Rebel with a pen

I am a writer often living outside the lines of society - a rebel with a pen. Here I put down my hearth stone and stake a claim to a place of shelter. I welcome wanderers, outsiders and all those who yearn for belonging. Here there will be no attacks, no put-downs, no micro-aggressions and no spam. I tend my hearth and I'm here to write but also to listen. Come in by my fire. Here is hope in dark times and a circle of warmth among readers. This is where I invite you to discuss:

- racism, ableism and other social prejudices

- environmental and ecological issues, including climate change

- power, control, rigged elections and campaign finance

- bullying and the tyranny of fashion

- urban homesteading and sustainable living

- life as an expat in the Czech Republic

- and sometimes adoption

Here’s a conversation I had with my son a year ago:

“Honey, there will come a day when a friend wheedles for you to do something really dangerous or illegal. It is so important to learn how to stand up for yourself, to say ‘no’ and set limits.”

You stand there in front of me. Ten years old. Tears running down. It’s dark out. You’ve just come home after curfew and there will be consequences. The boys who live on a street that has streetlights taunted you for saying you had to leave because our street is pitch black at night. They wouldn’t return the nerf guns you lent them. They laughed and ran and shot at you from cover to draw you back into the game.

They aren’t bad boys. These are the nice ones, the polite boys who greet me (a friend’s blind, weird-looking, foreigner mother) and smile shyly when I get off the train, the ones who play with you no matter what color you are.

Creative Commons image by m-louis of Flickr.com

But they’re kids. And they’ll talk you into doing things you know will cost you. And everybody—I mean everybody—will someday have a “friend” who isn’t really a friend, someone who is bad news, who either thinks it’s funny to get you into trouble or wants to do dangerous and illegal things and finds you a convenient fall guy.

They’ll say they’ll be on lookout. They’ll have lots of reasons why you should do it first or take the more dangerous job. The shop assistant already knows them. You’re a really good bike rider. You’re taller than them. There will be “reasons.”

It will sound reasonable. It always does.

But you’re the kind who gets caught. You’re not a sneaky type. Your face is too honest. And you will be thinking about the other guy, trying to protect your friends, while they’re leaving you in the cop’s headlights. And you’re the brown one, the one more likely to get hit hard by the law.

Honey, there will come a day.

Not because you’re bad or not popular enough. You’re a good guy. You’re a good friend. And everybody has had at least one “bad news” friend. I’m not even saying it will happen because you’re too naive. I’ve had them. Everybody has had that kind of moment.

It’s what we do in that moment that matters. It depends on how used to standing up for yourself you are.

A lot of grownups will say—or even yell at you—”Just THINK! Before you do something, THINK!” That’s an easy solution for them. I want to tear my hair and rant at you too sometimes.

But you know how the doctor says those letters “ADHD”? Well, that’s because it is really hard for you to always think first. I know that. You still have to practice. Take a deep breath. Count to three… or ten. Think things through. Yup, you’ll have to.

But sometimes you won’t. Because that’s how brains are and that ADHD makes it particularly hard.

That’s why I say being able to punt the right way is important. That’s why you’ve got to have your core strong. You’ve got to know, deeper than even thinking what you will and won’t do. You’ve got to set your limits and stand up for yourself, even with friends.

This is a problem that kids have and grownups have. It never really goes away. I was about to say that it gets more complicated. But I’m not sure it does. For you, that call to stay out in the streets after dark with friends when you know it will mean you can’t come tomorrow is about as complicated as it ever needs to be.

“Come here. Get a hug. I know it’s hard. Honey, there will come a day when I will have to let go.”

In a year, it’s shocking at how close the end of my ability to protect him has come. I am reminded again and again how hard the judgements and hard edges of society fall on young, brown boys, especially those with neurodiversity.

I remember all the screw ups my brothers and I had and all the second and third chances we got, all the times we fell on soft ground and the generally softer world we lived in which had so much less in the way of addictive substances, bemusing electronics and bewildering complexity.

The chances now are just… well, a gamble, pure and simple. Give it fifteen years and I’ll tell you how the chips fall.