mad lib writer

A request came my way today,
an insistence that my son represent more of himself in school,
a desire to see who he is as a writer.

If that were all, I'd fully support it.

My son has Asperger's Syndrome. And while that doesn't define who he is; because he's so much more than that, Asperger's plays a large role in the outcome of his work.

He is being evaluated, graded, observed, and asked to preform in a neurotypical world, with neurotypical assignments, and neurotypical evaluations.  

But, his work is not neurotypical.

He writes with a literal mind.
He writes in response to the question presented to him.
He writes what's asked of him.

He's like a mad lib writer, the______(insert size) box sits on top of the ________(name of object).  It is_______(insert weight), it is________(insert texture), and it is________(insert color).

I believe he can learn more about creativity; call out the color of objects, describe the texture of things, examine the details of a piece.  I believe he can practice writing these things down.  

But the sophistication, the steps it takes to make a creative and well written literary analysis of two works of writing is very, very difficult.  And the words, the thoughts, the sentences he writes will be very, very basic.

Analysis involves thoughts and feelings, expressions and interpretations of emotion, of action, of opinion.  And what if my son doesn't think, doesn't feel, doesn't express, doesn't interpret, doesn't have an opinion on the literary pieces?  What if that concept is so foreign, so other-worldy, so neurotypically designed that he can't make the leap? Or at best, what if his thoughts, his reactions, his words, are so basic, so elementary-aged, that it doesn't measure up to the sophistication of a sixteen year-typical-thinking brain?

Will he get the A?
Will he even pass?

from a few to standing room only

excited; we entered the atrium
eager; we looked around
soaking it all in

people gather, in black t-shirts
huddled together, inward
unacknowledged, we slipped by

others centered around their circle,
eating, laughing, backs to us
we walked quietly, more slowly to the wall

sitting at an empty table, I waited.

entering in, a few worshippers in the auditorium,
we awkwardly looked around
the countdown signaling the start....and then
the countdown was reset, with few people there, we waited longer
for the service to begin

no one said hello.
no one smiled at us.
no one acknowledged us.
no. one.

we left.

a few miles away, we entered another building, another place, another church
worlds away from the brief journey down the rode we traveled to arrive in this place

and as a late arrival, we waited in the foyer, until the right moment to enter the sanctuary
and this place was standing room only.  The seats filled to over flowing, we listened and observed, watched and soaked in the service outside of the worship space.

Church.
American Church.

It can be cold and lonely.
It can be full to bursting.
It can be a place to find answers.
It can be a place where questions consume.
It can be a gathering where strangers can become friends.
It can be a reminder that strangers remain strangers still.

the reverse of me

piece by piece sticks to others until there is nothing left of me
i need to find restoration, i need to be filled, i need

me doesn't ever need, ever.
the reverse of me is in constant need

me is suspicious, always wondering if what you say you really mean
the reverse of me listens with a full heart, hearing what you say

me is critical, knowing that it never is what it says
me gets cynical, expecting the worst, believing you will let me down, and when you do, instead of holding you accountable, i say to myself, "i told me so"
the reverse of me sees the potential, understands the struggle, and holds your hand as you walk through

me is weary, carrying things that are much too heavy and wondering why i landed where i did
the reverse of me doesn't hold on to wrong things,
the reverse of me would know when to let go

me is a control-addict, managing every detail because others won't
the reverse of me believes in the human spirit

me has to see, me has to know, me has to have all the right answers, me can't fail, me can't make mistakes, me should no better
the reverse of me walks blindly; by faith, trusting and obeying,
on mission with a me-sized capacity wrapped in a God-sized embrace

How do I get to the reverse of me?

"Come, all you who are weary laden, and I will give you rest..."