The Best Kind of Different: Our Family's Journey With Asperger's Syndrome by Shonda Schilling, Curt Schilling Read Free Book Online Page A

something, he wouldn’t even go near it. There was no coaxing him into it. He would dig his heels in and shout, “No!”
    Driving long distances with Grant was a nightmare, and we had to do that often, to go visit Curt on the road. I liked to get silly with the kids and turn up the radio. The others liked to sing songs with me and do crazy dances as we drove. But Grant would have none of it.

    “Turn it off! Turn it off! Turn it off!” he’d scream at the top of his lungs. He would scream the entire time. The rest of us would get mad at him because he was just killing a fun family moment.
    I’d scream right back at him. “You do not dictate what happens in this car!” I’d say. He’d keep at it, though.
    “Turn it off! Turn it off! Turn it off!”
    I didn’t know what to do. Here I was, driving these kids for two hours each way every weekend to go see Curt at spring training, and there was now no way for me to make it fun and to help the time pass. He’d also go crazy if the other kids wanted to watch a different DVD than he did on the player in the minivan. It wasn’t just that he’d disagree. He’d have a total meltdown, crying and screaming. I always felt bad about giving in to him, yet I’d still cave. I knew it wasn’t fair at all to the other kids, but it was the only way to calm Grant down.
    Those rides were awful. I would keep thinking, Let me just get through these two hours. Usually I’d been alone with the kids all week. I was so eager to hand them over to Curt and have a little break—I can’t even describe how badly I needed a break. Even going to the grocery store by myself seemed like a treat. Just an hour without Grant challenging me, without any yelling from him or at him, and without the others whining about Grant, was a blessing.
    For some reason, I would always find myself crying in the frozen foods section, though I don’t think it had anything to do with the particular selection there. It was more that it took me a little while to get to that aisle, and by that point, after hearing a few of those sentimental oldies songs they always seem to play in the supermarket, my emotions would have gotten the better of me. It just seemed like the frozen food aisle was where it all came crashing down each week. Grant, the kids, baseball—all of it. I would cry and cry as I shopped, trying not to look anyone in the eye, and hoping people didn’t notice.
     

    A S G ARRISON GREW , it only emphasized the ways in which Grant’s early years had been out of step. By the time Garrison was just fifteen months old, it began to dawn on me that he was much easier than Grant had been, even at that early age. It was the fall of 2003, and as Garrison was toddling around, I noticed there were certain ways he behaved—and listened—that made it clearer that Grant was different.
    As I had with Gehrig and Gabby, I instituted a rule that no matter where we were or what we were doing, if I said, “Freeze!” they had to stop and stand in place quietly. Grant had always been immune to “Freeze!” and I assumed it meant I was losing my touch as a parent. Maybe I was simply stretched too thin. But then Garrison came along and crushed that theory.
    As soon as I said “Freeze!” to Garrison, he got it. He just stopped and froze. He didn’t question me. He just stood in place, and seemed to know it was for his own good. Meanwhile, Grant would keep running around. And around. And around. While he ran around, he also made a point of touching whatever he could possibly get his hands on. It’s a parent’s worst nightmare—a kid putting his hands on literally everything, putting himself potentially in harm’s way and also messing things up in the house. It seemed that no amount of childproofing was sufficient when Grant was around.
    Grant also couldn’t handle even a little bit of teasing by his older siblings. Kids tease—it’s what they do. But Grant reacted to it as if it were a lifethreatening event. He