There are many types of people in this world. Some are kind,
and some are smart, and some are expressive, and some are quiet, and some are
outgoing, and some are rough around the edges, and some are downright literal.
They seem like they’re being rude or snarky, but really, they are being 100%
factual and literal. Their version of common sense differs from most because to
them, it must compute to their own understanding. For example, a literal person
will ask you what time it is, and the majority of the populus will reply an
answer that is rounded up or down such as 6:00. But to the literal person, they
do not want to know the approximate time. They will look at a clock and say, “No,
it is actually 5:57.”
Factual people tend to be drawn towards math or science
because those subjects revolve around the facts and absolutes. People who enjoy
fantasy of the written word and what it means and interpretation, well, those types
like English or Literature. These people do not communicate on the same plane
of existence. They can both be saying the exact same thing, but when the
English mind says something to the factual mind, it is being heard by
completely different ears. Vulcan ears. Pointy, literal, factual, incomputable
Vulcan ears.
My middle child is definitely a Vulcan. He cannot compute a
world where he is forced to endure such things as complying with a social norm
simply because everyone else is. In his mind, he is an avid reader and could
tell you anything you want to know about the subject matter at hand (especially if it is something that interests him). But it is
unnecessary for him to have to write it out. It does not compute. To him it is
unneccessary. Instead, he choses to NOT do the work at all, and has no guilt
about that decision. Because this makes sense to him.
To his mother, however, this is cause for epic concern and
distress. This results in numerous emails to and from the teacher trying to
come up with a course of action so that this miniature intelligent human being,
who is making stupid choices, can pass his 6th grade Honors Classes.
So, English teacher and English-minded mother come up with a plan to get this
student back on track. The teacher and I exchange jokes about how frustrating
it is, and at least have each other to lean on for support.
Fast forward to last week. My son tells me that he has the
missing packets he needs to do but, “the teacher never gave me the book” to
complete them. So I think fine. I
email the teacher who first laughs at the idea, and then informs me that the
books are readily available for the students, and many students take them as
needed, and that it is common practice for the class to take a book on a daily
basis. Frustration level: Code Red. The teacher and I continue to come up with
a game plan, which includes letting my son know that we’re on to him.
Then I get an email from the teacher:
“Should have been a fly on the
wall when I walked into his fifth period (I have prep) and handed him the book
AND took away his Mtn. Dew hat which was on, backwards, and what we told our
son “looks like a thug look”. There is a sub in that room and he was trying to
get away with it--Miss Cox is worse than I am about sticking to the rules…he
knows that. The hat is in my locked closet, where it will stay until June,
unless you pick it up or write me a note to have it returned.”
I tell the teacher that I will not
write a note to her unless he actually shows some promise in trying to get the
past due work done. Naturally, Mr. Logical doesn’t seem to understand this
idea. Ideas and concepts are lost on him. He lives in the here and now.
Naturally, when I got home, he on his bed doing homework, but ina VERY bad mood. His bed is his place of
solitude. He refused to speak with me.
Then, we had dinner without
incident, but at bed time, he is fuming angry, his face is red and tears are
streaking down his face. Admittedly, I have long since forgotten about the hat
incident and am just ready for bed. But, there he sits, hot tears running down
his face, eyes focused and staring forward, lips closed very tightly and arms
folded over his chest. Now begins the 20 questions process: What’s wrong? Son,
why are you upset? Are you hurt? Are you mad? (I get a slight nod of yes).
I tell him I cannot help him if he
doesn’t tell me what’s wrong or speak to me. Who are you mad at? Are you mad at
your siblings? Did they do something to upset you? Did they break something?
(Slight shake of the head, no.) Are you mad at me? (One nod downward for yes.)
Why are you mad at me? What did I do?
I realize now that he’s not
answering questions other than the yes or no options, even though they are
barely visible movements on his part. So I finally ask the question, “Is this
about the hat?” Finally a real nod. All of this is because of his hat. Because,
in his mind, what does his hat and homework have in common? Nothing! They are
not connected and having the hat taken away is irrelevant to his learning. How
dare we! So I tell him, “Son, I didn’t get your hat taken away from you.”
Finally, words, “You made it
worse!” Ok, so maybe he’s got a little of my dramatics in him. But still, he
genuinely believes that because I did not email the teacher immediately to ask
her to return his hat, that I am now a conspirator to the hat hostage
situation. Guilt by association. And still, he’s basically refusing to speak to
me. So I have to lecture him about how every action has consequences and he did
the wrong thing, therefore he has a consequence, blah, blah, blah.
But finally, a tiny ray of
information comes out that Ms. Jehns (unrelated to this story) allows them to
wear hats in class. Mind you, he was NOT in Ms. Jehn’s class, but remember, and
according to logic, what possible reason could any teacher have for not
allowing this? I tell him that it is rude and disrespectful if he knows the
rules that teachers have and then choses to disrespect them. He says that the
teacher in question should not have taken his hat away because it wasn’t her
class. I see where he’s coming from, but he’s focusing on the wrong problem.
So I tell him, “If I’m speeding
down the road, and a cop pulls me over, I have no right to be mad at the cop. I
was speeding. I broke the law. It’s his job to enforcet the laws and keep people
safe. Regardless of why I was speeding, I broke the law. Even if I had a good
reason.” I told him also that the only law he has to follow is to try his
hardest and actually do his work. It seems so simple to me. But that’s the problem
with communication and understanding: perception.
So, after much toil and trouble,
we discover that he reports to be struggling in the class. It’s the writing. I
love writing assignments. To him, they are tortuous and unnecessary. So I ask
him if he read the book and he says that he has read it three times. Wait.
What? THREE times? WHY? His answer, “Because the rest of the class is too slow.”
I bursted out into laughter. He is staring at me with a confused look on his
face. I explain to him that, at this point, he should be considered an expert
on the material, and possibly be able to teach the class himself.
But why hasn't he done the work, I wonder! And his logic? "I didn't lie. She didn't give me the book." My head tries very hard NOT to explode and I tell him that he didn't ask for it either. So he repeats, "She didn't give it to me." So I sigh loudly and inform him that it is his responsibility to get his work done. The teacher's job is to teach and guide, not to hold his hand and do everything for him. And I mentioned that now that I know his issue is the writing, we can work on it together.
I know he’s having a hard time
trying to rationalize why he has to do the work. I can see why it’s frustrating
for teachers to tell you to read a story and then tell them about it “in your
own words.” The fact minded people are thinking, “Why do I have to put it in my
own words? I can receit to you exactly what it said!” They aren’t open for
interpretation. They are of the belief that the author said what was meant to
be said the way it was meant to be read. It’s absolute.
I am, in no way, making an excuse
for my son. However, he is not hardwired to be a sheep being lead by a
shepherd. His way of being does not involve tedious hours behind a desk doing
repetitive work that he understood the first time he did it. It’s literally
torture for him to have to sit still. Yes, he has ADHD, but not to point where
he is suffering an unable to keep up with academics. His brain is moving so
fast that the world just can’t simply keep up. They are stagnant and boring and
he needs stimuli.
But I tell him again that accepting
to fail or giving up because he is struggling is never an option. I told him
that it’s ok to struggle with something but that chosing to avoid it will never
work. I begged him to remember that my job is to help him succeed. It was one
of those “broke through a wall” moments where I think he understood me just a
little bit more and I realized where our break down started: Communication and speaking his language. He has always
marched to a beat of his own drum, and that is my favorite quality about him.
It’s also my least favorite, as far as finding parenting methods that work.
I went to bed feeling like I had just gone 9 rounds with George Foreman. I was exhausted. Mentally drained! It's like we're each speaking a different language when I am trying to communicate with him. He is so closed up and reserved and I am an open book. Every day I try to find a new tactic to try and understand him or make him understand me. There is no right way, I've learned. He's not broken, so I cannot fix him. He's just complicated. I have to try and pick my battles and remember that his way of doing things doesn't have to make sense to me, even if I would kill to understand it, and pray that something I'm doing or saying eventually is logical in his mind.
Have you ever tried
reasoning with a Vulcan?
