When I was little, and I was going off somewhere with a friend or something, my dad sometimes used to say, “Oh, stay home with me and be my pet!” I would laugh, because we both knew that was ridiculous. I tried to picture me, a puppy or something. I wasn’t a pet! I was a kid with a life to live. But Daddy always joked about everything, even about the things that made him a little sad. I mean, he was happy to see that I had a life of my own, but he missed me, too. <\/p>\n
I was dozing off today, tired from my run and wanting to close off my head a little. I have had this big, oppressive ache about Nat that just doesn’t go away. A heart migraine. <\/p>\n
As my eyes closed, the thought came to me: You don’t have to do it. You can keep him home with you. <\/span>I remembered how I wanted to do that when he was three and everyone was telling me he needed school, and a full day, full year at that. I wanted to keep him home, to keep him away from this stupid, demanding world. I wanted to teach him everything myself. I didn’t want to deal with special education laws, bureaucracies, methodologies, professionals. I didn’t want to deal with my fears and sadness. I especially did not want to deal with his difficulties with the world.<\/p>\n Ned was the cool washcloth on my feverish brow. Or the splash of cold water in the face. “You can’t do that,” he said. “You would never be able to be his teacher. It’s a huge job and you’re tired as it is.” Something like that. I sent Nat to school, and got used to it. So did Nat. He never once expressed anything negative about going to school. Not once.<\/p>\n All day today I have felt the secret relief of knowing how I can sabotage everyone’s plans. If I don’t like it, he doesn’t have to go. And if he doesn’t like it, he can just come home. I don’t care what anyone says or thinks. I am Mommy, hear me roar.<\/p>\n As I was driving Nat home from social group, where he attended a production of Bye, Bye Birdie,<\/span> I suddenly realized that I did not know what Nat himself thinks about his move-out, now that he knows. My heart felt like it was splitting in two as I considered the fact that I really had to find out what he was feeling, now that he had a beautiful calendar and booklet that his teacher had made. And I was afraid of what the answer might be. But I had to know. I had to hear him say he didn’t want to go (“No X House!) (name changed to protect the innocent) so that I could comfort him, and me. <\/p>\n “Nat,” I said, turning down the radio, “do you want to go to X House?”<\/p>\n Nat stared straight ahead, and said slowly, “Ye-es.”<\/p>\n I have my own system of testing the accuracy of Nat’s responses — he has been known to default to “yes,” just to get people to stop asking him questions. I have to mix up the question and ask it again in a different way. Sometimes several times if I’m not sure.<\/p>\n “Nat, are you happy to go to X House, or — “<\/p>\n “Happy,” he interrupted.<\/p>\n “Happy or sad you’re going to X House?” I repeated.<\/p>\n “You happy you going.”<\/p>\n “Oh!” I said. I was about to say something wise and comforting, but when I looked at him he was smiling. I turned up the BeeGee’s Stayin’ Alive,<\/span> a song I’ve always hated, but which he seemed to be enjoying, and felt my pain shrink down so that now it fit only me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" When I was little, and I was going off somewhere with a friend or something, my dad sometimes used to say, “Oh, stay home with me and be my pet!” I would laugh, because we both knew that was ridiculous. I tried to picture me, a puppy or something. I wasn’t a pet! 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