Saturday, April 7, 2012

Asking for Help

Today was an interesting day.  Our oldest is nearly a teenager now.  Life with an autistic son, I am confident we are not ready for this.  We have been dealing with levels of defiance and disobedience for a little while now.  We take it with a grain of salt, every child must go through these stages.  We explained to our other kids just the other day how we have now entered into the stages where mom and dad start becoming dumber by the day.  My daughter was saddened by this, "we don't want to start thinking you are dumb daddy, you are smart."  I had to explain to her that as they get older we will trust them more.  That we are training them to make good decisions, even in the light of the opportunity to make bad ones.  That, as time goes by they will gain more and more of our trust to make good decisions, and, as time continues to go by, that trust will lead them to make bad decisions and we won't know.  As they find they can make more and more decisions without mom and dad knowing what the decisions were, they will begin to think that we are dumber because we don't know that they are getting away with making bad decisions.  I then had to explain to them that when that time comes, it will not be us who are the idiots, but our children who think that the consequences of bad decisions affect us, and not them.  When they finally realize that the decisions they make affect them, and not us, that is when we start looking a little smarter again.  But, they will still have to go through the time when they think that mom and dad are idiots for not knowing what they are doing.

Well, our oldest made one of those decisions today.  Titus was sent home today for taking a knife to school.  He was caught sneaking a kitchen knife out of the front pouch of his pull over sweatshirt.  Timing was not in his favor during this event either.  Just yesterday he felt cornered by a teacher that he has not worked well with all year so far.  In a burst of anger and frustration, our son told this teacher he wished that he was no longer on the earth.  An autistic teens equivalent of, "go to hell!!"  Which can also be taken as,"touch me again and I'll kill you."  So, threatening statements and the next day he brings a knife to school.  What else is the staff to think?

When we got the call from school, our thoughts went to the same conclusions, "what did he think he was doing?" and "where did he get this idea from?"  All of these were the wrong conclusion.

I remember when Titus was quite a bit younger.  We went to our church's Friday Family Night.  They were staffed with childcare for the kids, a gym with all kinds of things to play with, and an isolated room for adults to gather and have an evening of adult conversation.  Half way through the night one of the childcare staff approached our table, squatted next to my wife and I and delivered the words no parent wants to hear, "we can't find Titus."  He had been lingering near a drinking fountain, that was conveniently near a set of double doors leading out to the parking lot.  He was there one second, a turn of the head, and he was gone.  My wife and I went into panic mode.  For the first five minutes of hearing this news we were looking into every dark corner and busy street.  Then our minds came back to us.  Titus is quite predictable, you just have to remember to think like him.  He doesn't like the dark, dark and scary halls were scratched from possible routes, this also eliminated the parking lot that was poorly illuminated.  Busy streets were too far away, and not on his curiosity list.  So, we started looking at the things that would attract his little mind.  Buttons.  Elevator buttons, automatic door buttons, of which our church had a couple that Titus had become quite familiar with their locations over the times of our attendance.  Even split up and on opposites sides of the church, my wife and I found Titus within moments of each other.  Titus had gone out the side doors, around the corner, thru the automatic doors, up the elevator, and down the hall to the gymnasium back stair case.  He couldn't get the doors open, so he sat there waiting.  "You found me!" was his declaration when my wife found him sitting on the stairs.  She went thru the lower doors and there he was.  I was at the top of the stair well trying to figure out how to get the doors open.  Apparently the elevator opens on the inside, I was on the outside.  I tell you this to drive the point that, we panicked.  We went looking everywhere our son wasn't.  Today we also panicked.  We have been trained to conclude that if a kid takes a knife to school, its to hurt someone.  It was a bit odd for Titus to attempt such a thing, quite out of character, but he never ceases to surprise us.  So, we reacted to our unfounded conclusions.


Then there's Titus, stuck wondering what it is that he has done wrong, again. Because, unbeknownst to anyone, Titus lost the key to his locker on Monday afternoon.  His purpose for taking a knife to school was to try and pry the lock off of his locker, or, cut it off if necessary.  The week has been frustrating not having access to it and knives are good for getting into other things, they are made for cutting things.  What else would be a handier tool for cutting a lock off of a locker than a knife?

Many of us "normal" people struggle with asking for help.  We will go thru great measures to try and prove that we are capable of succeeding on our own.  Asking for help is a sign of weakness in the normal every day world we now live in, how much more is this compounded by autism?  I can't help but wonder if it is more painful and outright scarier to ask for help, than taking a knife to school, even when knowing it is wrong.

I am reading a book by Twyla Tharp called The Collaborative Habit.  While describing her experience with a Seattle ballet company she makes a statement that intrigued me.
Connection with others is ... important.  Once upon a time, there was no difference between a bricklayer and a composer.  All work was an offering to [God], and thus, all work had equal meaning.  But, in the twentieth century that changed, and art came to exist for its own sake.
The change is sometimes called modernism.  But let's not get bogged down in language.  The issues is meaning- or rather, the lack of it.  The idea here is that human life no longer has spiritual meaning.  We are not part of a loving society, but rather are all in an ego-driven "army-of-one" each the center of an absurd cosmos, taking such happiness as we can find.  Collaboration? Why bother? You only live once; grab whatever you can.
Now look at this world just described, but from the eyes of someone struggling with autism.  What stands out to me throughout this passage is this, the enemy of this world has done an incredible job of selling us the lie that the individual and the collective must compete against each other.  That, if we are to be individually and wonderfully made specifically and purposely by the hand of God, then we are all only special if we consider ourselves individual and special.  Our brains struggle so hard with the idea that God can look upon us and love us equally and yet love us individually to the utmost depths of his love.  Where our minds break down is that we have a difficult time understanding infinite.   (I'm babbling here, but stay with me, it all comes back on itself)

What I am getting at is, we need help.  We do.  We need help.  And none of us have been trained to ask for it.  We love giving it.  We like helping others.  It makes us feel like we have something to contribute.  But all of us struggle with asking for it, seeking it.  Unfortunately, we also tire of asking for the help we do need only to get rejected, or regular reasons for why it can't be given.  How strange this is.  We need help.  Are uncomfortable asking for it.  When asked, don't really want to give it.  But are willing to help if on our own terms.  Its got to be one of the more paradoxical control issues of the human experience.

My son was sent home from school because he took in a knife rather than ask for assistance in opening his locker.  But he has an excuse that obstructs his reasoning in making this decision.

Today is Good Friday.  The Christian morbid celebration of the death of Christ.  Morbid because its the one death that we celebrate rather than morn.  Its a celebration because our God choose to lend a hand when none of us were asking for it.  Once again, my son has a neurological idiosyncrasy that disallows him from comfortably asking for help.  Yet, too many of us are not autistic, and we still struggle with asking for help.  Too many of us are not autistic, yet struggle with assisting others, unless its on our own terms.  I don't know how to respond to this, yet, because I am just as guilty of wanting that control.  I don't like asking for help, and I don't like giving it when its not on my own terms.  But there is one part of me that has no problem asking for help.  Lord, I am a sinner, and death is an inevitability.  Is there anything you can do to help?

Monday, March 5, 2012

Huh?

Ok,
I have to admit, sometimes, I don't get it.  For those of you out there in cyber world with a child with autism, you know what I mean when I say I get it.  Its an odd world, you have to walk in similar shoes to understand.

Just recently, my oldest son said something that I had no idea how to respond.

To begin this story you have to first understand that he is a very lean child.  I mean skinny.  Thin as a rail.  Tall for his age and we can't find a pair of pants that adjusts tight enough around his skinny little waste to keep them up.  No hips either, the legs run straight into his torso with no bump in between.  I almost think his little behind could fit into the palm of my hand.  Not saying that I have checked and measured this to confirm it, but, its equally tiny.

So, when he announced the other day that he was going to start eating more so he could grow bigger, we were thrilled.  We started wondering what kind of fat producing foods we could start feeding him to give his body some definition.  We used this desire to even introduce new foods into his diet.  When a, "yech that's gross" statement popped out, we followed it with a, "true, but it will help you grow bigger."

But then one evening over dinner I had to ask,"why do you want to grow bigger?"  It had finally tugged in my brain that this was a new desire and we hadn't inquired into what had sparked the new interest.  The response to this question is what has left me a bit speechless.   My son said," because I am too skinny here (and then indicated his chest) I need to be wider here so that I can grow breasts.  I am too skinny here for breasts.  When I have a baby I need to have breasts and I am too skinny here to have breasts."

Huh?

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Backspace Backspace Backspace delete delete delete

I had an interesting experience today on Facebook.  I had posted a comment on a friends wall, one of those "Sum up XYZ in a single word" type requests.  So I did, I posted a one word comment that I felt was appropriate and fitting for the topic.  It wasn't too profound or deeply spiritual.  Just a simple one word response.  I went back to the post a few hours later and read through some of the other one word postings and then became very confused, frustrated, and a little angry with a new comment my friend had posted.  Some of the other one word responses were the same word I had chosen.  Yet, my friend had posted a comment directed at me, citing my name directly, declaring how shallow and two faced I was.  That I had a tendency to "post and run" using one word instigating postings and often simple unreflective one liners with disregard for the conversation at hand.  Needless to say I was shocked.  Others, whom I have never met and have no knowledge of began to chime in, following my friends lead.  I felt attacked and bewildered.

I began to type in a response that was indicative of the anger and shock I was feeling.  Then....backspace backspace backspace.  I let the keys sit idle for awhile.  I wondered if my friends account had been hacked and others were posthumously posting in his name.  I left my home and went and ran some errands, yet still pondered how I could appropriately respond to my friend and his compatriots' attack.

When I finally responded, I indicated how confusing my friend was being.  I needed clarification of his remarks before I laid into him with all that I could contrive.  This is where I was glad I had that backspace button.

After sometime my friend finally posted a new comment.  Apparently there were several other postings by another individual with the same name as mine.  Of which all of his comments had been removed before I had read them.  The comments from my friend and the other non-aquaintences were all in response to this other individual, and not to me.  But, since none of them had used last names in their posts, only this individuals first name, which is also my first name, I had taken them as responding to my posting.

But this made me wonder even more.  How many times do we respond simply to what we see and hear, having limited knowledge of the entire scene before us?  Unlike FB, e-mail, chat forums...and the like, there isn't a backspace on life.  We cannot delete the actions and words that we perform and release upon our fellow men.  By God's grace and our friends forgiveness, we can try to correct or amend the injury, but we cannot delete it from having happened.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

God Spoke at the Rock and I heard the Voice of Two of His Angels

I got  a second chance to go back to NYC this last weekend. I felt a little more comfortable and a little bit more familiar with the area than my first time.  I had heard about the famous windows of the major retailers and wanted to check them out.  I was also aware of the famous Christmas Tree at Rockefeller Center and wanted to go back and see it with all of its decorations, and not all of the scaffolding.

Now that I think of it, the contrast of my first trip versus this second trip plays rather well with a touching event that occurred as I was mingling within the crowd of tree gazers.

As I was staring up at the tree and its decorations, I heard the distinct sounding voice of an individual with a mental disability.  Please don't take this wrong, but sometimes the cadence, sentences and pronunciation of words from an individual with a disability is very telling.  And thus, I was touched by this individual's words, "See right there Micheal.  That's what we'll look like when we go see Jesus.  Do you see those angels right there, they're beautiful and perfect, and that's what we'll look like when we go see Jesus.  Do you see them, so pretty and perfect.  Yep, God's blessing will be on us and we'll get to look like that."  Another man next to the first, head cocked just so slightly off to the side and a little off balance responded to the first, "That sounds just about fine to me."

I asked the first man if the man standing next to him was his brother, or a friend, or ...?  "This here is my friend!"  The first proclaimed.

"Well God bless both of you, may God bless both you and your friend this Christmas."

"Well thank you very much.  Thank you"

And the three of us shook hands.  And I left to see the rest of the Christmas windows.

But these two men stuck in my head.  First, I was comforted by the fact that these two men were able to venture out on their own, together, to take in the sights of Christmas.  I was touched by their ability to not only see God in Christmas, but imagine His blessing upon them in a time to come.  I was comforted and touched because these were answers to questions I have been asking God myself.  Will my son be able to go out on his own and take in the sights of Christmas.  Perhaps not alone, but I pray that the Lord has an awesome friend for him to go out and see the world with.  Will my son ever be able to imagine God's blessing upon him?  Why not?  In fact, right now it makes me wonder what he thinks he will get to look like when he goes to see Jesus.  Oh man, the wonders that could be going on right now.

Flight Delayed, Gate Closed

Just recently I was called out to the state of New York to help out some colleagues finish a project they were working on.  The call came on a Monday, I flew out at 5:30am on Tuesday.  Needless to say the flight plans were thrown together.  On my trip out I had three legs on 3 different planes: Portland to Phoenix, Phoenix to Philadelphia, Philadelphia to Albany.  The first two legs went fine, I had enough of a layover in Phoenix to allow my luggage to catch up with me.  But, I had to change terminals and concourses in Philly, a change that required me to get on a shuttle to get from one terminal to the other.  I had less than an hour to make the change, and even made it to the gate a few minutes late.  I couldn't help but wonder, if I barely made it to the gate, how was my luggage going to make it on time.  Since my final destination for the project was an hours drive away from the Albany airport, I feared that I would have to drive back to the airport in the following days to retrieve my clothes and learn to make due until then.

  When I arrived at the gate, there was a crowd waiting around impatiently pacing because the flight had been delayed.  Apparently no one had any clear information to the nature of the delay, and none had been given from the airline staff, just a delay.  I spent the time waiting and watching the luggage loading onto the plane.  As the gate was opened and boarding began, I saw my bag get heffted up onto the loading dock and disappear into the belly of the plane.  I breathed a sigh of relief with thanks to the Lord for having taken the time to ensure my luggage still caught up with me.  The pilots voice came over the intercom as we were taking our seats, "Sorry for the delay folks, something mechanical looked out of place and we wanted to make certain everything was fine before we pulled away from the gates.  Your safety is our highest priority and we wanted to be sure.  Thankfully nothing was wrong and everything was fine."  I couldn't help but think an illusion was created to delay the plane just long enough to make sure everything else was also ok.

On my return flight, I had a similar flight arrangement: Albany to Chicago, Chicago to Denver, Denver to Portland.  The change over in Chicago was scheduled to be even worse than my Philly terminal change.  I was supposed to land in Chicago at 6:01pm and take-off at 6:41pm, leaving barely enough time to get in line for the next plane, let alone enough time to change terminals and get my luggage transferred.  But all of that was blown away when I arrived to the check in line in Albany.  "Folks, they are experiencing high winds in Chicago and the flight controllers out of Chicago are calling for a 2 hour flight delay for all inbound flights.  We are looking at a departure time of 6:23pm here in Albany, with a landing in Chicago around 8:30pm.  Since this is a weather related delay, if you miss your connecting flight out of Chicago, you are unfortunately on your own for hotel arrangements for the night.  We can assist you in rerouting to another flight for your final destination, but earliest flights out of Chicago are not scheduled until 4am tomorrow..."  With the delay, my flight was going to be leaving 20 minutes after the time I was supposed to be landing.  Making my connecting flight was an impossibility.  Worse yet, I was anxious to get home and get repacked for our Thanksgiving trip out to the Oregon Coast.  My plans were falling through and it was beginning to look like I would be making it home sometime around noon the following day.

When I finally made it up to the check-in counter, I asked the agent to clarify what my options were and how I was to be certain that my luggage would make it back home to Portland.  Apparently there was an earlier flight bound for Chicago that was running two hours late.  It was scheduled to take off a half hour before our flight was originally supposed to take off, the chances were slim, but the agent put me on the stand-by list for this slightly earlier flight.  But to ensure my luggage made it to Portland, he put it on the earlier flight to give it a head start.  If I were to miss getting on the plane as a stand-by customer, I would have to wait for my regular delayed flight, get to Chicago late, sleep in the terminal and catch the 4am flight from Chicago to Denver, which would get me home sometime around noon the next day.  Not great, but it was a plan.

As the early flight was boarding it was very apparent that I was not going to be getting on as a stand-by customer.  But, the regular flight was pulling up to an adjacent gate, weather had calmed in Chicago and my original flight that was delayed for two hours was beginning to look like it could depart on time. Eventually we boarded the plane twenty minutes late, then sat on the runway for another ten minutes waiting for take-off clearance from Chicago.  My tickets gave me forty three minutes to change flights once in Chicago, but the thirty minute delay cinched up very tightly any time I had to make the transfer.  Catching my connecting flight was going to be nearly impossible.  But at least my luggage was on its way.

We landed in Chicago at 6:37pm.  As soon as I stepped off the plane I searched for the nearest flight status display board.  My flight out was showing that it had already closed the gate.  But I made a dash for it anyways.  Now here's the point where God and I started having a short conversation.  My state of anxiety and stress over the changing schedule turned into a state of curiosity.  The gate to my connecting flight was once again in another terminal, this time one that required me to find a tunnel that led me underground and across the airplane parking lot.  Though the status board said "Closed", the Lord's voice in my ear said, "hurry, not too fast, but don't hesitate."  So I quickened my pace and ran through one of the nation's busiest airports.  Yet, just as the board stated, when I arrived at the gate, it was closed, no agents anywhere to be found, no customer service to assist in figuring out how to get from Chicago to Portland now that my flight had already departed.

Then I heard the voice inside me say," I have already prepared the way for you Aaron, you just have to find it."  The Lord and I play this game a lot.  For those of you who have read my stories about Goodwill Shopping, you understand this hide-and-seek game we play together.  So, I turned and set out down the concourse, not in a state of panic or anxiety, but in an anxious state of wonderment.  What had the Lord prepared for me, where should I look and to whom should I speak?  Though my original flight plans routed me through Denver and departed at 6:41pm, there was a direct flight from Chicago to Portland that was departing at 8:23pm.  The departing gate was a few gates down from where I was at, so I headed that way hoping that a ticketing agent would be present to help make some new arrangements.  Yet, as I headed that direction I sensed that there was no reason to head directly to that gate, I just needed to find a ticketing agent that could help.  So I changed direction and headed towards the nearest gate with an agent standing at the counter.  But as I approached the counter the agent left and started heading down the concourse.  So I followed.  A short distance down this agent stopped next to a rather important looking man dressed in a business suit and holding a radio walkie talkie.  I interrupted whatever conversation had begun between the two men," Excuse me, do both of you work for this airline?  I need some assistance..." and I explained how my day had gone so far and the missed flight scenario I had found myself in.  The important looking man turned to the agent I had spied a little earlier and stated, "Bob, see what you can do about getting him onto the direct flight."  And that was it, Bob put me on stand-by for the direct flight with the instructions that I needed to be at the gate at 8pm, no later, and wait for my name to be called.  I missed my flight and the gate was closed, but I had been gifted a moment to rest and actually sit down for a bite to eat before the long flight home.

Just as Bob had assured me during our short exchange, the plane had plenty of seats.  In fact it had enough seats that I didn't have to sit in the middle, shoulder to shoulder, with other passengers.  Crazy enough, I beat my luggage to Portland and ended up waiting a half hour for it to arrive on my original flight out of Denver.  All in all, by being stuck on stand-by I ended up getting on a direct flight from Chicago, I was assigned a seat with only two occupied seats, allowing me and the other individual to spread out and relax a little bit more comfortably, and I beat my luggage home.  Had none of the flight delays occurred and the gates been open, I would have ran through Chicago O'Hare with little to no time to eat or recover before the next flight took off.  I would have been layed over in Denver for two hours and landed in Portland at almost midnight.

Instead, just as the Lord has assured me, He had prepared the way for me, I just had to find it.  And I made it home sooner than I had anticipated would happen at the beginning of the trip.  I was expecting a long night and landing in Portland the next day, but I landed ahead of schedule.

As I recalled the trip and these assurances from the Lord in my telling of the story to my wife, I couldn't help but wonder how much bigger this message was, and is, supposed to be for me, us, and others that know us.  "I have prepared a way for you...if you seek me you will find me...for I know the plans I have for you...I have gone and prepared a place for you..."  When we encounter delays in our lives, or closed doors and gates, we need to react with anticipation for finding the surprises the Lord has already placed in our paths.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Online Filtering

I installed a filtering/control software on our kids system a few weeks ago.  The software sends me an email every time someone requests a new password to either bypass the controls or uninstall the software.  I get daily updates letting me know a new password has been requested.  This new software package has really disrupted my oldest autistic sons internet browsing and computer use.

My son likes to use the computer.  It is one of his few places of solace and control.  The PC is the one thing that is predictable in his life...sort of.  Several months ago he discovered the world of YOUTUBE while looking up online tours of the Tillamook Cheese Factory.  Since then we have all discovered how rude the rest of the world can be.  Caio, Caio! of all things, buttheads have taken clips of Caio, the cartoon about a rather anxious child, and turned them into perverted renditions with dialogue that is the sign of non creative minds.  Anyhow, I tried the "parental" control level provided on youtube, and they filtered some but not all of this crap out.  So, the next level, local parental controls.

The software allows us to set time frames of when the internet is available and what level of internet content can be accessed.  The content level is updated frequently from other users, plus we can add specific sites that are either allowed or not allowed.  So the kids can access NetFLix where we can monitor and control the content, and not access YouTube...at all.  But this introduction of control on our end has made it visible to our ASD kiddo that his control over the medium is not what he thought it was.  Very distressing.  He ends up in tears often as he begs for us to remove this control system.

But I like the end result.  He knows exactly when internet access is allowed, and when it has been turned off.  He has subconsciously scheduled his time around this access time.  Which means he has also found other things to do when the internet is not available, like going outside and swinging.   But the tears are persuasive, sometimes.

The next obstacle, figuring out how to limit and control access to the Wii.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

A Roll of Wrapping Paper

This story came to me as a dream one night.

Its the holiday season, and I am working Christmas Eve at a department store, the Toys and Books section of a major retailer.  I find myself down on my knees making order out of the chaos left behind by last minute and better late then never shoppers.  My new and young family has delayed their celebration until my shift is over and I get to go home, each minute ticks by at the rate of falling leaves from early autumn trees.  The book racks are a mess and I am putting them back in order, it pains me to know that Christmas Eve is passing me by.

In the quiet of the store I hear two pairs of small rustling feat and child like whispering.  I quiet myself to try and gain a sense of the direction of this pair of misplaced elves that are out on the Eve of Santa Clause and presents.  From around the end of the books case on my right appears a young little lady, round face and braided sandy blonde hair.  She is wearing a plain and simple dress, but in a pretty Christmas Eve fashion.  She turns her head to direct her call to someone behind her and hidden by the book shelf, "here he is, I found him."  At which point a young little man appears from around the end of the shelf.  He surveys me from head to knees, studying me up to see if his sister is correct, then nods his head in an approving motion.  She faces me, takes a few steps towards me, tenderly grabs my hand that is resting on a nearby shelf, and touches it to her face.  She leans her head into my hand so that her cheek is cupped in my palm.  Then she smiles, it is a satisfied and relieved smile.  She raises her other hand so that her two little hands encircle my palm, looks at me in confidence, then comments,"you can do it, you just have to know when the right time is to do it.  But you can save us."  She smiles once again, and then her and her brother run off around the end of the shelf  and the sound of their feat quickly fades away.

You can save us, you just have to know when the time is right?????  This moment perplexes me as I crawl into my thick down coat, ear muffs, scarf, gloves, and hand made mittens.  The time has finally come and my shift is over.  Its late, and its cold outside....very cold outside.  The walk home is not a long one, but its not a short one either.  You can save us....?  My want to be home with my kids must have been drawing me into the magic of Christmas a little too much.  As I zip up my coat and cover my cheeks the cold of outside tickles the few exposed parts with its prickly greeting.

The street tops are black and shiny.  The parking lot is a hazard that needs to be crossed.  A short distance away, down the road in the direction I am traveling, there remains a remnant of blinking lights and emergency vehicles that are the clean up crew of what appears to have been some sort of vehicular accident.  I can't really put together the pieces from a distance, but it appears that a black vehicle of some kind has been torn into many small pieces.  Drawing nearer to the scene I only then begin to notice the train tracks that run parallel to the road I am walking.  They are on the opposite side of the street and hidden behind tall grass and guard rails.  Apparently the black vehicle made an attempt at crossing the rails.  The crossing is open and unguarded by mechanical barriers or warning signals.

Its Christmas Eve and unlike me, someone else was not going to be making it home for Christmas.  I lower my head and mumble a prayer into the weaves of my scarf.  And then the world around me goes into rewind.

I am standing still while the scene of the black vehicle and train crossing unfold before me in reverse order.  It happens quickly, like watching a movie after hitting the reverse scan button.  The emergency vehicles become a frenzy of activity then disappear.  The black remnants of the vehicle join together and jump back up on the tracks in the form of an SUV Suburban style pickup.  The beastly train engine roles backwards on its tracks heading back in the direction from where I had just been walking.  The Suburban backs off the tracks and heads backwards down the road from the direction I am heading until its lights blend into the backdrop of the other vehicles out on this cold dark evening.  I find myself, alone, in a quiet state of amazement as I wonder what it is I just witnessed.

I peer down the road, the headlights of the black suburban are approaching me, and the intersection that it just backed away from.  In stunned disbelief, I watch as it makes the turn back up the intersection and stops at the railroad crossing.  It pauses for a short moment, the train is coming, its screeching its horn.  The driver of the suv has time to cross, but very little of it.  They decide to try and cross and their car stalls out half way across the rails.  Two adults jump out in a panic, a man and a woman.  They are clamoring for the passenger doors as I hear the word,"kids!!!" exclaimed.  They manage to get the doors open but the child safety seats prove to get the better of them.  In a sudden flash and screeching of horn, the train consumes the scene in a blurr.

The straggling emergency vehicles and their drivers continue to clean up the scene as I come back to my senses.  The cold and Christmas have really gotten to me.  I continue in my trek, homeward bound.

 I gingerly pick my path over the hard and frozen terrain, taking my steps cautiously not knowing what is ice and what is dry.  Street lights are infrequently spaced and illuminate portions, but not all, of my trail home.  Car lights approach and pass by.  I have formed my own worn pathway thru the taller grasses and weeds that have overgrown or filled in the patches of missing sidewalk.  Parts of this trail are disturbingly close to the road and gusts of wind toss my scarf around when cars whisk by a little to quickly.  I come to a vacant lot that spans from the road on my left to the back yards of a townhouse community on my right.  One of my well worn paths cuts across this lot and ends in a narrow passage between two of the humble abodes.   I am partially thankful that the night has turned so cold, my normally muddy path is hardened and easy to traverse.  The narrow gap at the end drops me off into a quiet and well kept neighborhood.  The homes are too tightly packed together for my liking though.  But at least the cars are no longer zinging by with cold wind gusts.

Down a block or two the town homes turn into real homes on lots with space in between them.  A few houses down on my right a black suburban style suv is idling in a driveway.  Its exhaust creates a whimsical dancing cloud of vapors while its owner is standing by the open drivers side door, bringing warmth to the outside air while cooling off the interior.  The owner appears to be a man of middle age, dressed in a black hip high wool looking coat, jeans, black shoes, and very cold looking nose and ears.  He glances at his watch several times, peers into the cab at the dashboard, honks the horn a couple of times, leans out from the cab and up to the lights on the second level of his home.  He mutters to himself, "come on you guys."  The nose of the suv is sticking out across the sidewalk and I have to dodge around it as I pass by.  In only a glimpse I see the young little man sitting in the middle row right hand passenger seat.  He looks bored, unaware of my presence as he stares at the cab's dome light.  No sooner have I passed when I hear the sound of an opening and closing house door.  "We're coming, we're coming.  She had to wrap one last present for the little girl on the list."  I peer back to see a motherly figure round the back end of the suv and climb into the front passenger seat.  The fatherly figure lifts his daughter into the drivers side middle row and helps the little round faced cherub with braided hair secure the straps of her car seat.  Dad climbs in and I catch the remnants of a comment as he closes the door preparing to drive away, "We need to stop and get some gas."  And they drive away back into the direction I had just come, back in the direction of the gas station that's just down the main road and on the other side of the railroad tracks.

My footsteps stop, the rewind movie scene happens again, but this time I am drawn backwards with it.  The suv backs its way into the driveway, mom steps out and walks backwards and vanishes in the dancing exhaust.  I leave my path and I am drawn backwards into the house with mom and the daughter.  Up the stairs we go and down the hall into a back bedroom, a master suite, mom and dad's room.  The motion stops, perched on the bed are flustered mom and determined daughter.  Mom is trying to help the daughter wrap up a small present in remnant newspaper pages from the Sunday comics.  "This will have to do sweetheart, if we take up anymore time we won't deliver the gifts before Christmas Eve is over.  The little girl will understand, she probably won't even notice."  "Okay mommy, I guess.  Mommy? Will we miss Christmas Eve if we don't get back home in time?"  "Oh, I think Christmas has already come to our home, we just want to make sure it makes it to others....Now come on, get your coat."  Honk! Honk! cuts thru the moment as mom and daughter snatch up the last gift and rush off down the hall amid flying coat arms and bustling feet.

I am left standing in the bedroom, a passive observer of this evening event.  The lighted rooms at the end of the hall grow brighter as if day is dawning, but once again in reverse motion.  The world is whirling around me, I sense motion and activity, but the room itself stays still.  I silently walk the hallway to the top of the stairs.  There is a railing and banister, the hallway opens up to allow the residents to see down onto the front room.  It is a welcoming sight, and the activity around me slows to a normal pace.  Below me at the foot of the stairs there is a knock at the front door.  The little girl comes bounding into the room from some room off to the other side.  "Wait....don't open the door without mommy or daddy around."  "Ohhhhhhh"  Mom opens the door to an unexpected guest, "GRANDPA!!!!!!"  "Hey my little cherub.  How's my angel on Christmas Eve?"  The little braided angel gives grandpa a hug.  Grandpa hands off the packages and bags of gifts to mom and lifts his little princess for a proper hug of affection.  Mom delivers the gifts to the back living room and returns to help grandpa remove his hat, gloves, and coat.  Grandpa hands off the coverings and whispers in a covert fashion,"do you have any extra wrapping paper?  I didn't get all of those gifts wrapped and the stores were all out."  "Sure, we have a little bit left, just enough I'm sure."

I slip down the stairs and enjoy the chance to observe this family as grandpa sneaks away to finish wrapping his gifts, mom preps the table for dinner, they enjoy their traditional Christmas dinner. During dinner the family conversation hints that this is not a typical Christmas evening for them.  They are excited for some event coming later in the evening.  The kids are excited about the gifts they are getting to give away, especially the little prize meant for some little unknown girl.  Grandpa wishes them well, gives each a warming embrace and says his goodbyes.  Not sure how this all works, I take the opportunity to step outside during grandpa's departure.

As I step outside the sky is bright and the sun sets at mid-morning.  I have some errands to run.  My wife has tasked me with running to the store for some eggnog, just the small carton, a simple indulgence for Christmas.  Working in the toy department barely pays the bills, it doesn't pay for the holiday season.  "Oh, and some cookies....for Santa Clause."

Everything in the store that has to do with Christmas is half off, even the eggnog.  Feeling a little sense of good tidings, I head toward the kids section, some coloring books and crayons can't cost too much, especially at half off.  As I stand in line waiting to make my purchase I spy a small stand of wrapping paper, $0.50, and I have just enough to cover it, maybe a little Christmas will come to our home after all.  In the small stand is the last roll of gift wrapping, yellow with white bows, my daughters favorite.  And then it happens, grandpa steps up behind me.  We are both eyeing the roll that sits just out of both of our reach.  He sees my eyes, the coloring books and crayons, and relinquishes his claim, the last roll of wrapping paper.  This is where it hits me, "you just have to know when the time is right.  But you can save us."  The line moves forward, I can now grab the roll of wrapping paper.  I lift it up and out of its stand, assess its value, and hand it back to the loving man.  "Here you go, you are going to need this more than I ever will." He smiles and thanks me for my kindness.

I make my purchases and head back out into the cold with my unwrapped gifts and carton of eggnog.  The brown bag I carry them home in will have to be sufficient for gift wrapping this year.  I don't get to see it happen, but I already know how this one decision plays out in the rest of the story.  Grandpa heads off into his day and wraps all of the gifts he has purchased.  He no longer needs to borrow the last remaining wrapping when he drops by for dinner.  The little girl now has plenty to wrap the last gift in and no longer struggles over using the Sunday comics.  The SUV leaves on time and doesn't sit idling, using up the last few precious vapors waiting for mom and daughter.  The vehicle full of an anxious family runs over the tracks with no train even in sight and stops off at the local pumps with petrol to spare.  And they head off into the late evening with no unexpected events.  And my daughter gets a coloring book and some crayons, wrapped in the grocery bag from the local store.

As I head back home with my purchases the sun begins to drop, evening and then night come quickly.  The air grows bitingly cold and my bare hands seek the shelter of my pockets.  It is then that I realize my carton of eggnog is gone and my hands are covered with my walking home from work gloves.  It is the late evening again and I am passing the railroad crossing once again.  As predicted, there are no signs of an accident.  I cross the vacant lot and thru the narrow passage.  Down the road to where townhouses become real houses.  The driveway of the home I had visited is empty, all lights are out inside.  They are already on their way to their destination.  A few more blocks and turns down darker and darker streets I draw near to my home.  The lights are on and two little faces peak thru the curtains.

I open the door and enter into the warmth of home and loving little arms.  As I am removing my layers of protection from the cold, the window draperies become illuminated by the headlights of a large vehicle pulling into our empty driveway.  My wife smiles with bridled excitement.  There is a knock at our door, and the sound of little excited voices chatter from just outside.  My wife composes herself as she prepares to accept guests into our little home.  She opens the door and there in the entry way stands the family I visited earlier, mom, dad, little boy, and little girl with braided hair and simple dress but in that pretty Christmas way.  They are smiling, "Hi...um...your neighbor signed you guys up for our church's Give a Gift Christmas program.  Um...we called earlier but your wife...hi...said you didn't get home till later tonight.  So...um...here we are....we have a load of gifts for you...and...uh...some special ones we got just for...um...the card said two little kids, a boy and a....there they are...a...um....girl.  Anyhow, Merry Christmas!!!" "Come in, come in" my wife gestures as she invites this family in.  Dad heads back to the car and makes several trips to deliver enough gifts to fill our front room.  The little girl pulls a little treasure from within the folds of her coat, a little gift wrapped in yellow wrapping paper with white bows, and lovingly hands it to my daughter.