The mascot of Prism*Song

Monday, January 11, 2010

Diagnosing my Father

Though I admit this blog is geocentric, and I tend to ramble on things that no one really has interest in but I figure some people out their with fathers might be interested in this post or at least to some degree.

I have to admit I am a 'daddy's girl', I seem to be the only child in our little clan of hobbits that was loyal to dad. My Katie has forgiven my father after years of grudging and despising my father. Allyson sadly, only knew him distantly. After all she was almost two when Dad left us. I was almost eleven. Which makes sense why I was so connected to him. I remember him better.

I was very bright child, though I had no audio memory (or rather I lack the processes to store verbal information) I could still remember conversations with my father on our long drives. He took me fishing a lot, these were priceless memories. Him taking me to watch the planes and and trains and fishing were treasures I kept with me. To him I will always be his 'fishing buddy'.

However despite the soft images of him singing nonsense songs and explaining to me how salmon migrate and how the venturi effect work, I was still terrified of my father. He was aggressive and loud and sometimes unapproachable. Talking to him was impossible. Not only was it difficult to communicate in general but trying to talk to someone that used fear as disciple measure...it just couldn't be done. I was selectively mute when I tried to talk. Dinner conversations made me sick I lost my appetite often. It took me years, recently actually before I had a decent conversation with my father or least had the courage to tell him to back off. This was all before my father realized he raising an autistic girl. Even now he is still clueless but he knows now not to raise his voice anymore. Thank gods.

As I am writing this down, I noticed patterns. My father had a very route schedule. He did well as a Fire fighter because it was very organized. He like routine as I did and he was also obsessed with certain topics. History of weapons was one of them, as well as natural science. He was bigot with very black and white views. He tend to speak inappropriate topics had no filter and was emotion blind.

By the description, it sounds like my father definitely had autistic tendencies. Whilst I won't diagnose him as autistic (despite the title) I will say he would probably be border line. Though maybe I am seeing only want I want to see. But we did get a long well to some degree. And yes maybe because we both had the same social habits. Yet, my mother tends to use my father as bad example and believes I will end up like him. She scapegoated his problems onto me, so I ended up bearing a lot of my mother grief about my father.

While it is plausible I will be living with him, I am have to say I am not looking forward to it all. My father is a drunk, a bigot and an oppressive Christan. We won't get along unless I sacrifice my identity for the sake of living peacefully with him. It's the flaw really of being autistic. We're not flexible animals. We like things as is, no interruptions or change. This is something we can work on but never get rid of. I hate change so does my father. One of us will buckle and change for the other person, and that is going to be me. Gotta live up to my name anyway (Honor and Grace) can't pitch a bitch about it.

As I still love for housing I still can't help but feel that living with my father (bad as it) as a curse. Hopefully my father will learn to be flexible and accept the changes and have serenity.

Cross your fingers

1 comment:

  1. I hope so. Maybe there are others in the area who are on the spectrum and in similar situations, so that you could pool your resources and be roommates. Maybe the local ASAN chapter could create a bulletin board for members who need to share an apartment or who are looking for information about local resources or autism friendly employers and businesses?