forgive or "get over" some of these things but I am nowhere close to that moment of spiritual enlightenment yet.

The list of things that I refuse to just "Get Over It" include:

The movie "The Tree Of Life"

Everyone involved with this production should be arrested and sent to live in an actual tree. I cannot believe there was not a moment during the making of this "film" that the director didn't just look at everyone and ask "What in the hell are we doing here?" I feel a class action lawsuit against Brad Pitt for psychological damages could actually win.

McRib hype.

Come on people, it is not actually made out of anything that resembles a rib. I have it on good authority that The McRib is actually made out of a blend of Alpo-Jerky, spam, and Fraggle meat. Just because they put a watery BBQ sauce on it does not make it delicious. Death-row inmates don't deserve to be served that slabbly greaseball. I cannot get over how grown adults can transform into a Justin Beiber-watching teenage girl when McDonalds announces that The McBlech is coming back. It is outrageous and someday I will invent a time machine so I can go back in time (Terminator style) to stop Ronald from unleashing this plague upon our world.

Wasps.

If you are a freak and you have the fetish of watching a grown man soil himself, banshee shriek, hide behind children, and lather around on the floor like he was on fire then you should put me in the same zip code as a wasp. Those little stingy bastards bring out the inner-scream queen that lives on the dark side of my heart. Actually I am emotionally allergic to any wingy bug that packs a small needle on it's back. If I see anything that resembles a bee, wasp, hornet, or any of it's demonic cousins I will lose control of all of my faculties. Imagine yourself walking down the street minding your own business when you see a ten foot blood-soaked clown carrying a chainsaw in one hand and a slew of decapitated heads in the other. Imagine the scream you would let out. Now amplify that scream by 3000 and increase it by several hundred octaves and you have an idea of what I am like when I see one of these evil bugs.

If I were James Bond and I was carrying state secrets that were of extremely sensitive importance I would offer them up to my captives with the sheer threat of a wasp being brought into my interrogation room. Want to know the nuke codes? Sure...youbetcha!
My over-the-top fear of being stung has kept me safe all these years from having my supple skins ravaged by some pollen-sucking monster. I intend on keeping it that way!

The 1996 NFL Divisional Playoff Game When Jacksonville Upset My Beloved Denver Broncos.

The Broncos were the #1 seed going into the playoffs with the home field advantage, a solid defense and an age-defying John Elway who was having a terrific season. There was no way this game should have even been close....then God decided that I needed feel what it is like to have my heart ripped from my chest by an opposing quarterback named Mark Burnell. The Broncos lost in the last few plays and it seemed like once again my dreams of a Orange and Blue Superbowl victory were far away. Of course the next two years the Broncos did raise the trophy at the end of each of those seasons...but I never got over this loss. Get off the field Michael Dean Perry!!!! I am still angry....

The Cancelation of The HBO Show Carnival.

Was it weird? Yes. Was it often hard to watch? Yep. Was it paced slower than an episode of Murder She Wrote? Yeah. It had problems...but it was so creative, dark, and had a story that kept me interested to see where it was going. I loved the characters and the mystery that was the core of the overall plot that was slowly being unraveled over time. This was a show that was ahead of it's time...and it was just getting to it's peak when HBO (who should know better) canceled it. Those executives at Home Box Office are on my list - and that is not a list you want to be on. Being on my list means that if I see you at the store I will shoot you "The Roedel Death Stare Of...Well..Death". The other people on this list are Fidel Castro, my old eye-doctor who always smelled like dumpster cabbage, the kid who pinned me in the Wyoming State 2A Wrestling Championship Match, and anyone that has ever offered me a Grapefruit.

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Just like shag carpet, my anger toward each of those things will never be out of style. I will never "get over" any of those things. Of course I could have listed more things that bother me but I don't want to leave you with the impression that I am a complainer.

Of course another thing I will never "get over" is the effect that Autism is having on my family and the sea of other families out there. Over the past month I have met parents and caregivers and have heard there stories of the struggles they have on a daily basis. Many of these stories are so heartbreaking that it puts the obstacles my family faces in perspective. There are so many children in the spectrum and their family members that are really hurting and feeling hopeless that it is overwhelming to think about. Every day they are having experiences that lay waste to their being. Every day there are parents of children who are living with Autism that are forced to make choices that are beyond painful. There are children who are being forgotten by school systems and the health community. It makes me furious and so incredibly sad to think about it. I can't and won't ever get over what is happening to the scores of people who are being caught up in The ASD Epidemic that has a prevalence rate that grows each year.

Right now please just offer up a quick prayer/meditation/thought/smoke signal for these families who are in the thick of the Autism woods right now feeling lost. For these parents that are charged with watching their precious babies writhe and struggle in a world that has a hard time making space for them. For these children in the spectrum who are being viewed as "less than" or "broken". Give a moment of your time and prayer for anyone who has been affected by Autism. Pray for their peace of heart and for the miracle of hope to be re-introduced into their lives.

Somewhere in the world right now is a family that is being told that there lives will never be the same. They are being told that their child is living with Autism. Pray for them.

A couple weeks ago someone emailed me to ask if I could ever "get over" my son's autism diagnosis and blog about something. Obviously not. However, I can assure you that we here at RIHTSEC are working on it.

Humble-Brag

john@johnbigjohn.com (john roedel) — Tue, 15 May 2012 05:31:30 GMT

Hi folks. This is John's ego. I have taken over his blog today to feed myself.

Did you know that there is even more John on the internet than what is normal?

In the past couple weeks he has been interviewed on a podcast and been featured on an online writing community. I know that many of you can't get enough of John. I know I can't. John is awesome and sexy. He is the spawn of Hasselhoff and Jude Law.

Here are a couple links you can follow to hear his interview and read his feature:

John's interview with Autism Warriors. In this podcast he does a reading from one of his recent blog entries. If you listen to his soothing voice you will live longer.

John's feature on Smithmag.net. He is the writer of the month at SMITH because of his world-changing six word memoirs he has been addicted to writing.

Listen and Read to what John had to say. Also, please don't tell him I told you to do this. He is way too humble to brag like this.

I am off to stare at myself in the mirror.

Between a Viking & The Swede

john@johnbigjohn.com (john roedel) — Thu, 03 May 2012 18:48:25 GMT

Since it's National Prayer day I figured it was time to spiritually Skype The Lord this morn. It pains me to admit that I am not nearly as prayerful as I need to be. I'd like to think that my lack of conversation with God is because I am so busy with obligations and business meetings. That would be a stretch. The only thing I am busy with these days is trying to watch all five seasons of The Wire in under three weeks and I don't really have any business meetings to attend....well except the ones that take place with with my lawnboy who is attempting (and I am allowing) to extort me. But that is a blog topic for another time....

I graced God with my presence this morning. I am sure he was pretty excited to hear from me. Our discourse began well. I started with the prayer requests that would make me look good. I prayed for world peace, the end to hunger, and for the purification and salvation for The Lohan's. However, like all of my prayer sessions my altruistic beard came off and I started babbling about the junk that I needed...and I needed a lot of junk.

J-Roe has got a serious list of wants...

I prayed for the end to the check engine lights that plague every car I sit behind. I asked God to help me to find some sort of nose hair trimming device that will finally be able to rid myself of a particular long nostril follicle that I have recently named "Harrison". My prayers consisted of things like a request to inflate my bank account and to deflate my waistline. I asked for the end of bees and wasps everywhere without regard to how that could start the domino effect of the end of the human race. I prayed for the gift of quick fingers to finally beat my 12-year old in Mario Party 9...his string of 4,872 victories is starting to erode my gaming confidence. My list and demands went on and on. I prayed for a better water pressure in my townhome and for somebody to finally recognize my mad skillz. (skill with a "z" indicates I am one seriously talented play-a) At the time I did not find my intentions as self-centered after all I was praying for a bunch of people...me, myself, I, and your's truly.

To be fair I have never tried to act like I am not a self-indulgent dude. This blog is a perfect example of the how narrow my perspective can be at most times. I fully recognize that most of my life is set on auto-pilot. It is a character flaw that hopefully in time I will work out...however in the meantime, I'm at least aware of my personal limitations.

I am sure that I am just like most people. I pray for things that will make my life easier. I pray for things that I think will bring me peace. I pray for things that I think will make me happy. I'm just like you....I want to be happy.

My desire for happiness was certainly reflected in my moment of prayer this morn.

Then like most of my prayer sessions my imagination starts to kick in and God responds. This probably happens because when I was growing up I watched the movie "Oh God" more times than anyone in George Burns family ever did. In my imagination this time the Lord On High hit me back in a voice that sounded just like Judge Smails from the movie "Caddyshack". After my litany of "wants" came to an end I heard this:

"You will get nothing and like it!!!"

Of course God doesn't talk to me...and if He did His voice probably wouldn't be identical to Ted Knights. The voice that chimed in was my dirty monkey-humping ego. My ego is a little different than most other peoples. Seemingly everyone else's ego is a delusional lunatic who tells them how awesome they are and how nobody on Earth quite understands their brilliance. My ego operates in a different manner. He is like a Marine drill instructor who is intent on breaking me down...but the problem is after he grinds me down into a pile of salt he is not concerned with building me back up. My ego is the preacher of the church of "John Is A Worthless Schmoop Who Is A Disappointment To Everyone...Even Kittens And Puppies". Reverend Ego gives testimony every morning from his pulpit of how I deserve scorn and ridicule. Every sermon ends with a rousing gospel choir rendition of "The 5'3 Scumbag".

As you can tell I have serious issues when it comes to praying. I am stuck between shallow prayers and the fact that there is a part of me that does not believe that I deserve any of my intentions to be heard. This is the reason my spiritual garden is a vast wasteland of cracked soil and weeds. I feel bad that I ask for things that are petty...and on top of that I feel undeserving of whatever it is I think I need. It is a double whammy.

My prayer time ended with me feeling like I had just been punched in the briar patch by a steel-fisted elf. I concluded my prayer without the standard "Amen". I ended it with a "Well that just happened". I thought maybe I would try communicating again with the divine in a couple of years...

As I was driving this morning reflecting on my failed morning prayer experience a song came on my shuffled playlist that stopped my pity party.

This is the song.

This song brought me back to a moment a few days ago to where I had for one brief moment had something important figured out. This moment happened while I was being backhanded by a tall awkwardly swedish woman and having my neck breathed down by a furry drunken Yeti-like man who smelled like Death's armpit. It was in this unlikely moment that I was given a reminder of a mantra that I used to repeat to myself daily:

"I deserve to be happy"

So do you.

Let your inner voice say it in the halls of your brain as well.

"I deserve to be happy".

No matter of what mistakes you have made, obstacles you have faced, scars you carry, relationships you have broken, money you have lost, jobs you have failed at, diets you have ended or people you have upset the mantra holds true for you.

You deserve to be happy. We all do. It's what we all want.

I know this is not some incredible revelation that I am presenting you with - the desire to be happy so very simple...maybe it's so simple that we forget about it. Maybe your like me and have regulated the idea of being happy as something that will come latter in life. That is as they may say in the deep south as "Bull-hanky". Can you tell I have never been in the deep south?

That song was one that was played at the Snow Patrol concert I attended in Denver last Friday. It was an amazing night! It can be said that I am a huge (in a short-man kind of way) fan of Snow Patrol. I am drawn to their music because of the lyrics in all of their songs. Their lyrics scream to me in a way that no other bands are able to do. It was a concert that was a very spiritual experience for me. Each song on their setlist hit me in my heart. While others danced and drank around me, I shut my eyes and just soaked it in.

I soaked it in while the crazy Swedish lady next to me danced in a manner that required her to smack me in the face every six seconds. She backhanded me more times than Jack Bauer ever did a suspect in his many seasons on "24". By the end of the concert I had knuckle marks on my forehead. Had I any secrets to spill to this lankly Swede I would have told them to her to make her stop the face-slapping. I realize that most people would have asked her to please be more careful...but I was afraid to say anything because if this is how she acted when she was enjoying a concert I was terrified to see how she might react when angered by a "little American man with unibrow."

Her repeated assaults on my supple face with her manly hands did not keep me from being touched by the music of Snow Patrol. I was transported while they played. I was even unfazed by the guy behind me who with each exhale of his rubbing alcohol-like breath on the back of my neck burned away a layer of skin. It can only liken the experience to what I imagine intimacy with a wine-soaked viking must have been like. There were points during the concert where this hairy fellow was so close to me that I was unsure where I began and he stopped. I was his conjoined little sober buddy.

Despite The Swede and The Yeti I was fully engrossed in the experience. It was a perfect night of musical therapy. One song had me forgiving people who wronged me in my past, and the next had me working through issues of grief I still have with the passing of my mother.

By the encore I was ready for the show to end. I was emotionally drained, my face hurt, and in some cultures I was possibly married to the man behind me. I was ready to go home - Snow Patrol had given me all the lessons I needed to receive that night...or at least I thought.

Just when I was closing up shop on the whole evening they played a song I had never heard before. It was simple and beautiful and it was the number that reminded me that I deserve happiness. It was the song that with a moment or two had the entire crowd singing the chorus with the singer.

Here is the studio version of the song:

Here is the same song but this version was filmed at the same concert I was at. I was about ten feet behind the person who was operating the camera:

By the end of the song the entire audience was singing along. We were offering our intent of the things we wanted from life. We were offering a prayer. Watch the end of this clip...it still gives me goosebumps.

I was praying...without Ted Baxters voice...without the shallowness...without guilt. Sure the words I was singing weren't specific to me, but my intention was. I was praying for myself, the people I love, and the folks in life who needed my intentions.

It reminded me that it's ok to want things in your life that will make you happy. Being happy is what we deserve. There is nothing wrong with asking for it. I should add though that it doesn't mean that we just focus on ourselves...because after all how can any of us be truly happy if the people around us in the world are suffering.

I deserve to be happy.

So do you.

So do people who we don't like.

Happiness is not something that only a few people deserve. It's okay to ask for it and it's okay for other people to ask for it.

As I am reflecting on this song at the Snow Patrol concert and my fruitless attempt at prayer this morning I think I would like to rewrite my prayer from this morning. It goes like this:

Dear God,

I pray for all the things that you know will make me happy.

Those things probably include my health, my family, and good wine.

I submit that there are probably other things that will make me happy that only you know. I pray for those things as well.

I also pray for everyone else. Please help them find happiness.

Let me know if I am in standing in their way to being happy.

Help me recognize that I deserve to be happy.

Help me recognize that everyone else deserves to be happy too.

This is all I ever wanted from life.

Amen.

I went on a walk this afternoon around Lions Park and I offered that prayer.

I am suprisngly thankful of that night I was stuck between The Swede and The Viking....

When Johnny Met Coffee

john@johnbigjohn.com (john roedel) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 21:12:10 GMT

As my body celebrated it's ability to process my 1,000,000th cup of coffee this morning I took a moment to reflect on my hot and steamy love affair with Java.

I remember everything about the day coffee and I first met each other on Casper Mountain in 1990. I was attending a week-long Catholic Youth Leadership camp where I was learning how exactly to become a...well..young Catholic leader. I had made it through the first couple days of the camp and I was starting to get worn down. I was not fatigued because I was spending my time in deep prayer or focused on building a strong faith community. I was exhausted because I spent most of my time worrying about the wildlife/ancient evils that lived in the woods that I was certain was conspiring to carry me off to it's cave/Blair Witch Shack Of Horrors and Dismemberment.

Yes, for those of you who don't know me well I do not do well in nature. While some people are comforted by the sounds of crickets chirping them to sleep I am extremely uncomfortable listening to their constant taunts. Other folks might enjoy sitting around the campfire enjoying telling stories and bonding. I don't like anything about that. Sitting around an open fire that is surrounded by large wooden trees seems like an invitation to play the popular game "How Fast Can Johnny Burn?" That is a game nobody wants to play. I think that I would make an awful burn victim. I have the pain threshold of a new born baby...and we all know that new born babies can be real pansies.

Anyways, while attending this leadership camp it would be fair to say that I was not in my element. Yes, we had cabins to sleep in but they were the kind of cabins that Jason from Friday the 13th movies loved to frequent. The doors were seemingly made out of cork-board and the roof was fashioned together by a family of squirrels. If a deranged killer, rabid animal, or the ghost of Henry David Thoreau really wanted to feast upon me they would only need to sneeze on the walls of this cabin to knock them down.

Every night when I would tuck myself to sleep under the sheets (that I was sure hadn't been washed since The Spanish brought them over in the 1600's) I could not sleep. Each rustle of the leaves outside lit the boiler of my imagination. While my teenage peers fell asleep under the glow of their strengthening faith I stayed awake keeping watch against Yeti's and Chupacabras.

When dawn would arrive at camp everyone else would leap out of bed for another day of spiritual training. I would writhe around for a bit like a vampire who had to face the prospect of a morning shift at Duncan Donuts. The adults would try their best to get me to make breakfast to limited success. Eventually I would throw myself out of my lumpy cot because I would force myself to go check and make sure some spider hadn't laid eggs underneath my eyelids.

It was on a particularly brutal morning that I came stumbling into the dining hall after my third straight sleepless night. I was a mess. My Roedel-fro was unkempt and jetting out in a manner that screamed "I just survived a night of drinking lighter fluid". I slid down into one of the terrible metal folding chairs that are only used at youth events or for terrorist interrogations. Looking back now I can only imagine how I horrified the poor other kids that I sat next to were. Here they were trying to eat their powdered eggs in peace and here came Nicholas Cage's character from "Leaving Las Vegas" to plunk down next to them. Sitting there in that dining hall after having another night of no sleep I was not human. I was some sort of clone experiment gone horribly wrong. There were elements of me that looked like a person...but I had been transformed into something more animalistic. While I cannot remember what conversations I had with any of those people were I am sure it went something like this:

"Good morning John!"

"Mgghhhmmphhh. Yargle."

"Are you okay? You don't look well."

"I kanga kanga doo."

"You...kanga..what?

"Yaaaaaaaaaccccck!!!!!!!!"

I think my appearance and lack of ability to communicate probably spooked the rest of my table mates enough to have them all decide it was time to leave. They probably thought I was either having a stroke or was being possessed by some sort of demon. I was now alone with my arms limp at my side and my face planted down in the bleach wiped brown table. While in that position I started to dip into my memory of biology class that I had barely passed the year before to try and remember if there was a way for a person to die from lack of sleep.

With my eyes closed I started entering into an alternative state of consciousness. It was that state between being awake and sleep where the sounds of the real world begin to fade away and dreamland beckons. I remember wondering as I drifted off to sleep in the middle of the dining hall if I was drooling. Moving my hands up from my side to check would be too much work - so I decided that even if I was forming a pool of salvia around my face it wasn't as bad as if I had lost control of my bladder. That is when I started to wonder if I could be so tired that I could in fact lose the all important bladder function...that would be harder to explain to my friends. However, I should admit that at this point I didn't really care how I looked or what would happen. I was so exhausted that even my need to be liked by everyone was drown under the flood of sleepiness that was washing over me.

I was going....to...sleep.....drool or public urination be damned.

That's when I heard a gruff voice of one of the adults who was running the camp.

"Time to get going Roedel. Looks like you could use this." he said while placing what sounded like a cup next to my face that was melting into the surface of the table.

Nice try fella. I thought. There is nothing you can say or give to me that is going to wake me from the coma that I was preparing myself for. Camp Jesus would have to wait for me to come back from my dance with The Sandman. There is nothing that is going to keep me from fading out. I will try and be back by dinner.

Then the smell of glorious coffee wafted into my young nostrils. Now, I had smelled coffee plenty of times before...but this was the first time I really smelled it. It was like finally taking notice of the girl who sat next to you in homeroom that once you gave her a second look you realized that she was beautiful. The aroma of coffee grabbed hold of my soul and brought me back into my body.

My eyes opened and I saw that the adult had left a small white cup of nectar in front of me. The smell of it called to me like a siren. I wrapped my wee hand around the cups plastic handle and brought it to my lips. With my first sip of this pitch black liquid my life changed. Everything I thought I knew about life was transformed.

Suddenly I became one with the universe. I could feel the suns rays kiss the petals of a flower in Africa. I could feel the energy of the cosmos soaking into me. I sat up from my drool pool and looked upon my reality with new eyes. Despite my lack of self-care and rest I was ready to meet the day with passion. I was now a disciple of the church of "better living through caffeine".

Dear Coffee, I love you. You are the Marley to my Bob. You keep my eyes open and my blood pressure elevated. Today I salute you by talking to everyone I meet about you. Well...I will do that....just as soon as my eyebrows stop twitching.

That's normal, right?

2012 Interview With Autism: "Fret Less. Love More."

john@johnbigjohn.com (john roedel) — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 19:02:58 GMT

Since it had been a couple years since I have touched base with Autism, I thought it would it be a good idea to sit down and conduct another formal interview so that I could see where it is coming from here in 2012.

We met at a local coffee shop this morning. As always Autism was right on time for our conversation. It wore a very pleasant off-green buttoned up shirt and light brown slacks. Where on the other hand, I showed up in a wrinkled t-shirt and unfortunate looking jeans. We sat in silence for a bit while I got my notes ready for our talk. Autism just sat across the oval table with his hands crossed with a very slight smile adorning his face while I ruffled through my papers. I appreciated his patience, however it was a bit unnerving to have my adversary watch me jumble around in my backpack.

For about five years Autism and I would sit down and have one of this official conversations. I often sought out this encounters to try and gain it's perspective on it's impact on the world, and more specifically my son, Noah. My goal during these interviews has always been to try to understand where it was coming from and to hopefully let Autism spend a few moments listening to me explain how it has needlessly thrown a monkey wrench into the life of my family. Often these conversations seemed pointless. It was like one of those political dueling monologues on Facebook. One person tells the other person their an idiot. Then the second person breaks down how the first person is a moron...and so forth. Nothing ever got accomplished because neither of us listened to one another. Why would we? I think Autism is a jerk and it thinks I am a coward..so we don't necessarily start from a point of mutual respect.

Because of our attitude toward one another I have let some time pass between our talks. In fact I was more than happy never talk to it again but last week when his receptionist called to schedule an interview I thought maybe it had something it wanted

to say. Maybe an apology? Heck, I would be satisfied with a sliver of self-awareness to the calamity it has caused many families across the world. It was in this hope that I agreed to meet with Autism again.

After another moment or two of frantic preparation I was ready to begin. Autism took a sip of ice water as I turned on my recorder:

ME: Good morning Autism. Long time no talk.

AUTISM: Sure has.

ME: What have you been up to?

AUTISM: I've been crazy busy. What about you? What's been filling up you days?

ME: Same old things.

AUTISM: Which is what? What is it you do anyways?

ME: You know....stuff.

AUTISM: You are like The Schneider of 2012. You are always around, but nobody knows exactly what it is you do.

ME: Schneider?

AUTISM: Yeah, Schneider. From the hit 80's sitcom "One Day At A Time". All's you need is a pencil think mustache, a tool belt, and probably lose about 80 pounds.

ME: First of all I don't think you can consider that show a hit. Second of all I don't need to lose 80 pounds. Maybe 15.

AUTISM: 15? Is 15 the new 80?

ME: Look, this is just my winter weight. Once summer comes it will come pouring off.

AUTISM: Sure it will. You will be in that speedo in no time. Ladies of the world, look out. Baywatch Johnny is back.

ME: Is my weight the subject that you wanted us to talk about today? I can get this kind of abuse from my kids.

AUTISM: No, it's not the reason in itself. But it is symptomatic of the larger problem that I wanted to talk about with you.

ME: Which is what?

AUTISM: Your ability to a machine of denial.

ME: Machine of denial? That sounds like the name of a Nine Inch Nails album.

AUTISM: It does, doesn't it?

ME: It kind of does...

AUTISM: Look, would you agree that you have a serious issue of denying that problems exist?

ME: No, I would not agree.

AUTISM: See? You just keep denying things. You must suck at improv.

ME: I don't suck at improv!

AUTISM: Another denial.

ME: No it's not.

AUTISM: Now you are denying that you just denied something. You are really sick.

ME: Stop it. Let me get this straight you asked to meet with me so we could discuss your theory that I am living in denial.

AUTISM: Yep. However, it should be said that I don't just think you are living in denial. I believe that you are also The President of denial. Nixon's ghost is probably in awe of you.

ME: That is a ridiculous claim. Can you give me an example where I am denying the existence of a serious problem?

AUTISM: Aside from your weight?

ME: (sigh) Yes. Aside from that.

AUTISM: How is your search for meaningful employment going?

ME: Just fine. I am really on the cusp of something great.

AUTISM: Mmm hmmm. Sounds like it. And would you please update me on how that book you started writing a few years ago is going? Should be all wrapped up by now?

ME: I should be done....soon.

AUTISM: Soon? Like a week?

ME: Maybe not that soon. But soon...

AUTISM: Like 2015?

ME: Fine. Point taken.

AUTISM: You're welcome.

ME: I didn't thank you.

AUTISM: You will.

ME: Let's change the subject for a second. You have said you have been busy. With what?

AUTISM: Well, not to sound too self-important but I have been busy with being me.

ME: What does that mean?

AUTISM: I am sure you have heard I now affect 1 in 88 children in America?

ME: Yeah, I saw that. You must be really proud.

AUTISM: I kind of am. It takes a lot of work. I'm expanding my brand everywhere. I am kind of like Visa.

ME: That's a pretty terrible way of looking at it.

AUTISM: Explain?

ME: You take pride in "expanding" all over the place but you still fail to see how many hearts you are shattering.

AUTISM: This again? Can we please not get into this again?

ME: Yes this again! You take such an indifferent attitude toward the families you are trying to ruin.

AUTISM: It's good to see that you are still so melodramatic. I bet you cried when Jack died in Titanic, didn't you?

ME: Maybe. (pause) She said she was never going to let him go.

AUTISM: She lied.

ME: Has a movie ever made you cry?

AUTISM: Only twice.

ME: Which ones?

AUTISM: Marley and Me and Ishtar. Both for completely different reasons.

ME: I get those. Back to the point I was making-

AUTISM: Which was what exactly?

ME: My point is this; you shouldn't be so cavalier about the damage you are causing.

AUTISM: I don't see that I am causing anybody damage.

ME: Who is denying problems now?

AUTISM: Do you view your son, Noah, as less of a person than a child who is not living with Autism?

ME: Of course not. He's amazing.

AUTISM: Ok. Do you think Noah is as you put it "damaged"?

ME: I would never say that!

AUTISM: Alright..then would you kindly explain what the hell you think I have done to him exactly that keeps you so angry at me?

ME: For starters you have burdened Noah with unnecessary struggle and obstacles! You have laid upon our family more needless worry and grief! You have blanketed our last 11 years with heartache and stress!

AUTISM: Blanketed? Get a thesaurus dude. And if you felt worry, heartache, and stress that is not my fault. You chose those reactions.

ME: No I didn't!

AUTISM: So, you're not in control of how you react to things? That must be crazy.

ME: What other reaction should I have chosen? Glee? Joy?

AUTISM: You know the answer to that. You should have initially chosen the reaction you discovered a few years after Noah was diagnosed: Love.

ME: That is easy for you to say...

AUTISM: Sure is. Tell me, where did all that worry and heartache get you? Did those sleepless nights and self-imposed grief help your son?

ME: Not really...in fairness I thought he was lost.

AUTISM: What you mean to say is that you denied that there was still hope for him.

ME: I was being stupid.

AUTISM: Yep.

ME: Wait a second...nice attempt on getting the subject away from the point I was making. Which was your inability to show any remorse for your 1 in 88 epidemic.

AUTISM: 1 in 54 boys.

ME: Exactly!

AUTISM: Holy cow you are a bit more dense than I remembered you being. I just asked you a minute ago if you thought your son was damaged or ruined and you said "No". Remember that?

ME: Yes...

AUTISM: That is exactly how I feel about my work. I don't apologize for myself because I don't consider any of these children who are being diagnosed with me as being anything less than what a "typical" child is. They are not broken. They just see life differently than you do. That is your issue. Not theirs. Think of your autistic child like a foreign exchange student. You just have to learn their language.

ME: I know plenty of parents, me included, that think that is a pretty insensitive way of looking at it. There are plenty of children and adults out there who are unable to communicate with other people or lead any kind of independent life because of you.

AUTISM: I know that. You don't have to explain that to me.

ME: What would you say to those parents of children who are considered to be living with severe autism who are really struggling.

AUTISM: That would be private conversation between us. You don't need to worry about it.

ME: I still think you are a prick.

AUTISM: We will just have to agree to disagree on that.

ME: I guess we will.

AUTISM: How is Noah by the way? Getting ready for Junior High soon, isn't he?

ME: We actually have a Middle School system here. But yes, he will be there in about a year.

AUTISM: Those can be scary times for one of my kiddos.

ME: He is not one of your kiddos!

AUTISM: Another denial. Anyway, how is he doing in school?

ME: His grades have been really great. Plus he has started doing sports and has seemed to really enjoy that.

AUTISM: Nice. I really like Noah. He is a really great guy.

ME: Yes he is.

AUTISM: And you and your wife should take some credit in that.

ME: Thank you?

AUTISM: Seriously. Once you guys stopped worrying about "defeating his autism" and started focusing on "helping him live with his autism" things really clicked for you all as a family.

ME: I guess so. Although I am committed to ridding you from his life.

AUTISM: Good luck with that. And how is Noah's social life going?

ME: Fine.

AUTISM: Mmm hmmm. Let me ask that again. How is Noah's social going?

ME: I said it was fine.

AUTISM: Deny. Deny. Deny. This is the main reason why I wanted to talk to you. Just like those many years ago when you denied there was anything you could do to help Noah you are doing the same damned thing now.

ME: I don't understand.

AUTISM: Yes you do. First of all you need to admit the problem. How many of his classmates birthday parties has he been invited to in the past three years?

ME: I don't have that number in front of me right now.

AUTISM: It's zero. How many sleepovers has he been with kids his age?

ME: I'm sure you going to tell me-

AUTISM: Again it's zero. What does Noah do on the playground during recess?

ME: The same thing that other kids in 5th grade do!

AUTISM: Really? All kids in 5th grade swing on the swing by themselves every recess?

ME: What are you saying?

AUTISM: You know what I'm saying. You are just too much of a denying-mother to admit it out loud. I am saying that with Middle-School approaching you are entering a whole new world of hurt. In grade school you and your wife could help Noah along cognitively with therapies and some extra help to get him caught up academically with his peers, right?

ME: Right...

AUTISM: Most of his grade school experience was structured and regimented where his relationships with other kids has been a fairly basic experience. Now Noah is heading off into the murky social world that exists after 6th grade. And that scares you doesn't it?

ME: Maybe a little.

AUTISM: Enough with the denials.

ME: Alright... It scares the hell out of me. I'm terrified. Noah is going to be so lost once he enters the bigger schools.

AUTISM: What frightens you the most?

ME: There is not clear winner to what frightens me the most. I am scared of bullies, of him not picking up on the more complicated social interactions that are coming his way, of teachers who don't have the time or will to meet him where he is at. I am scared of his self-confidence and his smile being eroded by the sea of cruel teenagers.

AUTISM: But what scares you the most?

ME: That he will be alone. That he will be forgotten. I would almost take him being picked on over being invisible.

AUTISM: I can understand that. He is probably going to have a very hard time.

ME: That's for the pep-talk. You really are a jerk...

AUTISM: I am just telling it like it is. Junior High and Middle School can be rough for anybody. But for kids that I have touched it can be an especially miserable experience.

ME: The thing is I feel so helpless to help with with any of this. For the past 11 years we could take him to speech therapy or summer school to help him keep up with his peers. But with the social game that he is going to be forced into there is nothing I can do to help him in the same way. Sure we can give him some basic tools and skill to try and help Noah figure out how to communicate with some of his classmates...but that might not be enough.

AUTISM: Probably won't be.

ME: Again, thanks for the inspiring words.

AUTISM: Well, it won't be. For example; Noah doesn't understand sarcasm. Sarcasm is the life-blood of a 14 year old. He is going to feel like he is living on an alien planet.

ME: I know, I know. And I am feeling so sad for him. I don't know what we can do for him.

AUTISM: The same thing you did back then. Don't react with worry or stress - Just love him.

ME: That's it?

AUTISM: You're not going to be able to make other children befriend him. You're not going to be able to stop someone from saying something cruel to him at the lunch table someday. You can't control any of that. However, just like those years ago when Noah was first diagnosed with me you gave up on feeling helpless and wrapped him with love.

ME: I can do that.

AUTISM: You have to. There is no other choice. Noah will need you more than ever. There are some very tricky storms coming that he will need help navigating through.

ME: Because of you.

AUTISM: Because of life. I am just a part of it. You need to get over it.

ME: Any other advice?

AUTISM: Plenty. Quit denying that problems exist. Lose some weight. Quit making everything about you. Don't watch so much reality television. Trim your neck hair. Stop tweeting so much. Make more time for-

ME: Ok..I got it.

AUTISM: But remember the best piece of advice I can give you is to love Noah. Replace your fretting with love.

ME: Good advice. Thank you.

AUTISM: I told you that you would thank me.

ME: Hmmm. I still hate you.

With that Autism took it's last sip of water. Nodded at me and walked out the door of the cafe'. I sat at the table for another hour before I packed up my things and went home to practice fretting less and loving more.

Lenny Bruce Is Not Afraid.

john@johnbigjohn.com (john roedel) — Mon, 16 Apr 2012 18:16:49 GMT

THAT'S GREAT IT STARTS WITH AN EARTHQUAKE, BIRDS, SNAKES, AND AEROPLANES, AND LENNY BRUCE IS NOT AFRAID.

"What will it feel like when the world ends?" my 9 year old fair-haired son Riley asked me a couple days ago.

Since my I subscribe to the rule of parenting of always answering a question with a question of my own so I can stall and think up a good answer, I immediately asked him what was making him think about that.

Riley told me that a bunch of his fellow fourth-grade brethren where explaining to him that it is a certainty that the world is going to cease existing on December 21st, 2012. It seemed like his friends had gone to some good sources to come to this information. I believe they quoted John Cusack and the long extinct Mayan civilization to help back up their theory that on 12/21 the Earth will disappear quicker than Molly Ringwald. They had him convinced that the end was near.

He wasn't only afraid that the world would fade away on his watch...he was afraid that it was going to really hurt. I lowered my voice and wove together a tapestry of well-intended words that centered on the fallacies of the various 2012 predictions and how I was certain that God did not operate the running of our planet like a google calendar. I told him about how their have been plenty of under-medicated individuals who have come up with end of the world dates in the past and been wrong. I explained to him how we survived Y2K and the music of The Spice Girls without the world being snuffed out...so we can be rest assured that we can make it through some arbitrary date.

Despite my best of efforts Riley was still a little unnerved by the whole thing. He was afraid of it being a really painful experience. I promised him that if the world was going to end it would be painless. I think he knew I was lying - but it was a lie that he wanted me to say to him. In the end we both agreed that if the world was going to end it wouldn't happen so close to Christmas. Otherwise, God would be responsible for all of our credit card debt.

I know some adults who are really nervous about the apocalypse happening while they are still kicking it here on Earth. They reference The Bible, dying bees, and star formations to try and get me to get as nervous as they are. I'm not. Not because I am some Alpha Dog who doesn't get scared because if you have been reading this blog for a while you know that I am the most cowardly-motha' out there. Honestly, I am scared of everything from Splendia to Billy Ray Cyrus...but I am not scared of the end times. I lack fear for this event because I am well aware that the odds of me becoming the first 5'2 center in The NBA are greater than the odds of the world exploding while I am alive. Granted, I should admit that I am a little nervous that Snooki could be giving life to a possible Anti-Christ candidate...who from what I read in a Newspaper Tabloid is scheduled to be born on December 21st....

Yikes that seems a little too-coincidental. Maybe we should ask John Cusack about that one.

Aside from my son asking me about the end of everything, it seems like I have been bombarded with this theme from every angle. Just in the past couple weeks I have sat through CNN talking about it, heard some crazy preacher on the radio telling me to stock up on Ramon Noodles, and watched two movie on the subject matter. Those moves were Melancholia (so terrible and unlikeable), and Take Shelter (amazing performances and fantastic story).

So, despite my lack of feeling or fear about the world blowing up like The Death Star I have been unable to escape the thought of it lately. It is only going to get worse as we approach the arbitrary-date-of-the-end-of-everything that is 12/21/2012. I am just going to have to get over it.

Last week while I was helping sing for a Living Stations Of The Cross service I had a moment of clarity on the subject of the end:

The lights of the church had been turned off.

The only thing I can see are shadows of the people sitting in the pews.

Through the stained glass windows I witness the last of the daylight fading

A very intense Wyoming wind is rocking the trees back and forth against the dying light.

I can hear the wind rushing over the roof of the church.

It sounds like a flood that is swallowing us up.

When I had come inside an hour ago, everything outside was so calm.

Now, it sounds like the whole world is storming.

The service continues in the dark and we sing our songs - the wind outside intensifies.

Had at any moment the roof had been peeled off I would not have been surprised.

The sunlight outside is gone and the stained glass is now pitch black.

Just the shadows of trees bending and thrashing up against window frames.

It's such a contrast between the storm raging outside and the silent people inside.

Outside everything is violent and chaotic.

Inside everything is peaceful and prayerful.

The people ignore the monster outside...they sit with their eyes trained forward.

I am not a person God sends messages too on a daily basis.

In fact the last time I got a direct telegraph from him was 1992.

He was trying to tell me that I really needed to stop wearing acid washed jeans.

However, on this windy Good Friday evening he breaks radio silence with me.

I am being told to be more like the people in the pews who sat unafraid.

To stop letting the outside world affect my inner world.

To quit worrying about everything that I cannot control and build stronger walls.

Have faith & and keep eyes focused in front of me...focused on the beauty of the world.

On this night of ripping winds the world sounds like it's ending.

It sounds like maybe somewhere a Mayan Ghost was getting his smug on.

Despite that nobody in the church wavers...they pray and find peace.

The people in the pew let the world do its worst while they gather and meditate.

If that the world is going to end that is how I want to spend my last moments.

Gathered with my family in peace unworried about the storm that rages outside.

With my eyes filled with grateful tears of the life I have been blessed with.

To take my final breath without fear -

When my children ask me again about the idea of the world ending. I think I will have a different answer. Instead of getting defensive about the whole prospect I believe my response will be "Who knows and who cares. Don't worry about the storm outside. Just sit with me and let's put our attention on all of the beautiful things in the world instead". Such an answer may give them pause enough to ask me if I have eaten some "special brownies" lately...but I want them to join me in putting an end to worrying about the raging winds that rattle our windows and jar our hearts.

If it is the end of the world as they know it...I want them to feel fine. To be like Lenny Bruce and be unafraid.

Something different....A picture book.

john@johnbigjohn.com (john roedel) — Tue, 27 Mar 2012 16:07:25 GMT

As a little project I am working on for a class I have started to convert some of my blog posts into a more visual format.

Here is one of my first efforts. Eventually a lot of these will be available on Ibooks...but for today I am just providing the link to download it.

Not quite sure if this will work or not. I have to post the blog to make sure it is actually able to be downloaded. In case it doesn't I want to take this moment to thank you for reading my blog. I know you have a choice when it comes to reading the ramblings of a 5'3, teapot-shaped, neurotic man who is afraid of clowns, and I am grateful for your support.

Here is my first attempt. Let me know if you like it. If you hate it please don't tell me. You can tell everyone else you know - just not me. I am a fragile flower.

Enjoy.

Here is the link:

The Wall Walker

last dance?

john@johnbigjohn.com (john roedel) — Mon, 12 Mar 2012 22:14:02 GMT

You can dance if you want to.....

Right around 9:20 pm this last Saturday night while I was throwing my body awkwardly around on stage in an attempt to dance during one Ozymandian Theater's comedy sketches I had an epiphany:

I am going to die.

This was not big-picture "Tree of Life" moment where I was pondering my mortality. No, I wasn't reflecting on how scared I will be in 50 years when I am standing at the customs desk in the afterlife. My concern was much more immediate:

I am going to die. Now.

As I was dancing to Billy Idol's "Dancing with myself" under the bright lights of the Mary Godfrey Playhouse my heart was doing it's best to beat it's way out of my body and find a new and healthier home. Granted it would not take much for it to find a host who was more dedicated to health and well being. I am certain that my heart would take living in a tub of butter over staying inside the world I have built for it.

The comedy sketch called for me to dance for around five minutes. I started out slowly and was going to finish with a frenzied finish. I should clarify. I use the term "dance" and it is probably a bit misleading in describing what exactly I was doing. Dancing should involve rhythm and grace...I have neither. My "dancing" is more of a semi-controlled seizure that is I am sure from an audiences perspective very difficult to watch. It's a mixture of convulsions, leg kicks, and somersaults. My attempts at dancing have been known to cause blindness and nosebleeds.

It should be noted that this is not the first time I have danced for Ozymandian Theater. I have done it before...but not for many months. Usually when I begin to writhe around on stage to music I am prepared to hear gasps, sighs, and the sound of uncomfortable shifting in the seats from the audience. On this night however, riight after I started flaying about, there was a different soundtrack I could hear:

Thump!!!
Thump!!!!!!
THUMP!!!!!!!!

I could feel chest throbbing and my lungs burning like I just drank some uranium. I could not believe how quickly I was tiring out. Don't get me wrong I have never been a guy who has done a ton of cardio-conditioning so I am used to feeling winded after doing really intense physical activities like doing the dishes, walking up four steps, or changing the radio station in the car. This was different. My body was not just telling me it was out of energy. It was telling me that I was the Supreme Ruler of Horse's Ass Valley. It was explaining to me with each bang of my heart that I was the worst boss any heart could ever have. Here I was showing up an expecting my organic employees in my body to suddenly be ready for work when I have not asked anything of them in years.

I am a terrible boss. I have not treated my body with a ton of kindness although I have spent a great deal of my life lying to myself the opposite. I have always thought that since I don't smoke or drink much that I am the 5'3 teapot-shaped version of Lance Armstrong. I never really considered that the years of soda pop, reality tv, and the welcome embrace of my couch have transformed me into such a schlob. I just spoke with a leading expert in physical fitness and he agreed that my conditioning level is just above that of a convenience store burritto.

While the music and my heart continued to rage I attempted to finish what was sure to be a visually disturbing dance routine. Within a few more moments the rest of my body began to chime in as well. My back submitted a vote of "no confidence" in my leadership. My legs sent a memo indicating that they wished I would break one of them so they could take a breather. Every part of my body began to rebel against my groove-less dancing. Even my closest ally, my eyebrows were begging for mercy. They told me that if I did not quit dancing they were going to make themselves fall off. That threat concerned me greatly because without my thick hairy pork chop eyebrows I would not be the sex-symbol that I am.

I told my eyebrows and the rest of my angry body that I had to keep going. I had to make it to the part of the sketch where I did the Flashdance move that involved me arching back in a chair and being sprayed with water. (I told you this whole thing was visually disturbing, right?) I just needed to last a while longer...

THUMP!!!

T-H-U-M-P!!!!!

Now my ticker was really pissed. It was sending a very clear message to me:

Keep going at your own risk.

As I was pelvic thrusting myself from stage left to stage right I wondered what exactly would happen if I had a severe heart attack right there on stage and died. I imagined that occurrence would come as a shock and a bit of a relief to the audience. I am certain that they did not want to see me die...but if it meant that it would end my assualt against the art form of dancing they might be okay with it happening.

When I found myself at the part in my routine where I was diving to the ground to do the "dolphin dive" I thought that there was a chance that I might not actually pop up off of the stage. That in a moment I may be floating above my body with the spirit of Michael Landon as he ushered me off to the great beyond. It was then that I remembered that even though I had not ravaged my body with drugs, tobacco, or copious amounts of alcohol that my lifestyle choices and my families history of heart disease are ticking time bombs and this crazed dancing was speeding up the timer.

While I was performing the patented and most dangerous move of my dance; The Running Two-Legged Wall Kick Of Doom" I made a deal with God.

I said "God. Please don't let me die. If you keep me alive I promise to become healthier"

God spoke back to me with "Plus you have to not make fun of Kirk Cameron so much"

I reluctantly agreed.

I didn't die. Even though afterwards I wished I did. It took about 10 hours for my heart to stop throbbing and for my lungs to stop wheezing. I was a hotter mess than a possible Lohan-Sheen lovechild.

The next morning as I crawled out of bed I remembered that I have had a membership to Fitness One that I have had since I made the pledge to get myself into shape to start running half-marathon's this spring. It was time to start using it again. It was time to take my health a helluva lot more seriously. My father had his first major heart attack in his early 40's and I am on the same hardened blood vessel highway as he was on then. I need to change...not just because I should...but because I have to.

I went to gym this morning and re-introduced myself to the treadmill. We danced together. I feel terrible right now....but at the same time I feel better than I have in a long time.

I am not ready for my last dance....

The Wall Walker

john@johnbigjohn.com (john roedel) — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 19:37:45 GMT

THIS IS A PIECE I WAS ASKED TO WRITE TO GIVE A GENERAL DESCRIPTION OF WHAT A LOT OF FATHER’S OF AUTISTIC CHILDREN FEEL LIKE. THIS IS BASED ON MY PERSONAL EXPERIENCE AS WELL AS MANY OTHER DADS THAT I HAVE MET BEFORE. I FIGURED THAT I WOULD SHARE IT HERE ON MY BLOG-O-RAMA.

THE WALL WALKER

When I wake I am curled up under a somber and overcast sky. It is the same colored heaven that I lived under yesterday and the countless days that have come before it. I stretch out on the brown grass for a moment to piece together my reality. It only takes me a few brief moments to remember my job. I have to walk the wall…just like I have done the past 11 years.

I sit up and take a deep breath. I hold it for a moment while I close my eyes. This is one of my favorite moments of the day. I keep my breath inside and pretend it is some sort of medicine. I imagine that it is an inhaler of courage that once I release it I will be able to begin my day with at least an extra ounce of constitution. I exhale slowly- pushing every bit of air out of my lungs. I always do that in hopes that any negative feeling or emotion that I have packed in from the previous day’s walk will get exorcised from my heart.

Opening my eyes I force myself to stand up. Every morning my body aches more and more. As my form cricks and cracks while I push up off of the ground I am reminded of how immensely tired I am. Even though I sleep I never feel like I rest. My body never really relaxes during slumber and my mind never turns off. I am always thinking of my job and the wall that I walk.

It takes a minute or two but I am finally up and standing. Now comes the hard part…I have to turn around and look at it. With both of my hands running through my hair I pivot my feet so I am now facing it.

I am standing outside of a giant ashen concrete wall. It towers over me and stretches to my left and right for as far as my eyes can see. The surface of the wall is worn and cracked and there are some indications that people have tried their best to chip away at it before they surrendered the effort. A part of me is convinced that I was the one who left these marks on this part of the wall. It is hard to tell if this is my work or not. I eventually make up my mind that I was not the one who tried to get it from here. My attempts are not nearly as organized as this one. The person who attacked this area worked it with a plan. When I try and breakthrough the wall I am leave much more random indications. I have never been able to quite exactly determine how tall the wall is – I eventually guess that it has to be about 40-50 feet tall. On the top of this hard barrier there appears to be a band of thick barbed wire that I believe serves as a deterrent to any idiot who decided to try and scale its smooth surface. Once a long time ago I tried to climb it. That was a very bad idea and it cost me days of walking while I recovered from my fall.

I decide it is time to walk the wall for a bit to try and finally find a break in its divide. With the sun obscured by the deep gray sky above me I am unable to figure out exactly how long I walked. By my best estimation I must have walked about an hour or two before my feet informed me that it was time for a break. Throughout all of my strolls along the wall I have never discovered any opening or weakness in its structure. Today was no different. There has never been any variation in how it looked. There are no towers, doorways, windows or anything else that I could use as a reference point. It is steely, grim, and endless. I convince my legs to keep moving. This time as I walk with the wall I run my fingers against the concrete. This is a ritual that I have begun to do more and more often. Since I cannot tell if I have walked around the entire perimeter of the wall I am always curious if my fingers are tracing over a same part of a wall that they have already visited.

I know what you are thinking. I know because I think the same thing every day. You are thinking that it is time for me to quit walking the wall. It is time to give up trying to get through it. It’s time to do something else with my life. I need you to understand something. I can’t quit. I have to find a way through this damned wall. I have to. My son is trapped on the other side. He is alone and he needs me. Now, you’re asking me how I even know he is still over there. I know because every once in a while I can hear his voice bounce off and over the wall. He is asking for help! He is asking me to find him. To help him! Granted I can go days and weeks without hearing from him but I know he is in there. I know it. He wants out…and I won’t stop walking the wall until I find a way inside.

There was a time when I did not walk this wall alone. I used to walk it with my wife. She was just as desperate as I was for trying to get him out of there. Somewhere along the way she gave up and did not want to walk anymore. She said she was tired and she just wanted to rest. I told her we need to find a way in. She said that there must be another way of looking at this wall. That perhaps we were doing this all wrong. I told her that if she was unwilling to walk with me that I was going to go it alone. She begged me to stay. I didn’t. There must be a way in…and I was not going to be like her and quit. The day I kept walking and she stayed behind was the most difficult day of this whole damned thing. I don’t like to think about it much anymore.

A day does not go by where I find myself wishing I was a stronger man. If I was I could smash my fists against this stone partition causing it to crumble down in a cloud of dust. Then I would scramble over the rumble to see my boy standing there waiting for me to scoop him up and rush him away from this place. Believe me I have tried punching through this wall before only to be reminded that the bones in my hands are a helluva lot softer than the rock that binds this wall together. Every now and then I attempt to dig under the wall. Once I even spent an entire month working on a tunnel that I was sure would help carry be underneath it. I worked and toiled only to discover that there was no bottom to the wall. It just kept going and going…

My days of walking the wall bleed into each other. It is often very difficult to differentiate one day from the next. There is a pattern that exists in all of them. It begins with my morning ritual of scraping myself off of the ground, then I walk for miles and miles looking for a way in, then I collapse as the sun sets in absolute heartache that I have once again failed.

I am nearing the end of my walk today. I am exhausted. I slump down to the ground with my back against the gray wall and I do what I do every day at this time. I sob. I am not talking about one of those macho cries that you might see a man do – with one single tear running down his cheek and his jaw clenched tight. My cry is more of a howl and without any dignity or pride. It is the cry of absolute helplessness. All the pain and grief that I bury during the course of the day rolls in like a tide of unstoppable emotion. I am flooded with despair.

Tonight this tide of emotion feels a lot more potent. I am a mess. The tears that seep from my eyes follow a groove that their watery ancestors have formed before, however there are a lot more of them ever tonight. There is a new feeling tonight. For the first time ever I doubt. I doubt that I will ever find a way in, under, or over the wall. I am too small of a man to find a way around it. I will never save my son. I am cursed to be separated from him. With my body still leaning against the barricade I find myself screaming obscenities and a litany of filth into the ether. I am so filled with rage. My anger is exploding from me like unfocused shrapnel! I am angry at whoever built this never-ending wall! I am angry at myself for not being able to solve its riddle! I am angry at God who has determined my purpose in life is to spend it walking this terrible partition! I am angry at my son for being caught on the other side of it! I am angry at my heart for still beating! It would be so much easier if I did not have to wake up in the morning and continue on….

I scream and rant until my voice becomes raw. I am now in shadow as the sun has begun to set on the other side of the wall. Soon I will be surrounded by darkness and I am feeling much more hopeless than I ever have before. I am at my end of my wits. I am nearing the breakdown I always knew what coming. Maybe tomorrow morning I will leave the wall….perhaps tomorrow is the day I give up. No more walking. No more searching.

I close my eyes and get ready for the night to drape over me when I hear the first voice I have heard in years…

“Daddy…”

It was like a whisper coming from the wall behind me. My eyes pop open and I spin around to face the stone. I am now kneeling in front of the fence waiting for another sound.

Nothing comes. Just silent stone.

I place my hand on the wall and I break the quiet. “Hello?? Is there somebody there?”

Silence.

“Hello!!??” I shout. “Please say something again! I just heard you!”

Silence.

Now I am frantic and even though my throat feels stabs of pain every time I shout because of my previous temper tantrum I continue to yell out.

“Say something!! Please!! Hello? I am right here! Daddy is right here!!”

Silence.

My mind must have been playing tricks on me. I must be losing my mind. Is this the beginning of my madness?

Still on my knees I bury my face into the side of the cool wall and whisper “Please….somebody say something...”

I feel the hopelessness and the pain welling up again. The brief moment of joy was now fading because now it appears that the voice I heard was all in my head.

“Daddy!?” This time there is no doubt. It was not a whisper. It was a strong voice calling out.

“I am here! I am right here!” I yell. His voice sounds so close to where I am. Without knowing it right away I am now standing with my ear pressed against the wall. “Where are you?” I ask.

“Right here!” his voice calls out to the right of me.

I turn my head to look and I see a small arm shooting out from a small hole the wall. I see a hand that is reaching out for me desperately. I run over and clasp his hand in mine. As our fingers interlock I feel a wave of relief pour over me. I let go of his hand and look at it. It is so small and it is covered in dirt and I noticed it is covered is small abrasions. His nails are chipped and there is dried blood over the tips of his fingers.

“Are you okay?” I ask through hole.

“Yes!” He shouts. My God his voice sounds so wonderful. “I just hurt my hand while digging through…I will be okay.”

Digging? Well, that of course makes sense. While I have been trying to find a way to break him out he was working on his own way.

My son then tells me he is going to move his arm out of the hole in the wall so he can see my face. For the first time we look at each other. He is beautiful. His eyes and smile are so radiant. He is joy. Suddenly my years spent walking the way feel so incredibly well spent. If I were to die right now I would be content. Just to see him this one time has made my journey so worth it.

“Well hello there Daddy” He says with a laugh.

“Hello there yourself!”

Then he says something that takes me back a bit. “I am so glad I found you!”

I am not going to spend my first real conversation arguing with him but I was the one who found him. I will leave this for a conversation later. So I simply respond with “Me too buddy…now let’s keep working on the hole and get you out of there.”

Silence. He just stares at me with a confused look on his face. Then after a moment his smile returns. “Oh I am not going out there.”

What the hell does that mean? Of course he is. He must be in shock.

“Daddy. You are coming in here.” He said with a whisper. “This is where I belong.”

“What are you talking about?” My voice now rising with incredulousness. “I have been searching for you to save you from that place!”

What he says next changed my life forever:

“This is not about rescuing me. It’s about rescuing you. You are coming here.”

The only word that I muster is a very fractured and broken….

“What?”

Then my son moves out of the hole and I finally see what was on the other side of the wall. It is bright and colorful. I see my wife and rest of my family standing a few feet back waving at me. I can feel the warmth of that land coming through the small tunnel in the wall and splashing across my face. My sons face returns to the opening and his smile is as bright as ever.

His mouth opens and delivers the truth:

“You were the one who was lost. Not me.”

Silence.

And then all at once we both start digging into the wall.

I am so glad he found me.

ASD Resources

john@johnbigjohn.com (john roedel) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 19:42:07 GMT

Per request:

Here is a quick list of Autism-related resources that served as fantastic support for our family. Keep in mind that all kids who are in the spectrum are different and have different things that will or will not work for them. This is just the things that have really worked for us. The most important thing I learned through the process of exploring some of these options was to have an open mind when it came to items that could help our son. Once I got my Godzilla-like ego out of the way and realized that I did not in fact know everything about Autism it made it easier to be willing to try new things.

Not every new therapy or practice we have ever tried has worked, but I am glad we have been opened minded through the years.

Here is the list of things that have been really important for us:

STRIDE LEARNING CENTER - A developmental pre-school here in Cheyenne. They were one of the first people to grab us by the hand and help us get services for our then 2-year old. He spent 4 very important years with the staff members of STRIDE and I cannot think of one negative experience. Not sure where we would have ended up as a family without this incredible place. For more info on STRIDE click....HERE!!!

SUPPLEMENTS AND VITAMINS - For the past six year we have given our Noah a lot of various dietary supplements and vitamins. I was skeptical at first of what their effectiveness would end up being. Years later, I can tell you without hesitation that they worked. We use a doctor formulated plan of various different things ranging from mass doses of vitamin C to enzymes to fish oil. I am firmly convinced that the combination we use has helped Noah with behaviors, mental focus, and weight gain...all of which were desperate needed at the time.

HIPPOTHERAPY - Who would have thought horseback riding would have been so formative in my son's journey through the corn maze of Autism?? It has been an incredible experience which has helped to strengthen his muscles, focus, and gives him a serious boost in confidence. Operating a wild animal is not in the Roedel Family playbook...so I am proud and amazed by him!

EFT - Emotional Freedom Technique. It is a form of needle-less acupuncture. Again, this was something that I went into exploring with a high level of disbelief. I can tell you with all honesty that it was something that not only helped our Noah out, but was something that aided my wife and I during the years when our stress, guilt, and panic levels were all at toxic levels. It is a practice that I still use everyday to help maintain my sanity. I would try to explain it more here, but I am a poor spokesperson for it. Here is more info from the person I learned EFT from...Click Here!!!

ADAMS CAMP- For those of you who follow my blog you know how much Adams Camp has meant to the life of our family. In case you are new to my site or in case you forgot about the miracle of Adams Camp here is a link to read what I have written in the past about this camp for children living with special needs: Adams Camp!!!!

Helen Sumner - An angel in Noah's life. P.A.S.S

GLUTEN FREE DIET - I was so grouchy to employ the gluten-free diet at first. I did not want my son to be denied his gluten...even though I had no idea what in the hell gluten was. Years later, again, I can say without pause that this has been one of the best things that happened to our son. In our case, he had to go on the diet because his tummy was not breaking down the wheat that he consumed so it just sat there and poisoned him...so it was not much of a choice at the beginning. I would like to think that we would have come to the gluten-free diet eventually anyways because once he started it we saw a dramatic change in cognitive focus and emotional control.

I am certain that there are other therapies and practices we have employed to help keep our family afloat. I will post more from time to time...

ASD parents, what have you found to be most helpful in your work with your own child?