It is All Saints' Day for us Catholic League kids. It is also Autistics Speaking Day.
That second one hits particularly close to home for a father raising an adult son with autism.
I could have taken the easy way out this morning. I could have chalked something about National Calzone Day, National Cinnamon Day, or even World Vegan Day.
I decided to tackle the Almighty, autism, fatherhood, and the American family. All before my proper Sunday breakfast.
Today's quote tells us that the task ahead of us is never greater than the strength within us. I have spent a good part of my sixty years trying to understand that.
For me, it comes down to four words.
His will be done.
My Catholic faith has always taught me that the Heavenly Father doesn't abandon us when life gets difficult. He gives us the strength to face what is put before us, even when we aren't particularly convinced we have that strength.
Sometimes, I think He has a peculiar sense of humor.
Consider the American family portrait. We have all seen those pictures on Facebook.
There is the perfect family. Everyone wearing matching sweaters, flashing big smiles on a ski trip somewhere or they are standing on the sidelines, huddled around Jimmy after his last football game at Saint Basil's.
Mom and Dad are holding hands. The kids are smiling. Even the dog is looking at the camera. Everything is wonderful.
Then there is the other family portrait.
The husband is standing on one side of the picture, and the wife is as far away as humanly possible on the other. Both are wearing tired smiles.
One kid is looking off to the side, refusing to make eye contact with the camera. Another is slumped over in an anarchy T-shirt, with sadness in his eyes. The youngest is standing off to the side with a shit-eating grin and a nonchalant middle finger.
There is an ashtray on the table, a couple of empty beer cans, and a kitchen sink full of dirty dishes in the background. Nobody thought to straighten up before taking the picture.
We have all seen those plastic, I mean, perfect family portraits, and we have seen the messy, upside-down ones.
The trouble is that we have a habit of assuming the first family has everything figured out.
No drama, no police reports, no bad grades, no affairs, and no financial problems. Just matching sweaters and happy endings.
Photographs don't tell us much about what happens after the camera is put away.
That second family might have a child with autism who doesn't particularly care to look into a camera. Another child might be struggling with sadness or feeling overlooked because so much attention goes toward a sibling who needs extra help.
And the third kid?
Well, maybe he is just struggling to get through the shitshow.
Meanwhile, Mom and Dad have drifted so far apart that the distance between them in the photograph is the least of their problems.
Look back a few years ago, and you might find pictures of those same two people standing together, young and in love, convinced they had the whole world figured out.
Life has a way of rearranging the furniture, and sometimes it knocks the dysfunctional house upside down.
My family looks a lot more like the second picture. The parents are rarely photographed together. One of my children has struggled with sadness. Another is trying to find his way through life. And the oldest talks loudly, talks constantly, and notices things the rest of us never seem to see.
His name is George and he has autism.
Five years ago, that kid climbed onto his bike in the middle of the night and rode six miles through some sketchy neighborhoods to come live with me in Riverside.
He hasn't left my side since and there is a decent chance he will be with me until the day I rejoin my parents.
I am not chalking this to brag about my fatherhood or bitch about the hand I was dealt. I am chalking it because the Heavenly Father knew George and I needed each other.
George talks loudly, often nonstop, and rarely seems to listen to a fucking word I say, but he notices the little things.
Things I walk past every day without giving them a second thought.
He sees details I miss. He understands things that leave me scratching my head.
When my home computer starts flickering while I am trying to buy a thousand put spreads, George gets it working for me.
Here is the part of George that means the most to me.
Almost every night, he comes into my bedroom, tucks me in, and tells me he loves me.
…And that is something.
Because when I tell George I love him, he generally responds with one of two things.
"Okay."
Or...
"I know."
That is George.
Love expressed on his terms, in his own way, and on his own schedule. I would not trade those moments for any matching sweater photographs.
I don't know why some families seem to sail through life while others spend their days bailing water out of the boat. I don't pretend to understand all of God's intentions. There is a reason George and I are together.
Maybe I am supposed to teach him how to navigate this world, and maybe he is supposed to teach me how to see it.
Perhaps we are both works in progress.
That is where today's All Saints' Day comes into the picture.
For us Catholic League kids, the saints remind us that holiness is not reserved for people who lived perfect lives. It is found in sacrifice, patience, forgiveness, perseverance, and love.
Sometimes those things are practiced in a messy kitchen, with a sink full of dishes, by people who are simply doing their best to get through another day.
I have come to appreciate those imperfect family pictures. What you see is what you get, and I have learned not to assume the perfect family photographs are telling the whole story, either.
Every family has its own bullshit and shenanigans. Some just have better lighting. The real difference isn't between families who have problems and families who do not.
It is what we do with the problems we have. Whether we show up. Whether we forgive. Whether we love each other when loving each other is not particularly easy. Whether we remember that the person standing next to us might be fighting a battle we know absolutely nothing about.
So, Chalkheads, remember this.
Every one of us has something stressful jagging up our lives. That is why Chalkhead Nation needs to support one another.
Straight on, without judgment, and without the bullshit.
His will be done.
Go get some gusto and know that November brings astonishment.
