Short Story: Beautifully Pathetic

Author's Note and Invitation: So, Chuck Wendig did something a little bit different. His Flash Fiction Challenge became a Flash (Non)Fiction Challenge. At first, I giggled at that. Because goodness knows that's pretty much all I write. Then, I thought I'd share the challenge with all of my friends who like to write creative nonfiction while at the same time thinking I wouldn't myself participate. Then, I thought Wait a minute? I can do what I do but with way more freedom? Like, tell any story from my life for any reason without feeling obligated to offer a specific nugget of learning? Fun!! Lastly, I wrote this story! I encourage you to visit Chuck's blog and join in the storytelling fun! In the meantime, I invite you to read this memory from the summer I was thirteen. Hugs, smiles, and love!! ~Tsara Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Beautifully Pathetic

I walked down the aisle; equal parts proud and ashamed. My hands, which held the piece of paper I would be reading from, trembled slightly. Nervously. 

Allowing myself short, furtive glances at the mostly older and entirely well-dressed community members seated in the wooden pews I silently apologized for my lie. Almost immediately, though, I remembered to also silently give them the blame.

My nervousness didn’t stem so much from the lie, after all I had always been a bit of a liar and a proud storyteller. It mostly had to do with the unusual setting and the audience I would be lying to.

I looked at the pastor or preacher or whatever the sermon giving person was called in this kind of church, and his condescending, pitying smile erased what was left of my shame. They asked for this lie, and I decided to be only proud that my abilities as a storyteller, indeed as a writer, had so moved them that they’d decided to put together this special event.

  

For me. For my words.

* * *

The boys next door to my aunt’s house were kind of cute. My younger cousin, who I was stuck hanging out with on this summer long visit, had a huge crush on the younger boy. The older one was less cute but more experienced in the art of kissing and touching. 

I flirted heavily with both. 

My breasts had finally begun to bud that summer I turned thirteen, stashed away at my aunt’s house. I wasted countless minutes in the mornings brushing my teeth and watching them jiggle in the mirror. Finally!

I would then quietly thank my aunt and uncle for meals, tidy up my messes, shyly avoid eye contact with grownups, and desperately plan my escape to the outside where boys waited to be flirted with and carefully bossed around. 

I overflowed with energy and playfully crafted confidence around boys. From my youngest years there was a strength and power I felt when they were around. 

That summer I was thirteen I let it run wild. It was necessary. I needed to understand and hopefully tame this power because mere months before, when I was still twelve, it had betrayed me.

Grownups made me shy, I never felt the power in their presence. Yet, somehow, my step-dad had known it was there and exploited it. He had touched me in the ways that I used the power to encourage boys to touch me. And then he touched me in more ways. 

So while my mom (a stay at home mom with six kids, four adopted and disabled) kept a promise to me that she would keep us safe by getting rid of him and learning how to work, feed, and teach us away from abusive choices, I had made a bold promise to myself. 

I would let the power out of the barn. I would watch it run wild, follow it instinctively and get to know its heart so that I could one day, hopefully soon, respect and control it. 

I suppose if I had been more aware of the grownups I would have seen the onslaught and bullying circle coming. 

While I bounced my barely boobs and kissed the older boy next door, they tsk tsk-ed, judged, and pitied me. 

I had been molested, I was my mother’s daughter, I was becoming a slut. 

What I needed, they surmised, was Jesus. 

So some of the community grownups (along with my unsure aunt who was not an entirely devout church goer) took me to church, gave me soft pats and pitiful looks from on high, and told me everything wrong with my life.

I missed my mom who would have crouched and come to me, who would have cared about me, who would have helped me with my life.

They brought me back and back and back to church. I smiled shyly, thanked them, and wondered what they really expected from me. 

Then, suddenly, a flash of understanding. They wanted to save me. They didn’t want me saved, they wanted to save me. 

So I wrote them a letter.

Sitting alone in the basement of my aunt’s house I summoned my powers as a schmaltzy writer and weaved a tale of desperation, sinning, and sudden summer holiday saving. I wrote carefully, keeping alive a vision of the pity and dislike that burned brightly in the church goers eyes for mood, writing a lie that felt beautifully pathetic. 

I told the story of a girl who was lost and molested, flirting with boys because she had been tempted by the devil to tempt and recruit others. A girl who was treated with kindness by strangers of a small community church and invited to see the light. To accept Jesus into her heart. A girl who was on the cusp of womanhood, a dangerous precipice, who had been welcome in the arms of God always only she hadn’t seen, hadn’t known. Not until the strangers of the church, who were no longer strangers but now family, had showed her. Had saved her. 

I was properly impressed by my lie and handed it over to grownups with a manufactured timidness. 

My words hit home. I had given them what they wanted. There were grateful tears, blessings and nods of self-approval.  They had done it. 

I was proud. I got to show off my writing skills while they got to pat themselves on their righteous backs. 

I hadn’t expected or wanted, however, the next request. 

What good was saving one soul if only they knew about it? Why not put that soul on display, an example for others and proof of their insistent good work. Why not invite people to hear this saved soul read her words out loud?

***                                         

I stepped up on the small stage that was barely a stage and pretended to look out at the crowd. There was a wooden podium beside me and I used all of my skills as a liar and storyteller to imagine it was my mom. My mom, who was out in the world helping children by adopting them, fighting for them, rearranging her life and everything she thought to be true for them. My mom, who didn’t judge and tsk, but who took loving action. 

I looked at the words I had written and with a trembling voice, I read my lie.

This time I was not proud of the words or pretty sentences. As the congregation sighed and smiled and cheered, their sounds struggled to find a way through the loud inauthentic filter that was my story.

I now realized with the wisdom and love of my imagined mother at my side, this was my lie—not theirs. So I played the role of lost girl saved. I suffered the inauthentic words and story I had presented—suffering being the only truth my audience might have approved of. 

As I stepped off the stage and accepted the gentle patting and blessings of the church, I made myself a sacred vow.

To use my words and stories to tell only truth. Truth in fiction, truth in conversations, truth in my letters. My words would be my way to share my truth.

I folded up the paper I was still holding and gifted it to the community. This was my lie. But this was their story. 

I would spend the rest of my summer, and my life, telling mine.

Author's Note: If you enjoyed this story, I invite you to check out my book Spinning in Circles and Learning from Myself: A Collection of Stories that Slowly Grow up. It's, well, a collection of stories. And, you know, they slowly grow up! Thank-you with all of my heart for taking the time to read things that I write. Honestly and truly, you are a gift. xoxo

Autism Answer: Our Empathy For His Apathy Starts With Our Understanding Of Him

On our way to the high school this morning my two youngest sons were chatting. I heard Declyn, the youngest, say offhandedly, "Ya, well, I'm pretty apathetic."

I jumped in with, "That's how you see yourself?"

"I've always known it." 

"I've always known you were almost painfully empathetic and had to shut it down by wearing apathetic like a shield. So, ya, I see why you'd call yourself apathetic." 

The windows were open and our words swirled around the inside of our car like plastic bags. Shay grabbed them before they flew out the window and made them his own. "I remember you cried when you were reading The Outsiders. You were, like, ten and you cared so much about it that you had to go outside on the trampoline for hours."

Declyn laughed and smiled, remembering. 

I kept going, "The feelings of other people have always affected you almost too strongly. It's like you're stuck in a room filled with strobe lights and you have to close your eyes so you don't get dizzy or have a seizure." 

"You guys really know me."

We do. We do really know each other. 

I like that!

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

Declyn and Shay, my two youngest sons.

Autism Answer: You're Pretty When You Percolate!

Author's Note: I was asked by some of my son's young friends to write the post you're about to read. "We love how we feel after we talk to you," they claimed, "but then we forget what you said when we're hanging with our friends. Could you write us one of your articles?" So, after spending a few hours feeling honored and speechless, I wrote this for them! And, as always happens when I write stuff down, I remembered it for me. I hope you enjoy some of the insights too! Hugs, smiles, and love!! ~Tsara

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You hear the clichés all the time. “Be yourself!” “Don’t worry about the judgments of others!” “Stand up for yourself and step in when you see others being bullied!” “Just be yourself!”

Sure, but what does that mean, really? 

Rather than try to answer those questions specifically, I would love to give you a suggestion that will help you be and do all of those things, even if it’s accidentally. 

When you aren’t around your peers, take some time to really discover who you like being. Are you giggly and positive, introspective and quiet, sarcastic and witty? Whichever it is, know that who you are and who you’re comfortable being, is exactly right for what you want from life. Because liking who you are is the greatest way to go after what you want, knowing that you deserve it. The next step is simple, and yet makes all of the difference. Step two is letting your personality percolate!!

Looking at the world from a place of percolating with your own personality—while cultivating an interest in the percolating personalities of others—means being so busy as yourself that there is much less room for worrying about the judgments of others, or for sitting in judgment of your family and friends. While your personality percolates it grows more and more bold and flavorful. It fills the room with its fantastic scent and draws others to you, filling them full of a desire to be around you. 

And as your personality percolates, you become prettier! Models and actresses will tell you this trick (though they may use different words) over and over. It’s not the most beautiful who get the work, but the ones who put personality in their face and body. The ones who look so full of confidence, mystery, sincerity--something--that it spills onto us as an audience and pulls us into their emotions.

My son and some of his friends at a photo shoot: Percolating with Personality!

A surprising—but wonderful!—effect this personality percolation has is a smaller chance of bullying incidents. According to international mental health expert, Lynette Louise aka The Brain Broad, a large number of the people you are surrounded by suffer from too many delta waves in their brain during the day, or too few theta waves when they try to fall asleep, and a myriad of other unbalanced brain issues that result in your peers (and possibly you?) battling anorexia, insomnia, anxiety and more. Also, a surprising number of teen girls have undiagnosed autism and are struggling with sensory troubles (feeling physical pain from certain types of touch, for example) communication issues (sometimes taking things too literally, or being blunt to the point of seeming rude) and other similar concerns. 

So, knowing that many of your peers are struggling with challenges that you can’t see, or even imagine, percolating with kindness and your own personality puts you in a place of comfort and caring that doesn’t leave much room for accidentally treating others cruelly. 

When you choose to talk with your friends, there will be less chance of cruel comparisons because you will feel no need to put others down in order to feel superior. And when you know well who you are, and are comfortable with it, an honest interest in others grows naturally. Instead of talking about how weird someone is behind their back, you will more likely want to talk with and learn about them. It’s much easier to make connections when you aren’t busy worrying about how to act or what to say. As your personality percolates, you will almost always know!

What is it that makes a person pretty? What she looks like plays a part of course, but what draws a person in is personality. What makes people want to be with you is personality. So discover who you are, and percolate. Unlike makeup and fashionable outfits, it never goes out of style. And it’s forever free!

“Knowing who you are is confidence, not cockiness. Cockiness is pushing it down everyone’s throat. Looks go; they fade. I don’t think looks matter.” ~Mila Kunis 

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I invite you to check out my book, Spinning in Circles and Learning from Myself: A Collection of Stories that Slowly Grow Up, where I share memories from my teen years alongside stories of my sons' teen years. My personality percolated over time and eventually found a flavor I am proud of! 

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Me and my sons!

Autism Answer: The Power Of Sharing What We Know

Author's Note: Pope Francis is visiting America (where I live) this week. My mom is not Pope Francis. Yet the thrill of him reminds me of the thrill of her. They speak to love, they are drawn to the disabled, they want to touch the hearts and souls and bodies of all people so that those people will recognize the power of their own bodies, hearts, and souls. The Power Of Sharing What We Know is indeed real; but we must do our part to honor what is shared by doing the work of learning it. 
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Because my mom is Lynette Louise aka The Brain Broad I sometimes get to go to events that I otherwise would never be invited to, or even be aware of. And often I'm introduced to whole industries that are beautiful with their meaning but filled with brilliant well intentioned people who are making the mistake of being stuck in a system and unaware of the harm they are causing when they throw people who don't fit in that system aside. 

Always I'm reminded why people like my mom are not only beautifully kind but also infinitely important!

BRPT Symposium gathered professionals in the sleep field from around the country.

The symposium on sleep in Dallas, TX was eye opening and inspiring for me. Mom understood the conundrum these professionals faced when trying to help people who have sleep problems but who aren't helped (and are often hurt) by the traditional methods. Rather than get creative or think outside the box, they toss them aside, justifying to themselves that the person is either too broken or noncompliant. Meanwhile, my mom offers simple seemingly counter-intuitive fixes, based in brain and behavior science, that can literally save lives and sanity. 

The audience was revived, excited, and a little bit intimidated. They would have to think different now. Most of them will think different now. It was beautiful to be a part of! Kudos to the event organizers who discover and invite speakers like The Brain Broad!

 

One of the things my mom stressed when she spoke at the sleep conference was the need to listen to the patient. The importance of trusting them to know themselves. When someone says they need to drink coffee, or turn on the TV, in order to sleep, then believe them. Trust them.

Apparently, this is a big concept. Apparently, professionals have a habit of assuming that the patient is wrong and that they can't possibly sleep better after drinking coffee, or when they turn on the TV. The entire room of sleep experts hung on her every word while she talked about the arousal model and different brains reacting differently to different things. As she implored these experts to believe that their patients have been self medicating with these habits, and to follow the clues rather than judge them, they nodded and breathed in sharply with understanding.

A beautiful and important reminder behind The Power of Sharing What We Know.

As I took my youngest son to school this morning he was chatting about a speech that he's going to make today in his public speaking class. He admitted to being nervous, hoped he'd do well, prided himself of choosing to be the first speaker today so he could get it done and let go of the anxiety sooner, shared candidly his desire to be excellent so that he can become a thought leader, all the while fidgeting with his tie. 

Again: I was reminded why people like my mom, and people like my son, are not only beautifully kind but also infinitely important!

Declyn and Dramma (aka The Brain Broad)

I mentioned the talk I'd seen my mom give at the sleep symposium, and told him how amazing and eye opening and thought provoking and fun it was. "Me and Dramma will probably travel doing speeches one day," he considered out-loud. "We know a lot of things that can help people." Then after he'd climbed out of the car and closed the door he looked directly at me through the open window adding, "But don't call it a 'talk'. It's much more than that. It's a "speech". Remember that!" Then he walked off, a little nervous and a little confident.

I drove away with a smile, sipping my coffee and thinking about talks vs speeches, the fun of labels, and the power of sharing what we know. 

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

Lynette Louise aka The Brain Broad speaking and sharing FIX IT IN FIVE with an audience of autism parents and professionals.

*Please visit my mom's websites to see if she'll be doing a "speech" near you or to invite her to "talk" at your event. tee hee!

www.lynettelouise.com
Direct Upcoming Performances link:
http://www.lynettelouise.com/performance-dates/
www.brainbody.net

Autism Answer: Dancing in Dallas

These feet were made for dancing!!!

I just danced my butt of to the jazzy sounds of a band playing fabulously on the streets of downtown Dallas, TX. There was a medium sized crowd gather to watch but I was the only one dancing at the time. At first some people stared uncomfortably at me but once they felt certain I was just a harmless weird dancing lady, they got back to the business of tuning into the band.

I closed my eyes then, imagined I was alone, and rocked out a little harder. I was there by myself--no kids to embarrass--and so I really disappeared, felt the music, and let my body do its thing. I gave it complete freedom.

This is one of the gifts living with a wacky, weird, socially strange, and uniquely wonderful family has given me. I can comfortably be myself regardless (mostly) of strangers staring and people likely judging. And this, my fabulous friends, is a great gift indeed!!

Just as I was about to tip toe away, coming out of my trance, a kind gentleman with a recording device in his hand walked up to me and said, "That was great! By the way, we're live streaming this. I hope you don't mind."

I laughed! "If you're live streaming it's too late to mind! No problem. Thanks for letting me know."

I walked away thinking that the Universe just stepped it up a notch. Now I have to be comfortable being myself in the place I am, but also possibly live streamed around the world and recorded for folks on the internet to find, forever!

Okay world. Bring it on!! I'm me, I'm weird, I'm dancing, and I'm happy! Live stream that!

But, boy-oh-boy, I'll have to rethink the "no kids around to embarrass thing" won't I? tee hee!

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

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*For more fun (and more important!) thoughts on this new reality of live streaming and YouTube videos please tune into this episode of the popular podcast A NEW SPIN ON AUTISM: ANSWERS! with host Lynette Louise aka The Brain Broad titled Living Out Loud aka Cameras: Are they Good for You?

Or, for a giggle, watch my son and I make a silly music video!