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Embarrassment Posted By: Taishan
Posted On: 06/27/2008
http://www.twincities.com/opinion/ci_9685529?nclick_check=1
Putting embarrassment in its place
By Caryn Sullivan
Article Last Updated: 06/24/2008 07:31:22 PM CDT

Last week, the Pioneer Press featured an article by John Campanelli with the
headline: 'Truth? They dare.' Campanelli wrote that one of the terrible
things about being a parent is 'like it or not, your young kids are going to
embarrass you.' He noted that when kids are young we tolerate their socially
unacceptable behavior, such as loudly commenting about Santa's bad breath
while perched on his lap. Adults are typically empathetic (they've been
there), and other kids are amused.

As kids mature, however, the circle that encompasses acceptable behaviors
shrinks. By middle school, adults consider students who comment on another's
halitosis rude, not cute. The mischievous kids who hovered at the perimeter
of the social circle either shift toward the middle or become ostracized.

I suspect that many who read Campanelli's description of the 4-year-old girl
who loudly commented about a gentleman's "big butt" had a similar
experience. Just last week, my 17-year-old with Autism Spectrum Disorder
(ASD) made such an outside-the-circle remark in public. What is a passing
phase for most parents seems destined to be my lifetime companion.

I suspect some families dealing with conditions like Tourette Syndrome, ADHD
or Alzheimer's, to name a few, are acquainted with the mortification zone,
where I often dwell. Since I have a relatively low threshold for
embarrassment, I've been mortified by my guy's behavior on countless
occasions.

Is he to blame? By virtue of his condition, he doesn't have a dependable
filter that stops him from blurting out comments or doing things others
might consider, but reject.

I feel guilty because I know the nuances of what is cool and what is taboo
are confusing, and the line between entertainment and embarrassment is fuzzy
for him. Yet, I also know he relishes making outrageous comments. Always the
entertainer, he can't comprehend why we laugh when comedian Jim Carrey talks
with his butt cheeks in "Ace Ventura: Pet Detective," but gasp when he
mimics Carrey in the crowded Chicago Shedd Aquarium ‹ with his shorts around
his ankles.

If I don't always know how to interpret or respond to his behavior,
strangers are understandably clueless. I've often longed for a symbol like a
wheelchair or white cane to broadcast his challenges. Absent that, I
constantly run interference to protect us all from others' misunderstanding
or judgment.

Lately, I'm wondering whether I'm observing the unintended consequences of a
lifetime of being coached into the circle, manifested at times by high
anxiety, low self-esteem and defiant behaviors. Is it time to accept that he
is who he is? Is it time, as Campanelli suggests, to "let it go"?

As I pondered these questions Sunday night, my husband returned from
searching for 25-year-old Keith Kennedy, a man severely challenged with
autism who wandered away from his Wisconsin camp. A week after Keith Kennedy
disappeared, firefighters found him, dehydrated and covered with bug bites
but, miraculously, alive. Suddenly, my concerns about embarrassment were ‹
well, embarrassing.

While having a "runner" like Keith Kennedy is inordinately stressful on a
family, it's one of many challenges of living with a person with a
social/communication disorder.

I've canvassed friends about their most embarrassing moments with their
special needs kids. Junior pooping in the public pool on the hottest day of
the year took the prize.

While we've endured some unmentionable incidents, we've persevered through a
thousand more-trivial embarrassments ‹ touching the untouchable on a White
House tour, speaking the unspeakable at the movie theater ‹ with the threat
of "the big one" ‹ a pool-closer ‹ always lurking in the background.

But everything in life is relative. With Keith Kennedy in the hospital ICU,
I recognize there are worse things in life than being glared at or stared at
in public.

With him safely asleep in his bed, I appreciate our son is a complex guy who
adds a lot of color to our lives. He's the one who put me under the table
when he told our new friends that "everyone who read 'The DaVinci Code'
knows that Jesus was banging Mary Magdalene," but made my heart soar by
performing a stand-up comedy routine at his new school; he's the baby lover
who makes us squirm when he touches or blows air kisses to every baby he
encounters, but made me proud by offering his money jar when he learned the
University of Minnesota was raising money for a new Children's Hospital;
he's both a teen-age guy who loudly told his brother to check out a woman's
cleavage and a mama's boy who says, "Mom, you have bags under your eyes ...
but you're still beautiful."

I see that I have a choice about how I relate to him. I can embrace the
lighter moments and deflect the embarrassing ones. As to others, I can
establish a context for his behavior so they might be less offended or hurt
if he ignores their attempts at conversation, for example. As to him, I can
keep trying, gently, to impress upon him that good manners are important and
that others' feelings matter, too.

When I confront the mortification zone, I can remember the Kennedy family's
courage and fortitude. I can wrap myself in armor constructed of our guy's
sweetness and humor and coated in the Kennedys' faith and resolve, and stop
being embarrassed by outside-the-circle behaviors. If the Kennedy family can
survive the past week's nightmare, then I should be able to kick
embarrassment out of the house and invite acceptance to move in, at long
last.

Caryn Sullivan is a Minnesota attorney and writer. Her column appears from
time to time on these pages. Her e-mail address is
carynsullivan@comcast.net.
       
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