I live in New Jersey. I should be suffering like my neighbors, without power, longing for a hot shower and a little mindless TV. But I'm on a business trip, in a comfy hotel where the TV is off because I choose to leave it off.
But my heart is back in NJ. My neighbors tell me that I've lost a tree in the backyard and my front yard is full of large limbs, scattered like pickup sticks. I can picture all this, but I want to really SEE it, to understand first-hand how much devastation there is. I wonder how the inside of my refrigerator smells and if there's any sort of leak anywhere. I want the comfort of knowing that whatever disaster I envision in my kitchen, it's really not so bad. And on some level, I want my own war story to tell in years to come of how I survived Snotober.
Kevin has been vacated from his group home to a hotel again, just as he was for Hurricane Irene. I don't know his room number though, so I haven't been able to talk to him this afternoon. There isn't a doubt in my mind that he's fine though. Really, not one doubt. Really.
So sitting here in my hotel room, I am warm and showered and I want to go home.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Movie Night
Kevin enjoys going to the movies, mostly for the popcorn I think. We have gone to several movies - comedies, cartoons, action films. Sometimes he pays attention, sometimes he falls asleep. The sheer pleasure of accompanying others to an normal activity, being with his Sissa, having a treat of popcorn and soda - these are the simple pleasures that my brother enjoys.
A few months ago, we went to see a movie at our local Indy movie theater. They show some artsy stuff, but this was a comedy, so I was pretty sure Kevin would enjoy it. We settled into our seats, a large popcorn on my lap to share with Kevin, a small diet Pepsi in his cup holder.
The movie started and the actors began speaking. I almost laughed out loud, but not at any comedy in the movie. I realized that I had taken Kevin to a foreign film, German, with subtitles. Kevin, who cannot read and certainly doesn't understand German, was staring at a screen with no idea of what was happening. The evening was not a total waste; he got in a good nap.
A few months ago, we went to see a movie at our local Indy movie theater. They show some artsy stuff, but this was a comedy, so I was pretty sure Kevin would enjoy it. We settled into our seats, a large popcorn on my lap to share with Kevin, a small diet Pepsi in his cup holder.
The movie started and the actors began speaking. I almost laughed out loud, but not at any comedy in the movie. I realized that I had taken Kevin to a foreign film, German, with subtitles. Kevin, who cannot read and certainly doesn't understand German, was staring at a screen with no idea of what was happening. The evening was not a total waste; he got in a good nap.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Being a Parent
I wonder many times why I never had children. If I delve deep enough, I produce five or six potential reasons. Being single isn't an excuse these days. Now that the fertility bus has left the station, it seems like a moot point.
But there are times like this past weekend that show me I could have been a parent. I possess the number one attribute required for any parent - worry.
Kevin is my pseudo-child. I feel responsible for his well-being and happiness. I call him everyday, because no day seems complete without saying "I love you, O'Connor-Boy." But I also want to gauge his contentment (i.e. - how well I'm doing my job), by the only barometer I have - the timbre of his voice. High-pitched and elongated words are good. Quiet, low-pitched and staccato are red flags.
When Kevin's group home called me last week to report his misbehaving/aggression, I asked to speak to him. A barely audible "hi" greeted me. I did my best to reinforce that good behavior yields rewards. Once I used the magic phrase "going out to dinner," he perked up to his usual self.
But I worry. Kevin never has issues during the week at his group home, only on the weekends. It is a combination of frequent staff turnover and a low activity level compared to weekdays. If I spent all day watching TV, I think I'd go a little nuts too. So I need to step in, be the guardian, be the parent. I suggest ways to coax Kevin to good behavior and activities that he can do on the weekends. He likes to hear that he's a gentleman. He responds to rewards. Scolding has never worked. It's hard to get a 160 pound man into a timeout if he doesn't want to go. I've tried.
And still I worry. Am I doing enough? What if his behavior continues, escalates? When will the next phone call come? What if they kick him out of the house? I try to keep myself grounded in reality, to trust that I'm doing everything I can, but I want Kevin to happy 100% of the time.
So I really am a parent after all.
But there are times like this past weekend that show me I could have been a parent. I possess the number one attribute required for any parent - worry.
Kevin is my pseudo-child. I feel responsible for his well-being and happiness. I call him everyday, because no day seems complete without saying "I love you, O'Connor-Boy." But I also want to gauge his contentment (i.e. - how well I'm doing my job), by the only barometer I have - the timbre of his voice. High-pitched and elongated words are good. Quiet, low-pitched and staccato are red flags.
When Kevin's group home called me last week to report his misbehaving/aggression, I asked to speak to him. A barely audible "hi" greeted me. I did my best to reinforce that good behavior yields rewards. Once I used the magic phrase "going out to dinner," he perked up to his usual self.
But I worry. Kevin never has issues during the week at his group home, only on the weekends. It is a combination of frequent staff turnover and a low activity level compared to weekdays. If I spent all day watching TV, I think I'd go a little nuts too. So I need to step in, be the guardian, be the parent. I suggest ways to coax Kevin to good behavior and activities that he can do on the weekends. He likes to hear that he's a gentleman. He responds to rewards. Scolding has never worked. It's hard to get a 160 pound man into a timeout if he doesn't want to go. I've tried.
And still I worry. Am I doing enough? What if his behavior continues, escalates? When will the next phone call come? What if they kick him out of the house? I try to keep myself grounded in reality, to trust that I'm doing everything I can, but I want Kevin to happy 100% of the time.
So I really am a parent after all.
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