Tantrums

There are some days when it is not easy to be Booga’s mom.

Autistic people have a tendency to use movies and television to help them understand what the proper response is to something in that is happening in the world.

Booga saw Chris Farley rip off his clothes and start dancing.

And so, he ripped his off.

Booga is not stupid, he’s autistic and knows the difference between right and wrong and in an effort to get away with not showing me what he had done; he took the clothes and put them into plastic bag and tied them up like garbage.

I had gone into his room to check out the dirty clothes situation and found the nearly new ripped shirt and pants.

I confronted him about it and he yelled at me, “IT’S TRUE MOM!” Then he pretended (and it is pretending because he doesn’t look this way when he really is hurt or upset) to cry. I told him to never do it again and I went to the basement to get another pair of shorts.

As punishment, I sat next to him while he ate his lunch, which is something Booga hates.

Then he decided that it would be more tolerable if I hit him rather than have me sitting there next to him reading a magazine.

I told him, “Booga, I don’t hit people.”

He began to cry, “JUST HIT ME!!!”

This is from a movie…I don’t know which one, but I could tell it was a movie line.

I looked at him, “Booga, I don’t hit people and neither do you. Stop crying, this isn’t a movie. This is real life.”

He looked at me with tears brimming in his eyes, he really was sorry for what he had done, but the only way he could deal with this was to channel movie lines. However, I certainly was not going to strike a full grown man so he could channel movie lines and deal with his anger.

I’m sorry, that’s not how I roll.

So he went outside and yelled at the neighborhood, and then I had to go wrangle him inside and make him sit down; and then for a good half hour I had to listen to him channel a movie in my living room that had a scene where someone was put in time out or something similar.

Then he started going on about how he wasn’t a child, that he was nineteen and that the neighbors had been looking at him.

Good heavens! Of course they were looking at him. He was screaming like someone was murdering him.

Sometimes I just want to get in my car and drive away and act like I have no idea who this insane character is who is living with me.

And then I remember how much I love him, what a cute little boy he was, how sweet he can be, and how lonely I would feel without him.

And I take my hands off the top of my head, which is where I placed them so as to restrain my brain from exploding and wipe the tears from my eyes and hope that I can find some solace somewhere, like maybe my office….Writing about Booga’s tantrums.