CLOSE-UP
On the Edge of Thirteen
Dear Elijah Bear,
I know. Elijah Bear is rather
sticky sweet for you, bearing
in mind that next month, you
will be thirteen. Forgive mom.
It just slips out so naturally. I
look at you and still see those
bright, twinkly, inquisitive eyes
of my cuddly baby bear. The
eyes so brown they could melt
me in a heartbeat, no matter
how much mischief they held.
I’d walk up on you industriously painting a mural (a la Jackson Pollack) on RENTED apartment walls and experience that
instant frozen horror of the
moment. Then, you’d turn with
those eyes, and I would see
that creative ambition sparkling, and I would somehow
find strength and Magic Eraser
(they invented those suckers
just in time) enough to tend to
the situation without rendering
you incapable of any artwork
altogether. I wanted you to
learn right from wrong, very
grateful you have learned and
are learning, but, in the process, I never wanted to see that
light extinguish. It was breathtaking to behold. Still is.
Excuse me. I know it embarrasses your near-teen self, but
every mama thinks her baby is
a genius. Try to un-convince us
if you dare. I know you won’t.
Under the burning face you
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ZOOM Autism through Many Lenses
duck or cover with your hoodie
is a thirsting soul who needs to
hear daily how awesome I still
think you are. Nobody ever
outgrows that. Trust me.
Still, I am realistic enough to
know there has been a gradual
pulling away for a long while
now. Childhood is fast slipping
into memory books, adult matters rising to take its place. You
long ago chose to pass on your
beloved stuffed Spongebob
collection for another kid to
love on. Visits to the toy section
bring out fonder remembrance
than enthusiastic desire these
days.
You are developing your
thoughts on this great big massively messed-up world, articulating better and better by the
year your sense of outrage and
championing of justice. You
even display a bit more maturity in doing-and redoing-your
own homework these days.
Pass or fail, you recognize the
responsibility rests in your
hands. That is the beginnings
of wisdom, son.
growing. I hope you know that
Dad and I are here, not merely
for the cheering on, but also to
shed light when the pathways
you carve are dark, vision
grainy. Shoot, we aren’t afraid
to grab a couple of shovels and
dig out some of that dirt alongside you.
We believe in you. Even when
you feel like you’ve royally
goofed, we believe in you.
Even when you can’t figure out
which end is up on your endless emotions, we believe in
you.
As you approach thirteen and
continue on in this fascinating,
ever-winding journey to manhood, just remember this:
Never let anyone steal the
creative spark from those
beautiful brown eyes, Elijah
Bear. (Ok. So, it may take me a
bit more time to stop that one.
Bear with me. Wink, wink.)
Growing up never has to mean
letting it dim. Let it be your
fuel instead.
Thirteen in less than a month.
Whoa.
Forgive your old mom for misting up, holding on, still treating you so young at times. I
hope you see we DO see you’re
Marisa Ulrich is a married
mother of four, two autistic. She considers writing
on the joy of autism an
important mission. She makes her home
in rural Kansas.
ZOOM Autism through Many Lenses
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