Forrest and the perfect date.

Whenever I take Forrest out, all the women want to dance with him. He gets asked all the time. Forrest has always had this uncanny mimicry for complex moves.He usually wears his tuxedo, like a costume or a uniform and this "impresses the ladies" he says.Just a little shy at first, he starts out somewhat stiff, in the lead position, then he surprises them with his big theatrical bust-a-move grooves. Of course, he can overdo it with the hand on the testicles thing (ala the King of Pop). He embarrasses me with his pelvis thrusting thing. It's kind of gross for a mother to see but gets a laugh from everyone else. He gets in a trance and the women love it. He's a serious dancer. He can lead turns and the basic rock step, to his own beat of course. I watch dumbfounded as good looking women line up to ask him for the next dance. It warms my heart. He's really a great escort, opens doors, lets the women do all the talking, is agreeable to anything, and loves to eat. The last dance we took him to had a finger food table and he came back with 10 chicken wings and the entire plate of cheese. About a 3000 calories, But hey, "I am a growing man!" he explains. Forrest is into pop culture stereotype one liners, but this is his strong suit. He makes us laugh and people can relax around him. I am thinking there are many Portland singles out there who could really benefit from taking Forrest out for a date, he is a "chick magnet" and this could really be a plus for some. And he is safe, he won't do any of those come on moves, he'll want to come home early to his own bed. And you'll laugh all night. What more could you want?

Army guys

I was taking Forrest to work with me one morning in downtown Portland when we saw a young man wearing his army combat uniform. You know the kind, it's the camouflaged desert storm look. The soldier was talking with his friends as he got off the Max. I imagined he was on leave from Iraq, glad to be home again and hanging with his buddies. Forrest took one look at him and proclaimed , "See mom, he's not dead yet!". Forrest has an issue with vocal control. He is louder in public than he should be. Mortified, I pretended that I didn't hear him as we got in line in at Starbucks.

I know exactly what Forrest was really telling me. He was saying, "See mom, you were wrong - guys in the Army all don't get killed so you should give me back my army guy action figures that I like to play with". I was busted. He had accused me of throwing away his "army guys" when we moved. Oops. I was cleaning up and "accidentally" tossed those little green plastic guys in the trash. I am a liar. I lie to my cognitively impaired child. I justify it.

At 18, Forrest's selective services registration form came in the mail.It's the "draft" requirement for young men in this country. Boy did I have fun with that. You get to fill out the part explaining why you aren't eligible. There wasn't a check box that described why Forrest wasn't going to fight in any war. I got to fill in the blank spots. I am sure I am on some CIA list because of it. Forrest doesn't care about my antiwar liberal peace marching spirituality or politics. He likes playing with those Dollar Store plastic figurines. I am disturbed by this because I think he is glorifying war. I hate admitting that those billboards and television ads really work because my sweet son with an IQ score of 51 thinks it would be fun and glorious to carry a gun and shoot things. Forrest envies the guys in uniform. He wants to be powerful and wear one of those too. I won't even let him buy camo patterned clothes. It's one of the main consolation prizes that I am sure many mothers over the centuries of disabled sons have been grateful for. Now it's daughters too. But like many boys his age,(developmental age?) Forrest has a thing for war movies and army action figures. Thankfully he doesn't know enough to beg me for the World of Warcraft PS2 game.

I had to DO something so I tried to explain the realities of war and combat. We looked up the numbers of killed soldiers so far in Iraq. As of a few weeks ago it was 4,379 US Soldiers killed, 31,669 seriously wounded. I cried in front of him. I wasn't faking it. Forrest really gets nervous when I cry and he has never bugged me about playing with "army guys" after that. But when he saw that soldier near Pioneer Courthouse Square, everything clicked into place. He knew I was wrong and he wants to play with his army guys again. "See mom, that guys not dead yet!"

parent-of-retarded-kids discounts.

I asked the guy at the counter of the new frozen yogurt store if there was a special rate for people with developmental disabilities. I was being serious. Parents of kids with cognitive challenges think this thought often I'm sure, they just don't say it. All the hidden costs of raising Forrest is astronomical. If you add up all the broken and lost items, the repairs, the upstairs floor replacement after repeatedly flushing his grandfather's clogged toilet. Oh that was bad. We were sitting in the dining room having breakfast when all of a sudden water was dripping from the chandelier. My father and his wife turned down my offer to pay the contractors. 4K I think. Thanks dad.

I was treating the whole family to the new serve-yourself yogurt place on Hawthorne. Swirl. It was a very warm sunny weekend and I wanted to do something special for the kids. You pay by the ounce and Forrest couldn't control himself. All those flavors and topping choices. Okay maybe it was my fault. This is exactly why I NEVER take him to buffets. His concoction was over $8. We all managed to keep our bowls in the 3 - 4 dollar range as Forrest eyes grew bigger and bigger. I tried to do portion control in public, and I sounded like a very bad mother. Embarrassed and frustrated,I did what every parent wants to do. I asked for the parent-of-a-retarded-kid discount. The guy showed me some empathy as he rung up the total. $26.24. He kindly offered me a frequent customer punch card. He punched all 10 of the slots. It's hiding in my wallet for the next time I go there. By myself.

Whiskers and cell phones

Forrest just came down stairs this morning exclaiming "I'm all clean!"..meaning he finally capitulated and took a shower after a weekend of us trying to force the issue. He is "stubborn" and won't be told what to do. (This is called "obstinate behavior" by the behavioral therapists who tried to help us when he was younger) He tells me he can't take a shower in the evening because "it makes me awake"...which means what exactly? So he agreed to shower the next morning...on his own..with no reminders. He also had shaved and was now pressing a washcloth to his chin spotted heavily with blood. He hates having whiskers and sometime refuses to answer his cell phone because it rubs his facial hair and really bothers him. Women - do we know this?

I have purchased about half a dozen electric shavers for him over the last few years. This is what he mainly spends his SSI money on- replacing things he breaks, like expensive electric shavers. This morning he used a regular shaving stick hand held razor thing...without shaving cream. Ouch. Where is the Norelco we purchased last month? In various parts on his bedroom floor because "it came apart when I cleaned it".
"Why don't you put it back together?" I asked him.
"Oh!" This was a new idea. Too late, parts were already thrown away.

The one before was left on the floor and the dog chewed it up. The other one had three rotating blades that kept popping out, and even I, a mechanical genius, was stumped. Oh, he has had male shaving mentors in his life...he loves getting a great warmed shaving cream shave from his step dad....but this is a special treat saved for special occasions.
So here we go, Fred Myers might take it back? I can try...until then Forrest won't be taking any phone calls after tomorrow when his whiskers grow back.

Forrest does time

He doesn't swim in linear time. He lives in the The Power of Now He is good at repeating things over and over again until he gets it right...or not. Like telling time. For about 20 years now teachers have been pulling out the newest curriculum for teaching "delayed" kids how to read a clock. There are big debates about which clock to use, digital or the round things. The thing is, he can say "oh it's 11 33!" from a digital clock, and we get really excited that he knows what time it is...but this doesn't mean anything to him. He is just trying to sound like us which impresses us. For linear time folks, 11:33 might be translated to " oh shit I am late!" or "time to think about lunch", or many other things. Forrest will tell you it's almost lunch time from hunger and olfactory cues.

Forrest doesn't think in minutes and hours. For example, mornings are not mornings unless the "sunshine is out." This is a problem every winter. My problem. It is worse now that we live in Portland and it is really still dark at 7:00 a.m in January. If I say we have to leave in 5 minutes, which is my way of saying hurry up, he isn't sure that means get your shoes on or I am going to change my outfit now into a county singer theme and come downstairs later.

Forrest does have strong opinions about time and it boils down to this: he refuses to rush, hurry up, get a move on or hustle. When he started kindergarten, it would trigger a crying melt-down tantrum when I used to say "Hurry up!" in the morning....actually I would "sign" it back then. When he was five we signed everything since his tongue wasn't connected to his language brain yet. What mother signs/says "Hurry up!" to a five year old getting ready for preschool so she can get to work on time? Uh, well, maybe every mother? I don't know. All I know is that Forrest made us stop hurrying every morning. It was too stressful.

One time his physical therapist told us he had to begin putting on his own shoes (no laces) in the 1st grade. Okay fine, we'll set the alarm for an hour earlier and see what happens. The truth was, we didn't have time to let Forrest dress himself, feed himself let alone spend 20 minutes figuring out how to squeeze his cute little toes into cute little shoes. We had jobs. Jobs with clocks.

Why Do They Make the Disabled Kids Pick Up the Trash?

I am tired of all this arguing. Why do they make the developmentally disabled kids pick up trash in high school? This has got to stop. My daughter Georgia is a Senior at Cleveland and she was upset when she came home today. She told me about standing outside on the front steps with a group of students waiting for the field trip to start and there were three kids, all with noticeable cognitive impairments, picking up the trash. They were walking around with those little plastic claw things. She felt terrible and was crying about it when we spoke. It made her sad. "Why can't they do something else productive during the day, like taking an art class? Watching a movie would be better than this."

Okay here is the rhetoric: It is job skills training, they "love" it and feel proud to be making the campus beautiful, cleaning up is not a low life thing to do, disabled people have a hard time getting jobs and this could be a real great opportunity for them, they need to get out of the special ed class and get exercise, blah blah blah.

No. Think dignity. Do we want the other 1450 students, some of whom litter the front steps with gum and candy wrappers to be picked up after by non-paid students who are the most vulnerable group on campus? I want the non-disabled students to get to know these "special ed" kids in a more meaningful way. For most of the student body, this is the only chance they will get to know any challenged/retarded/disabled kids in campus.

My daughter wonders why all these years in high school she has never seen any of her typically-abled peers volunteer in the special ed classrooms or hang out and talk to the kids in the Special Ed class. You know - integration!?

The year before Forrest was to enter Arcata high school we did a campus visit. You could imagine my surprise when a mass of students, dressed in orange denim jumpsuits appeared out of the "Life Skills" class after lunch. They were carrying those plastic claw things. This was their "job skills" class and part of their special education plan. The same plan that they wanted to sign Forrest up for. The campus was thankfully full of fresh litter from the lunch period that just ended. Since the school did not place trash cans around the lawn and parking lots, this made for lots of litter pick up opportunity. The teacher and vice-principal stood around watching and beaming at the cleverness of it all.

Well, it stopped before the of that school year. I made them stop.I tried to be nice about it. Heck, I even save them from a costly discrimination law suit in which Forrest and I would have won. After that, the principal informed me that his staff was no longer allowed to speak to me without a lawyer present.

Instead of picking up trash after lunch, Forrest did many things throughout the years. He got job training at a Hospital, then took a weight lifting class, an art class, he even tried metal shop one semester.

When Forrest started his Freshman year,the janitors simply started putting out a dozen or so trash cans around the lunch area, and the kids in detention continued picking up the remaining litter.

Santa's coming

December 1st. Forrest asked me today "Is he still alive?" when I put up the St Nicholas on the top of the tree. You do know what he is asking don't you? I think even Jewish kids eventually ask it. You can't escape it.

"Well, he was alive a long time ago. He used to put money in shoes." This was a clever distraction.

This is the Sufi Santa story. There once was family with three lovely grown daughters and very poor but loving, kind parents. "We have no dowry for our eldest daughter!" cried the father one day. A wealthy village elder named Nickolos heard the woeful parents through the open window as he strolled through the cobblestone walkways. He secretly came back after nightfall and left a wad of dinar in a pair of shoes outside the door. The daughter was happily betrothed. A few years later ol' Nick heard the same complaint from the father and anonymously provided for the next daughter, and then the next. Of course there were spies everywhere and the old man pleaded with them to keep his secrets. He wished not to be acknowledged or known for his kind deeds. Some time later the Catholics got a hold of the story and canonized the guy. Somehow my family made him a Norwegian, and the North Pole rumor started after WWII. And the Jesus part of living forever was stirred in there and viola!

"Oh- cool!" Forrest said when I finished the story, then added just in case I was planning something similar, "I like money and presents."

So...is he still alive? If you know, I'd appreciate a heads up. If he is not, please don't tell Forrest.



24 days to go. I haven't figured it out yet.