Rebecca Besser's Blog, page 4

Micropoetry – Secrets by Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Micropoetry – Fist by Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Micropoetry – Hoping by Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Micropoetry – Overcast by Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Micropoetry – Spinning by Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Micropoetry – Drown by Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Autism & Asperger’s – Different Isn’t Wrong

Autism & Asperger’s – Different Isn’t WrongBy Rebecca Besser

*** First and foremost: There’s nothing “wrong” with anyone. I hate that the word “wrong” is used for people who function differently from what’s considered “normal.” (Normal doesn’t really exist because it’s a relative baseline of expectation, not something that actually exists. It’s an arbitrary measurement of how people fit into the flow of a system of “desired” results without independent self-will or thought.) Everyone is an individual who was designed to be the specific person they are, with the specific gifts they have. Society at-large is responsible and irresponsible simultaneously for alienating individuals who don’t operate in a smooth way with the desired structure. Someone not “fitting” into something that’s expected of and from others doesn’t mean someone is “wrong” or has something “wrong” with them. Everyone is amazing, talented, beautiful, and deserving of love and respect. Always be you. ***

My son had this minor interest with South Park recently. One day he came home and was laughing hysterically over a clip from the show where they were saying someone had “ass burgers.” I told him it’s Asperger’s, not ass burgers, and he had some similar traits to those with Asperger’s. (Which I’d learned a little about in a partial manuscript I edited about different forms of autism and similar neurologic variations.)

This got me wondering just how closely his autism traits met up with Asperger’s. He was tested through school and they determined he had autism, but was highly functional, so he received extra help and some therapies/interventions. He did fine with everything so we never had him tested further. He also had social interaction at school, Boy Scouts, and eventually 4-H and FFA. Although a little bit quirky, he was well-liked socially by peers and adults. And, well, there’s no way my progeny wouldn’t be somewhat quirky—I make weird an art form!

Anyway, after the “ass burger” exchange, I became more curious as to what Asperger’s was exactly. I looked it up and read the shortlist of traits to my son, and explained which he had. We could both see it.

Sometime after that, I ran across a thread on social media that mentioned this book:

I bought a used copy on Amazon (it’s interesting where it’s highlighted and questions and names are written in—it tells a story that only used books can).

I’ve been reading it when I have time, which means I haven’t gotten too far into it yet. The beginning explains how diagnosis is determined. My son has the talk about his interests incessantly (especially when stressed), rich inner world (which he always shared outwardly—I’m an author, so I always encouraged his imagination and the expression of that imagination), and the reverting to previous comfort zone behaviors when stressed. And maybe a couple other things, but really low key. But…none of this was ever an issue.

I can see how his traits/quirks could have been an issue, but I was/am a very hands-on, involved parent. My son and I are very close. I accepted him for who he was and never expected him to conform to a ridged standard—I don’t believe in those. I’m all about individualism. So, I learned to adapt to him and communicate with him in ways he understood, never telling him it was the “wrong” way, because it wasn’t. It was his way. I understood what he was talking about, I didn’t try to change his behavior in any other way other than to teach him what he needed to know and do, and to be respectful of himself and others. Thankfully, I was able to be a stay-at-home mother for about seven and a half years and later work from home (after a period of working elsewhere), and I’m, by nature, very routine oriented. I believe the structure and attention helped a lot. It’s invaluable to make a child feel stable and loved…and accepted for who they are.

The talking incessantly about targeted interests never bothered me. He always fascinated me with his depth of knowledge on the subjects he was passionate about, and enjoyed that he wanted to share them with me. I love learning new things, so someone sharing their knowledge with me is usually a joy. And, something else I’ve recently learned is also an Aquarius trait helped too—subject jumping and being able to carry on a conversation of more than one subject at time. So, when my son was fixated on one subject, I was listening, but if I needed to address something else, I would introduce that subject or pose a question, and when that was completed, I would remind him of where he’d left off about what he’d been telling me. There were times where we’d be running three or more conversations at once and I don’t think he even noticed. I find this form of conversation challenging and stimulating—it keeps my brain from getting bored and keeps my son in his comfort zone. It’s not as necessary now that he’s older, but it does still happen from time to time. His interests don’t change as often, but I still enjoy him sharing what he learns with me.

One of my biggest things while he was growing up was that I wanted him to understand sarcasm. That took me awhile, but I finally got him there. Then he went full epic with puns for almost a year, I think. That was hilarious! And, at almost 19, he’s a master smartass and it’s beautiful. The stories he tells from work and joking around are amazing in his quick-wit genius.

We only had one time when he hardcore reverted to an old habit from stress. I just let him do it. I recognized it for what it was—stress. And it didn’t last long. Again, I didn’t tell him he was doing anything “wrong” or try to interrupt his process. His incessant chatter about his favorite topics increased when he was stressed, too, I noticed. But, again, I’d long since adapted to his way of communicating and had meshed it with mine.

If you would meet my son today, you wouldn’t even know he had any of these traits. He’s a mouthy, smartass, witty conversationalist. I must have done something right. He may have Asperger’s or another form of autism, but it doesn’t really matter. He’s him, and I love him just the way he is.

But I will continue to read the book and learn more. Who knows, maybe it will help me better understand, love, care for, and support those around me in the future.

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Micropoetry – Snuggling by Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

A Short Story – Feel The Music by Rebecca Besser

FEEL THE MUSIC

By Rebecca Besser

Getting out of the car, I clung to Mommy’s hand. There were lots of people around. They bumped into me, and tried to get between us. But Mommy didn’t let them, she gave them a dirty look, and said something. I couldn’t see her lips, but it probably wasn’t anything nice.

She tugged me over to the side of the hall, away from the crowd rushing through the entrance.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she signed.

I could see the worry in her eyes.

“Yes,” I signed. “I want to feel the music.”

She frowned. I knew she didn’t understand. How could she?

I grinned at her and took her hand, pulling her back into the stream of bodies moving down the hall.

The shiny-twinkle of the women’s dresses and the dark suits that the men wore looked like a flower garden swaying in the breeze.

I was almost jumping with excitement when we reached the door to the giant room with lots and lots of seats that Mommy called an auditorium. We have one at school, but it’s not nearly as pretty as this one.

Mommy looked down at me and smiled. I knew she was trying to reassure me.

We were shown to our seats by a man that greeted us at the door and looked at our tickets. We were really far back, but we had an aisle seat. Mommy let me sit there so I could lean out of my seat and see the stage better.

“When will they start?” I signed excitedly.

“Soon,” she signed and said at the same time. “I think in fifteen minutes or so, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” I signed back.

Looking around, I watched the people laugh and talk to each other. Once in a while, I could read their lips, catching a bit of a conversation.

I sometimes wonder what laughs sound like. I know what they look like, I had seen many people laugh. It makes them look happy, and their eyes twinkle. I have even felt a laugh. I put my hands on Mommy’s throat when she laughs. Her neck vibrates in a happy dance, deep inside. That is the same way it feels when I laugh.

Pretty soon, most of the seats were full of people. The lights went out, and everyone looked at the stage. Bright lights came on, lighting up all the chairs waiting for musicians.

They began walking out onto the stage, carrying their instruments. They were shiny, the light glinted off of them. People all around started bringing their hands together in what Mommy said was a clap. Their clapping made my seat vibrate.

Finally, all the musicians were seated in their chairs, except for a couple I saw in the back. They played drums, and big instruments.

Mommy explained instruments to me before we came. They were supposed to make sound, by vibrating, or by wind being pushed through them.

I held my breath as they started to play. Each group of instruments moved the same way at exactly the same time. It was like a beautiful dance.

I glanced at Mommy and grinned.

She smiled back, looking a lot more relaxed.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I signed.

“Okay,” she signed back. “Let’s go.”

“No,” I signed, shaking my head. “I can go by myself.”

“Are you sure?” she replied. “Do you know the way?”

I nodded yes.

She hesitated, then nodded.

“Hurry back,” she signed.

I left my seat, and went back to the door we entered through. The man was still there, and he opened the door for me.

I stood outside the door for a moment, looking around. Then I spotted it, a sign that directed the musicians to the stage. I headed in the direction it pointed.

No one was around. They must all have been in the auditorium.

After walking down a couple halls, I found a door that said, “Stage.”

I slowly opened it and peeked inside. No people were present here, either. Stepping through, I closed the door behind me. I could feel intense vibrations coming through the wooden floorboards. I was getting closer.

There was a huge red curtain ahead, to the left. I walked slowly over to it. There, right in front of me, just past the curtain, were the musicians. They were moving fast. Their dance was even more beautiful up close. I stood there, watching them. My hands itched, I rubbed them against the skirt of my dress. I wanted to touch the instruments. I wanted to feel them vibrate in my hands.

Before I realized what my feet had in mind, I walked out onto the stage. No one noticed me at first, so I kept going. I walked over to the drum and pressed my hands on the sides.

The drummer saw me, he must have said something to the conductor, because everyone stopped and looked at me.

Suddenly, they all turned to look out at the crowd of people. My Mommy was rushing down the aisle, saying something. I couldn’t read her lips, she was talking too fast, and was too far away.

The conductor said something to her, and she stopped. She looked really confused. Then she nodded, and turned to go back to her seat, pausing ever few steps to look back at me.

The conductor walked over to me. I backed up a few steps, then I saw the smile on his face. He bent down and took my hand. Leading me gently, he gave my hand to an elderly woman who had appeared from behind the curtain. He said something to her, and she looked down at me and gave him a brief nod.

He went back to his place on stage, and the musicians started playing again.

The women lead me out onto the stage, taking me over to a man playing a violin. She took my free hand and placed it gently on the shiny wood of the stringed instrument.

I could feel the music that it made. The rise and fall, the fast and slow vibrations.

I grinned up at the woman, and she smiled.

She took me around to many different musicians, laying my hand on each instrument. Each one felt different. They all felt magical.

By the time I had felt most of the instruments, the concert was over. I turned to look out at the crowd of people. They were all standing, and doing that clapping thing again. Most of them were crying. I don’t know why. I couldn’t stop smiling.

The woman took me to the stage door, where Mommy was waiting for me. I could tell she had been crying.

“Are you okay, Mommy?” I signed.

“Yes, Amy,” she signed back. “I’m wonderful. Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” I signed, with a huge grin. “It was a wonderful adventure, to feel the music.”

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2009

*Previously published on the Stories That Lift online publication.*

Micropoetry – Ignorance by Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser2023