On the Common 198
A Way of Treating People
Good morning,
Last week I sold a few items on Facebook Marketplace. The number of messages I received made me wonder: are there people who spend every Saturday morning asking, “Is this still available?” to any seller they can find?! It made me understand those ads that say, “if it’s listed, it’s still available; I will not answer messages asking if it’s available.”
Yes, it’s available. Yes, it’s available.
The Part Where There’s an Essay: There is Such a Thing as Manners*
Last week I published an essay with the cheeky title, “Who the Jerks Are,” with a reference to a recent comedy special. The comedian in question talks a good bit about his brother, who has profound autism. He says that one of the superpowers his brother possesses is finding out “who the jerks are.”
As timing would have it, just forty-eight hours after that essay was published, some jerks called our ASD son and tricked him into giving them a whole lot of money. We spent Saturday on the phone with the banks and the police department, trying to make a case for mercy for him and justice for them. We’ll see if it works out in our favor.
I heard from a number of people about last week’s essay. Some folks texted to say they appreciated the vulnerability. Some emailed me to say that they had loved ones who are on the spectrum, too.
I realize that I haven’t shared a ton about our walk on the road of Autism Spectrum Disorder here. And that’s partly because of the decorum required of having adult children.
When your children are young, it’s easy to talk about them and the struggles of motherhood. The early years where you’re so tired you can’t think; the fear of making the wrong decisions about school or friends or all the rest; the little joys and laughs. When they learn to love their siblings. When they ask good questions. When they express shocking, good truth in their tiny voices.
So many of these things are universal, but they feel unique because they are happening to you for the first time. And because they are happening between you and your children, they are unique.
But then the kids get older, and you become more aware as a writer that it is not just your story anymore, but theirs. It is a story you are living in together. They may not want the parts told that you want to tell. As the parent, you have the responsibility to draw a curtain of privacy and talk about something else. I may do that more than I need to, but I would rather err on the side of saying too little than too much.
I remember at a recent writers’ conference, one of the speakers had us acknowledge the different media for writing. Not everything is for the platform, she reminded us. Not everything needs to be published. Yes, maybe you needed to write about it, but maybe what you were looking for was your journal, not a public forum.
This is a space we’ve also had to navigate in real life. Our kids are friends with our friends, a joy we do not take for granted. But sometimes we let them talk about things instead of getting in between. It’s a muddy middle, but not all of their stuff is automatically our stuff. We’re still sorting it out, and we’re trying to do it delicately.
So here in my newsletter, I will continue to try to be vulnerable as a person and as a mom, but if I hedge, it’s because I care about my kids more than you. I’m going to try my best to keep doing that.
I don’t know what to say beyond that for now. Just, those of you who are behind me—it’s important to have manners towards your children. If we are to love our neighbors, they are our very closest ones.
*extra points to the people who know what film this title references
For the Anglophiles
When Queen Camilla was in the country last month, she brought the NYC public library the long-lost final piece of their Winnie-the-Pooh set: Roo!
Reads & Listens of the Week
I Remember America Before the Measles Vaccine. “For nearly a century, I’ve been privileged to watch the fits, starts, and swings of that optimism: the forward leaps of science and technology, the backward falls into tragic wars, the sidesteps into misguided ideologies. But the collective effort behind those hot cross buns and front-porch flags? That is still who we are, if we choose to be.”
I loved this poem: Hair on Fire at the Church Lady’s Brunch.
It’s been a while since we’ve discussed this delightful little TV show: The Detectorists. “Andy and Lance are after the gold hoard of King Sexred of the East Saxons, whose ship is rumored to be buried near Danebury. What they find instead are Matchbox cars, copper nails, pull tabs from soda cans, the occasional pound coin.”
Go to sleep in peace. God is awake. - Victor Hugo
Wow, I smiled, I gasped, I said a hearty amen, and I concur with Go to sleep in peace, " for He gives his beloved sleep". Psalm 127:2