Autism Answer: Acting - A Place For His Gifts/Challenges

Declyn / Kenickie

DECLYN: "Could you feel it? Could you feel Kenickie's sadness when Rizzo pushed him away? Was I showing the hurt?"

My son played the role of Kenickie in our local high school's production of Grease. It was amazing! My son was brilliant and so was the entire cast and crew.

ME: "Yes, Declyn, I could. You did great."

When he was younger his hyper-empathy made him afraid to be out in the world. He hugged my leg tight and felt all the feelings. Sometimes it would be wonderful for him, particularly since I was sensitive to his sensitivities so chose our outings carefully, and mostly joy and comfort would be felt. However, too often other people's feelings of hurt or fear would be taken on by him. And so he avoided crowds - playlands and birthday parties, and he built (with purpose) an exhausting persona he could wear to school. A place where the passions run wild; unpredictable and caged into an unnatural setting.

DECLYN: "I don't know, I think I can do better. I didn't fully feel it this time. Kenickie acts cool, but he's really hurt."

Over the years he (with only a tiny bit of guidance from me and the many other grown-ups in his world) has found ways to best handle and even take advantage of his hyper-empathy. Leadership roles help because he can take over and push his uplifting belief in everyone onto the group. Of course, he's a teenager so this is sometimes done in an unbalanced way, but the idea is sound.

ME: "Well, you know I'll be at all three performances so I'll let you know if we feel it different as an audience next time."

But the role of actor seems to suit him gorgeously! He can channel that hyper-empathy, examine it, wear it on stage, and then cast it off at the end of the show. Even though his empathy isn't easily cast off (or he would likely have learned to do that long ago) he can consider moments of overwhelming emotion shared from others as learnings, as research. As an actor, you do feel other's feelings. You feel them and you harness them and you show them. Then, you put them away.

DECLYN: "Thanks! It's not as challenging as it could have been. The girl playing Rizzo is good so it makes it easier for me."

Acting could be a dangerous thing for someone with his social challenge - a hyper-empathy mixed with a strong feeling of self-importance - but it can also be a brilliant place for exploring and channeling and using his passion wisely.

ME: "Ya, you have a great cast! It's fantastic to see how well you all work together. The way you help each other shine."

As a mom watching her youngest son sort out who he is and how to make the best of that, well, I'm overwhelmed with love, happiness, and gratitude to watch him choose to make acting brilliant for himself.

Also, I'm totally lucky to have been in the audience for Grease (three times!!) and can't wait for their next production!!

I hope with all of my heart that you and your loved ones are always able to discover ways to bring out the best in your gifts/challenges!!

Hugs, smiles, and love!!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) www.tsarashelton.com / www.fourbrothersoneworld.com

Autism Answer: A Pack of Cigarettes

The evening was warm and the parking lot was busy with visitors grabbing random items before the store closed for the night. I sat in my car people watching and waiting for Shay,

Shay and Soda

my eighteen year old son, to come out of the local dollar store where he, too, was grabbing random items. 

A typical summer night in small town Texas, I was enjoying the appearance of so many perfectly cast characters - the accents, the unhealthy and unkempt appearances, the comfortable hollering, the stereotypical segregation, the stereotypical integration - and musing at the ways I fit right in. 

I smiled as my son exited the store and headed in my direction. Now here was someone who rarely, regardless of location, fit in! 

Over six feet tall and three hundred pounds he's made for standing out. But more than that, his constant awareness of his own social awkwardness creates habits and energy that are universally distracting. 

I love him so much!

As Shay folded all of himself into our small SUV, I looked apprehensively toward his grocery bag. 

"Don't worry," he said, "I also got Skittles. That's not soda!"

I laughed. He knew exactly what my fear was. He's addicted to soda and I can't stand the stuff. We make jokes that if I could build a time machine I'd use it to hinder the invention of soda while he would use it to stop wars in imaginative (and impossible!) ways. I think we're both onto something!

However, it wasn't the purchase of soda (which was also in his bag) that created interesting conversation. It was the pack of cigarettes. 

"Wait, what?! You bought cigarettes? Why?" I was surprised, but also had a feeling I knew the answer. 

"Well," Shay explained, adjusting his glasses, "I think I can use them to make friends. I know people might want to hang out with me if I say 'Hey, want a smoke?' because smokers are motivated by the addiction."

I had guessed right. "That's what I thought you were thinking. You know, that's not the healthiest way to make friends. Plus, you can't smoke them in or around our house, you know that." 

"Well, duh! I wasn't going to sit outside with a cigarette and hope people would just show up. I'll message them on Facebook or something."

"Oh, brother!" I didn't say anything more about the cigarettes on the drive home. We had the windows open and were enjoying the night air; our silence was comfortable.

This is an ongoing conversation I have with Shay. Making friends is hard for him so he has often devised some strange plan to buy them. Or as he says: "I'm not buying friends, mom. This isn't slavery. I'm buying friendship." So, although I do rack my brain for different ways I can help him make different friends, I didn't feel overly freaked out by this new episode. 

As we arrived home Shay opened the door for me and said, "You know, you should be glad about this. I'm eighteen and this is the first time I've ever bought cigarettes. Most teenagers mess with this stuff a lot sooner than me!"

I laughed and admitted, "Your dad and I do talk often about how amazing you and your brother are. We've hardly had any worries with drugs and alcohol when it comes to you and Declyn. Plus," I added, "you're not even planning on smoking them yourself."

We carried our stuff into the kitchen and he started to pull the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "What do you think of this kind...." 

I pushed his hand away and said, "I don't want to see them. Put them back." 

Shay smiled. "I love our family. You know? I mean, I just bought cigarettes and instead of yelling or getting all angry you said you don't want to see them. And you told me reasons you don't like it. But we talked, you know? We didn't yell."

"Ya, I like that about us too. But if you buy soda one more time I'm going to lose it!" playfully half yelled. 

Shay booped my nose and squished my cheek (two of his favorite stims) and then headed to his bedroom. 

I thought about the pack of cigarettes. I thought about the "friends" I knew he was messaging. I thought about the new job he has and his struggle with coworkers and customers. 

And I thought about how awesome it is that he's doing so well! He comes home from a nine hour day at work and tells me the things he and his coworkers are figuring out about each other. He seems comfortable talking about, what he calls, "his issues" with folks at work and breaking it down. He doesn't seem too eager to offer excuses but rather more interested in telling his tale. Explaining, not excusing. And, yes, as all my adult sons are wonderfully willing to do, he expects to be accepted. 

My son is still trying to buy friendship, but I have a confidence that it won't be long before that changes. You see, there are places where he will fit in. Places that are more metropolitan, diverse, and artistic.

For a young gay man with social awkwardness and a refusal to keep himself under wraps, small town Texas isn't that place. But he's saving up to get his bartending license (like my dad!) and he's planning to work and live in a city with a more theatrical flair. 

Sure, he'll always be unique. But I'm absolutely confident that he can find an environment where his uniqueness is a compliment to the uniqueness he surrounds himself with. 

I crawled into bed beside my husband and snuggled his strong sexy arm. I didn't tell him about the pack of cigarettes. I know he won't have as easy a time understanding as I do. 

I tell my hubby most things, but there are a few things I keep to myself. 

You see, I have my own way of buying friendship. 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

Me and Shay at the movies

 

Autism Answer: A Girl Desperate For A Boy

Often I feel like a girl desperate for a boy. 

Well, for four boys. 

They are busy, they have lives, they are growing up. They don't have the time or the inclination to talk to their mom every moment or to tell her what they're feeling twice a day. 

And though I'm happy that they don't need me, and I'm glad that they're handling their lives, and I love that they like me enough to chat with me often, suggesting new songs, movies, and various other things - I want them to let me know their ideas and feelings almost all the time. 

And so, I approach them with questions. I push them to hang out with me and dig deep into their thoughts, despite their hints that they'd rather talk to their peers. Or they'd rather keep it to themselves, talk it out with themselves. The ones who live far away, I call them. I leave messages with weakly invented "reasons" that I needed to call them. I pretend I'm fine and it's no big deal if they don't call me back. Then I call them back and say, wait, actually there's this other thing too, so can you call me back. I get embarrassed of being annoying and call again to apologize. Then I worry that I'm pushing them away, so I call them to ask. 

In those moments I feel like a girl desperate for a boy. 

And like that girl I'm aware that I need to let go. I'm surrounded by a thick fog of that awareness. But the fog makes it hard to breathe; and I think if only they would tell me one more thing they're thinking or feeling I could find my way out. I could see and breathe just enough, and then I'd put on my big girl pants and do the rest myself. 

But they are busy and aren't always available. And I worry that I've bothered them. And I worry that they are hurt and need me. And I worry that they've misunderstood a social interaction and need me to explain, before they get themselves beat up by an angry person who misunderstood the misunderstanding. And then I worry that I'm a girl desperate for a boy and I need to stop or I'll push them ever farther and farther away. 

Indeed, I am a girl desperate for her boys. I am also a girl in transition, just as they are boys in transition. They need to let me go and navigate this phase of figuring out who they want to be and how they want to live their adult lives. And I need to let them do that without me. 

I should call them and tell them that! tee hee!

Parents: We were always meant to let go. Some of our children may live with us forever but we still have to learn to let go. It's not as simple as it sounds, and for the children that live with us it's almost harder. Letting go when they are right in front of you makes that girl desperate for a boy syndrome harder to beat! But wait, when they're far away it's harder too. Not ever being able to see or touch them can drive you're imagination to insane levels of mischief. So, it's always harder I guess.

Children: We parents are trying. We are, we are, we are. You want us to save you when we can't and you want us to leave you alone when we can't. Not yet, anyway. Go ahead and push us away a little bit. Some of us need you to. Don't be too rough, but be firm. We're learning from you, too. Now more than ever. 

Families: Every time we get through a phase we enter a new one. Let's approach them together, even when that means it's time to be separate. Let's feel and know and understand each other at those precipices. It's intoxicating, exciting, frightening, and important. 

Like a girl desperate for a boy, some of us will get through this transition faster and others will take a little longer. But I promise, we can have fun getting through this, having gathered valuable and delightful and brand new learnings to show off on the other end. 

We'll need them - the brand new learnings and the memories of doing it together even when separate - for whatever the next phase is.

I'm ready to be past this girl desperate for a boy phase. 

I hope the next one is the abundant cups of coffee and books, phase! Oooohhh!! I'm going to call my boys and see if they want to have an abundant cups of coffee and books phase with me! <---- Yup. Still in the girl desperate for a boy phase! giggle!

Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

A rare moment surrounded by my boys!

Autism Answer: From The Beginning (Diversity and Difference)

My two oldest sons, long ago!

From the beginning my oldest son chose to share everything and borrow everything and believe that everything belonged to everyone. 

From the beginning my second oldest son chose to keep his things safe, rarely use things belonging to others unless given clear permission and believe that everything belonged to someone. 

In the beginning they believed these things with passion, but also like children. Today, they still believe these things with passion, but more like men. 

My oldest son has a socialist style and my second oldest son has more of a libertarian style.
They balance me, my boys. They balance this world. 

We need everyone and every style. When we are open and willing, they balance us. 

They can also enrage and blind us, if we choose to let them. 

But my sons have reminded me, from the beginning, that we can always choose to be balanced. 

When they believed these things, even as children, they demanded to be heard and insisted on having their say, but they also found ways to allow balance. There was anger, but there was an innate belief that we all had a right to be who we were. 

From the beginning, my sons were who they are. It has been my privilege to guide, encourage, learn, and shift with them. 

Let's always allow people to be who they are. Let's always choose to discover and grow rather than force and change. 

I believe in integration without the expectation of assimilation. 

It is challenging and mind-expanding and exciting and bewildering. 

It is wonderful and balanced. 

It is how our nature thrives.

Today is a beginning. 

From this beginning, who are we going to be?

Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

 

Autism Answer: Empty Seats

This photo is called: 

Empty Seats

 
What I see: 

I see empty seats. I look at this picture and see the empty seat beside me. Then I remember talking to myself while trying to take this selfie so I could show my son that I'm thinking of him. I see the empty seat beside me and then I notice my activist wristband with the cool and clever symbols, symbols of things I try to teach my sons. Peace, love, anarchy, happiness.

Then I see the empty seat again. My son, Shay, almost always comes with me to pick his brother up from school and he sits in that seat. But he's not here right now, he's traveled to California to help my mom out for a few weeks. His first long distance trip alone and I love that he's experienced it! I miss him and I'm happy. I see the empty seat and I wonder if he knows how much space he takes up in my hopes and heart. I imagine all the ways that this trip might be a catalyst for the next phase of his life, an opportunity to know himself better and to know his uncle better and to have such fun with his Dramma while feeling, also, independent. I miss his sensory stim and consider squishing my own cheeks.

My eyes are then drawn to the other empty seats behind me. I see emptiness but feel fullness. Noise, fights, laughter, rock n' roll, and horrible amounts of junk food with weak justifications fill my memory when I see those empty seats. 

I see empty seats and a mom who holds on while she lets go. She's almost afraid not to see the empty seats because then she'll see herself. Not that she doesn't like herself, not at all! She adores who she is! She finds it funny that she rarely remembers to brush her hair and has to keep elastics on her wrist for constant ponytails that hide this laziness. It's just, well, she's still more comfortable seeing herself among her people, as who they are together, and the newness of herself surrounded by empty seats is alarming with it's potential. Potential is delightful but it's also a transition that requires choices. Choices she's already explored and knows will make her comfortable with empty seats. She's not ready to be comfortable with empty seats. Soon, though. Quite soon. 

Because I also see a picture of me, and I have always been comfortable with being comfortable. I have also always loved being alone. And I have always loved to see empty seats only to fill the meaning of them up with feelings from myself. 

When I look at this picture I see empty seats that I fill in with feelings. 

I'm not sure what you see when you look at this picture. Of course, if I had to guess I'd say you see a lady taking a picture of herself. Did I guess right? Spooky! tee hee!

The Point Is: 

When we see people and their pictures we have every right to interpret and imagine the meaning. Indeed, the beauty of images is interpreting and imagining and feeling and remembering and listening to ourselves as we do. But I think it's important to keep in mind that we don't know the story of other people and their pictures. We only know what the pictures mean to us. We only know our own evolving story. And even our own is oddly mysterious. 

We can have such fun exploring our pictures together! Remembering our reasons and laughing at our permed hair and wondering what happened to those jeans with the cool pockets. 

It is a picture of a lady taking a selfie in her car.

But it's more than that, too. 

Taking snapshots and exploring the stories of them, with open minds and a sense of humor, is a fun way to connect and stay in touch with our undercurrent of sameness. The part where our pictures all come down to feelings and hopes and loves and loss and funny hairdos. 

For me, anyway, it's a fun way to fill those empty seats. 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

Shay getting on the Greyhound.

 

Autism Answer: Home Is Where I AM (aka Story Five)

*My last blog post was a collection of Story Snapshots from my recent trip to California. I love all my snapshot stories, of course, but the one I wrote and called "Story Five" is probably the most useful for others. Although it's about me and my feelings, it's also a Universal and common story, so I decided to publish it as a stand alone. I hope you enjoy the read and recognize some of the feelings! Huge hugs!! ~Tsara

Story Five: 

My first flight to California was seriously delayed and by the time we were able to board I was already late for my connecting flight. Landing in Salt Lake City, Utah, a group of us were given hotel vouchers and cute little overnight packs with toothpaste, toothbrush, razor and much needed (in my case) deodorant. 

At first I tried to find a new flight so that I could get to my sister and her girls sooner. I made phone calls and checked flight availability. In the end, though, I went to the hotel with a lively and fun group of strangers. We bantered and I told a story about getting pulled over for rocking out too hard in my car, insisting that the police officer really just wanted to get a peek at my adorable children. I don't know why I told that story, it's a lie. A friend of mine was pulled over for rocking out too hard in her car, not me. Oh, well. Strangers are a fun way to discover these things about ourselves. I remember thinking that if I said it was my friend someone might challenge the validity of the story and truly, I just wanted the story to be a vehicle to bring up how adorable my sons are, I was uninterested in a discussion of the story's likelihood as a destination. 

Anyway, as we got to the hotel and climbing out of the van I was delighted to discover snow surrounding us! My heart soared and I craved the company of my children. They would love to see the snow! Breathing in the crisp night air I suddenly felt young. My teen years were spent in Toronto, Ontario, walking and busing many winter nights to comedy clubs and coffee shops. Smoking cigarette's and singing to myself. Lordy, that was long ago! 

We headed carefully up the steps into the hotel lobby.

One of my fellow travelers pulled out a guitar and played quietly as we took turns handing in our vouchers and discussing our temporarily stalled travel plans. I thought of how many times I'd stayed with my sister and my nieces in hotels that were as nice as this one. When left to me and my pocket book I'm inclined to sleep in the car or grab a terrifically cheap motel. Not my sister. She and her family have always stayed in venues with coffee shops and fancy lobbies and rooms that offer expensive extras. I missed my sister.

I climbed the stairs to my room and entered, alone and exhausted. The room was too large for only me and so I dropped my sweater and bag and purse in different places, trying to make it look full. There was a fireplace that turned on with a switch. I turned it on and missed my sons again. They would get a kick out of that! I was oddly happy to be alone and missing all of my loved ones. Walking over to the window I peeked out at the snow again and heard it call to me. Leaving my sweater tossed on the back of a chair I picked up the room key and headed out. 

The night air tickled my arms and chilled my lungs. I spun in a circle and looked out at the city, not entirely blanketed in white but boasting a comfortable amount of snow. It looked used to it. 

My soul was excited, young, old, alone, lonely, complete, overjoyed, and lost. In short: deliciously overwhelmed! 

I had a moment of clarity. I missed my family. All of them, everywhere. Everyone is growing wings and choosing their own trajectories, taking flight and choosing different winds. I find it easy to encourage them, after all, I can't wait to learn from the things they do and the places they go! Yet my own home feels like it's getting smaller and insignificant. If home is where the heart is, and my heart is where my family is, where do I go? Where is my home? 

Looking down at my feet in the snow and embracing the deliciously overwhelmed feeling completely, I knew my truth. Home is where I am. I am home when I am authentic and comfortably me. When I embrace my strength and my vulnerability and explore my possibilities. 

Oh, friends!
There's no place like home!
Hugs, smiles, and love!! 
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Autism Answer: Story Snapshots from California

Story Snapshots from California 

Story One:

I'm in California, babysitting my nieces and feeling infinitely happy to finally see them!

I'm in California, babysitting my nieces and feeling a deep longing for my sons at home in Texas.

These are both completely true statements.

Loving so many people is a wonderful way to exercise your emotions! The more people we love the more flexible and strong our emotions grow.

Story Two: 

My six year old nieces (twins) love love love to listen to and read stories. A few nights ago they remembered that I am a writer with a book published. They asked if I'm writing another book, and I said you bet! Then they asked what it is about, and I told them. 

They love it! They wanted more!

So I told them about the movie I wrote, which is filled with stories. They love it!! 

I'm having such fun sharing my stories with them, friends! Keeping the stories sophisticated while being sure they're also age appropriate. It's surprisingly easy! Big concepts are equally interesting and valid at little ages.

Interesting Observation: Listening to my young nieces call me a writer gave me a new kind of joy. Feeling them hang on my every word while I spin a tale, periodically reminding each other that my stories are so good because I'm a writer, led me to realize that to them I've always been a writer. In their young lives, Aunt T is a writer and always has been. They're the only people in my family who know me as the person who has always been doing what she dreamed of doing. Neat!

Of course, my nieces hang on every word when pretty much anybody tells a story. As I said, they love love love to listen to and read stories! But there's a neat new dimension when they talk about it like I'm a professional storyteller. And it's fun to explore and incorporate new dimensions! 

I wonder what story we'll tell tonight?
Hugs, smiles, and love!!

Story Three:

I woke up before the sun to the sound of my six year old nieces yawning and scooting around in the crisp sheets of my sister's bed. I felt them snuggle into me from either side and wished for a moment I could have it all. Quiet times with my nieces, coffee times with my sister, rocking out to intense and often inappropriate songs with my sons, dancing alone in my dance room, snuggling my hubby and working side by side with my mom. Laughing all night with my best friend and chatting on the phone with my brothers. All of that, and more! 

Of course, I do have it all. I just wished for a moment I could have it all, all the time and all at once; incompatible or not! 

But then one of my nieces (the one that shares my name) rubbed my arm and said: "Aunt T, you should write a book about two little girls who love their mommy but when she goes to work for a long time their Aunt T comes to babysit and they have so much fun. But then they have to go to school, but it's okay because soon their Aunt T picks them up from school and they have so much fun again. You should write that book." 

That was the moment I knew that this was the moment I wanted to be in for the moment!

It was almost magically timed as well. I'd just been thinking about writing a story for them that was sort of about our week together, but I was  thinking I'd have to create a fancy and fun world with characters who were similar to us yet different, so that it wouldn't be so darn obvious that I was writing our story and trying to make them remember this week with the delight that I'll always remember it. 

It turns out, these girls are completely comfortable with obvious! 

Now I'm just left hoping the teenagers will feel similarly about me. My teen nieces are wonderful, brilliant, beautiful, talented, and delightful. I adore them with every inch of my soul. However, unlike how easy it is to show affection to the little ones, I have to pull back with the older girls. I love teenagers because you can really truly chat with them, but they are (appropriately) suspicious of overly cheesy consistent praise and affection. 

Last night, after the little ones had fallen asleep, we sat up a while chatting and laughing and I truly listened to them. And when I just couldn't take it and I had to hug them, I did so with permission. And when I just had to tell them how awesome they are, I did so with specificity. I hope they felt the affection in that. 

I know that for me, it felt fabulous and fun! 

Oh, boy, friends! I am having a fantastic week!!
Hugs, smiles, and love!!

Story Four: 

I was driving my teenage nieces home from various rehearsals and appointments yesterday, listening to their typical teenage observations and ruminations. 

Eventually I hear them both offer some playful variation of: "My life is the worst!" 

I quickly countered passionately: "Not a single person in this car has a bad life! Sure, we have bad moments, but only awesome lives."

Both my nieces nodded while the thirteen year old offered: "That was totally quotable, Aunt T." 

I was giddy and goofy with joy. My niece thinks I'm quotable!! I played it cool, though. Turning onto their street I gave her a quick sideways smile in the rear view mirror and purred: "Yes, well, I'm a famous writer, you know. I'm infinitely quotable darling!"

We had a giggle!

I suppose it's only fair for my nieces and my sons to quote me now and then. After all, I'm always quoting their awesomeness to you!

Story Five: 

My first flight to California was seriously delayed and by the time we were able to board I was already late for my connecting flight. Landing in Salt Lake City, Utah, a group of us were given hotel vouchers and cute little overnight packs with toothpaste, toothbrush, razor and much needed (in my case) deodorant. 

At first I tried to find a new flight so that I could get to my sister and her girls sooner. I made phone calls and checked flight availability. In the end, though, I went to the hotel with a lively and fun group of strangers. We bantered and I told a story about getting pulled over for rocking out too hard in my car, insisting that the police officer really just wanted to get a peek at my adorable children. I don't know why I told that story, it's a lie. A friend of mine was pulled over for rocking out too hard in her car, not me. Oh, well. Strangers are a fun way to discover these things about ourselves. I remember thinking that if I said it was my friend someone might challenge the validity of the story and truly, I just wanted the story to be a vehicle to bring up how adorable my sons are, I was uninterested in a discussion of the story's likelihood as a destination. 

Anyway, as we got to the hotel and climbing out of the van I was delighted to discover snow surrounding us! My heart soared and I craved the company of my children. They would love to see the snow! Breathing in the crisp night air I suddenly felt young. My teen years were spent in Toronto, Ontario, walking and busing many winter nights to comedy clubs and coffee shops. Smoking cigarette's and singing to myself. Lordy, that was long ago! 

We headed carefully up the steps into the hotel lobby.

One of my fellow travelers pulled out a guitar and played quietly as we took turns handing in our vouchers and discussing our temporarily stalled travel plans. I thought of how many times I'd stayed with my sister and my nieces in hotels that were as nice as this one. When left to me and my pocket book I'm inclined to sleep in the car or grab a terrifically cheap motel. Not my sister. She and her family have always stayed in venues with coffee shops and fancy lobbies and rooms that offer expensive extras. I missed my sister.

I climbed the stairs to my room and entered, alone and exhausted. The room was too large for only me and so I dropped my sweater and bag and purse in different places, trying to make it look full. There was a fireplace that turned on with a switch. I turned it on and missed my sons again. They would get a kick out of that! I was oddly happy to be alone and missing all of my loved ones. Walking over to the window I peeked out at the snow again and heard it call to me. Leaving my sweater tossed on the back of a chair I picked up the room key and headed out. 

The night air tickled my arms and chilled my lungs. I spun in a circle and looked out at the city, not entirely blanketed in white but boasting a comfortable amount of snow. It looked used to it. 

My soul was excited, young, old, alone, lonely, complete, overjoyed, and lost. In short: deliciously overwhelmed! 

I had a moment of clarity. I missed my family. All of them, everywhere. Everyone is growing wings and choosing their own trajectories, taking flight and choosing different winds. I find it easy to encourage them, after all, I can't wait to learn from the things they do and the places they go! Yet my own home feels like it's getting smaller and insignificant. If home is where the heart is, and my heart is where my family is, where do I go? Where is my home? 

Looking down at my feet in the snow and embracing the deliciously overwhelmed feeling completely, I knew my truth. Home is where I am. I am home when I am authentic and comfortably me. When I embrace my strength and my vulnerability and explore my possibilities. 

Oh, friends!
There's no place like home!
Hugs, smiles, and love!! 
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Autism Answer: I'm Not Afraid Of Kevin Reese (The Ghost At My Door)

Author's Note: In celebration of Halloween I thought it would be fun to share this true ghost story and what I learned from my long ago ghostly midnight visitor. Happy Halloween friends!

_______________________________________________ 

I was twelve years old, asleep in my basement bedroom. I loved it down there because as the helpful oldest daughter in a family of eight, I had been offered the basement bedroom as proof of my maturity. Everyone else slept upstairs while I had freedom and privacy alone beneath them. However, on this particular autumn night I was unexpectedly wide awake. It was barely past midnight and I had a feeling I'd heard the doorbell ring. I wasn't afraid. I knew my strong, protective step-dad would take care of the midnight visitor appropriately. But lying there I didn't hear the familiar movement of family above. Strange. And then again, I heard the doorbell ring. 

I'm not a brave person, and I'm not a strongly intuitive person, but that night somehow I knew the visitor wanted to see me and that I had no reason to be afraid. Quietly I tip toed barefoot out of my room and up the wooden steps which led to the front door of our home.

I'll admit, I looked around uncomfortably for a moment. Not afraid so much as aware of the strangeness in the situation. I stood alone on the landing, breathing the cool air and listening for sounds of family, and for any sounds from outside of the door. When I heard nothing I raised my twelve year old self up on my toes to peek out of the peep hole. Who I saw standing there didn't make any sense. 

Kevin Reese was in juvenile prison. Also, he and I weren't really friends; we'd only had that one night several months before chatting on the swing-set at our local park. Sure, we'd really connected and talked openly about deep, important and intimate things. Sure, it felt different and dangerous. Back home my best friend was phoning my mom and pleading with her to save me from the bad boy, Kevin Reese. But he wasn't bad. He was scared and defensive. He was new to our school and, his reputation preceding him, pushing boundaries and people smaller than him in order to not disappoint us, mimicking the pushing he received at home. After that night on the swings he didn't change, and we didn't then hang out or anything, but I wasn't afraid of him and he was respectful of me. Now, though, he was in juvenile prison. So how could he also be looking at me, relaxed and almost relieved, through my peephole? 

I didn't answer the door. Somehow, I knew he didn't need me to. His look, even with the weird warping of the peephole, told me what he'd come to say. I ventured back down to my room and fell quickly to sleep. 

The next morning at school was pandemonium. Whispers and gossip and tears. A car full of teenagers had escaped the juvenile prison the morning before, had been involved in a high speed car chase and crashed. Everyone, including Kevin Reese, had died. 

Everyone, including Kevin Reese.

I was in a state of shock, not unlike my peers. Making my way down the halls of our high school, one of Kevin's friends--a girl who had her own bad girl reputation--motioned to me, inviting me to follow her into the girl’s bathroom.

We found ourselves alone in a stall. I noticed that, despite her acne and scowl, she was extremely pretty. I found myself comparing our similar underneath-it-all physical appearance. "Kevin talked about you often, you know," she was telling me with uncharacteristic softness. "You didn't judge him, you didn't point and talk about him, and you weren't afraid of him. Actually," she added, "I was sometimes jealous because he'd say you were the only person who really understood him." I was nodding quietly, confused and honored and lost in questions. I mumbled my appreciation to her, knowing that it was a risk for her to be seen talking sweetly to me, indeed to be seen talking sweetly at all. I wasn't the only one who went out of my way to get to know people drastically different than me.

Kevin Reese had come to my house that night, a ghost that was relaxed and relieved. I believe he wanted me to know, went out of his way to let me know, that he was okay. I didn't waste much time grieving the life he lived, instead I wondered often about the value of authentic kindnesses shared with strangers and silent friends. Kevin Reese claimed that I had given him a gift the night we hung out on the swings at the park, but he and his pretty friend had given me a much bigger gift by going out of their way to see me. Even when it was dangerous or impossible. Even when Kevin was dead.

I have been both the giver and the receiver of similar such authentic and random kindnesses over the years. It's been both life changing and easy. 

It's been easy,

because I'm not afraid of Kevin Reese. 

At The Window by Shay Shelton

Author's Second Note: I truly hope you enjoyed my ghostly true tale! I do, of course, realize that my story is lacking in specific Halloween and Autism or Parenting tips. Not to worry! My mom, international expert Lynette Louise aka The Brain Broad, has this for you, HALLOWEEN: The Holiday Made For Autism (With These Important Tips). Also, a few years ago I had the honor of sharing my tips for enjoying Halloween while spending little to no money. Feel free to check that out HERE. 

Hugs, smiles, and..... BOO! Gotacha! 

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)