The Emotional Spectrum
Written by Shane L. Nurnberg

Today was an emotional day for me. Maybe it was because my son and I were in public more than usual. We had to run a few errands in town. We encountered a lot of parents with typical children who were behaving like typical children do. Meanwhile, my son was happy to be “out and about” so his hands were flying like crazy. And being out in public around typical children quickly reminds me that my son is not typical. Usually it’s hard for him to stand in one place without “dancing”. He is 5 and other children are beginning to stare at him when he acts differently. In the home his abnormal behavior is the norm. My wife and I only have one child and he sets the standard.

Braden tends to make more noises during times of extreme excitement. The county fair and motorcycle shows are two events that offer extreme excitement for him. The therapists like to call it “stimming”. It’s a short way of saying he is stimulating himself. Instead of speaking and using his words Braden will make noises while flapping his arms. Apparently it does something for him or balances some unseen need. We have a low fence in our back yard. And from our back yard all our neighbors can hear Braden, I'm certain. Autism is a spectrum disorder so there is no doubt my son is on a spectrum. In fact, I would argue that nearly all disabilities are on a spectrum of sorts since just about all of them can range from mild to severe.

Over the summer it dawned on me as I sat in our back yard with my lemonade in hand. As the parent of a child with a disability I am on a spectrum too. For me it is an emotional spectrum, and I got it more severely than my wife. I hesitate to use a cliché, but it’s a rollercoaster. I have no scientific data to back this up, but I’m sure I cry more over my boy than does the parent of a typical child. I have cried about the lost dreams, the question mark on his future, and his inability to do simple tasks that his peers have long mastered. I can’t have a conversation with my son like most parents of a 5-year-old can. I have cried in the church, in the car, in meetings. Will my son experience the lore of an intelligent conversation? Will he meet the girl of his dreams and fall in love? Will he ever feel the intensity of competition or the drive to achieve? I don’t know. But I know I am a grown man who cries at the drop of a hat. And that emotion has been amplified ever since I heard the diagnosis “your son has autism.”

The flip side is that we feel extreme happiness, and my wife and I rejoice and celebrate with a party that rivals Marti Gras when my son hits those benchmarks that typical children hit long ago. Yes, when he finally started walking and talking, we partied. When he started using the toilet instead of his pants, we partied. When he starts doing number 2 in the toilet - we will send out invitations to that party! Heck, when Braden asks for a cookie with a clear voice we are thrilled! And you can bet he gets that cookie immediately regardless of its sugar content and lack of nutritional value. When my son asks for a cookie he gets it!

So although having a child with a disability causes me pain more often, it also causes me happiness more often. I think it’s a good trade-off. Plus this whole thing has changed me. I like being part of the disability community.

In the summer I am a sucker for lemonade stands. Ask my wife. Often, if I do not have money on me to pay for that overpriced diluted cup of lemonade I go home and come back. It’s not about the lemonade, but the children. And when kids come to our door selling magazines or chocolate bars or trips to France or a terd-in-a-box I make a purchase. This is one small way that having a child with a disability has changed me.

Today was an emotional day for me. Virtually every day is an emotional day for me. ▪