Susan Senator

When our kids have disabilities, on the one hand we believe that fantasy, dreams, and plans are no longer possible. Special classrooms bump out exclusive preschools, the would-be football hero, even the class clown, is not to be. Prestigious colleges shrink away, perfect marriage — busted before it was even foreseen in Heaven.

Are you depressed yet?

The thing is, we should never have those pictures in our heads in the first place. Who says that this is what we get? Whoever made that brochure sending us to Italy (you know, the trip where you end up, by accident, in Holland), lied. It was all a marketing ploy, to get you to buy fancy Italian strollers, to match your fancy imported car, to go with your Ivy League life. Your baby is supposed to match your carefully groomed self, your therapy-smoothed insides, your product-smooth hair. Our babies, on the contrary, are real life. Products of complicated blood and tissue and sophisticated neural circuitries — it’s a wonder it comes out “right” any time!

It truly is a wonder, that we have life at all. We forget, living in our beautiful homes, that nature is red in tooth and claw. Primal. Raw. Remember your child’s birth? Enough said.

I’m not usually this cynical. So, maybe my fantasies have to become fanatasies, in other words, dreams shaped by what Nat is like. Okay, so no grandchildren from Nat. Yes, tragic. The world could use some extremely cute little blond Nat babies (oh, no, tearing up) but — not every adult reproduces, okay? And as for Ivy League: well, that’s not all it’s cracked up to be, either. Besides, how many super-educated kids come back home to live with their parents these days? You shouldn’t know from it.

My latest fanatasy looks more and more like it could fall into place, knock wood. (Take it from me, the descendant of shtetl-dwellers who ran for their lives during one pogrom or another. We autism parents always should keep a little wood handy, for when things are going well.) Today I met with a couple who founded an organization 20 years ago, that helps disabled adults put together housing. These are small group homes with a couple of live-in staff (not 24/7, but enough).

The organization’s staff and resident turnover rate is low. Live-ins are often promoted to house managers. The set up is similar to Nat’s current House, and also the way his school does their adult housing. I am becoming fairly conversant in adult service lingo, which makes this process all the better.

This is the third set-up I have discovered, right in my area. Group homes in urban locations (my town is urban-ish, with access to public transportation and very walkable, interesting streets) so that the residents can get to jobs, day programs, volunteer situations, all without relying on paid transportation.

My fanatasy is that Nat would be able to get a job similar to one of the 5 (five!) jobs he now has. So far he has learned to do cafeteria-serving; janitorial stuff; making boxes; delivering messages; and filling orders for classrooms, as well as his volunteer work with Meals on Wheels. My Natty is a Nat-of-all-trades, at least of trades that many 19-year-olds find for themselves, disabled or non.

The best part is, Nat loves to work. Nat does not even know that his work is “beneath” him. Therefore, it is not. And as for housing, I have been dreaming, as of today, that some of his social group friends could also live in one of these homes along with him! Imagine how happy he would be, to get to live with his buds, just like many young men who get a house together somewhere after college.

What does an adult need to be happy, to live a life and get along in the world? A home, friends, work or other productive activities. There is no need to see Nat’s future as a nightmare, because all that other stuff is just a dream for all of us anyway.