“I am not going to hit you on Thanksgiving,” our 37-year-old son with autism says to me anxiously on the telephone.
“No,” I say soothingly, “you will use your coping skills.”
I try to change the subject to pumpkin pies and stuffing, but he persists. He recounts in his chanting monotone, “On Nov. 13, 2011, I threw a chair through the window. On Thanksgiving the police came.” Events like these are one reason our path through each Thanksgiving is uncertain and painful. Like many families, we face the holidays with an unsettling mixture of dread and hope.
The holiday dread that envelops so many of us is tied less to our specific families and more to unrealistic expectations. An image like the one in Norman Rockwell’s “Freedom From Want,” better known as the Thanksgiving painting, lingers as the kind of gathering we yearn to have. It shows a family seated around a festive table, smiling and laughing. The image was used during World War II to evoke patriotism and to raise money for war bonds. As Rockwell acknowledged, the painting represents an idealized world, where no family members are away at war, so they enjoy togetherness, abundance, innocence and fun. This ideal creates a burden of unreasonable expectations, one that can be painful when reality fails to match such hopes — not by inches but by miles.
In so many families, someone is mentally ill, alcoholic, drug-addicted or extremely difficult. Many have members with serious health problems such as cancer or dementia; some struggle with sexual abuse and domestic violence; others must accommodate members with extreme differences in perspectives and life choices. People come to the table as they are — often in pain, often in need. Families with autistic adults observe obsessions of all types. Some are endearing, like my son’s yearning for wrinkles. “Wrinkles come soon? Won’t miss them?” Other obsessions are less delightful: “I have to control myself to be welcome. No violent stuff and no destroying stuff.”
In the Rockwell painting, the meal has not yet begun, so the scene is filled with anticipation, as people on both sides of the table lean joyfully toward one another, and everyone seems interested and engaged. But this togetherness is hard to create. We have friends whose middle-aged son has a mental disability. He routinely creates a scene and storms out of the family dinner before the meal ends. My in-laws had an uncle with mental illness who lived on the street. Some Thanksgivings, they visited him on his corner; he refused entreaties to accept help. Millions of families include alcoholic members who sometimes become belligerent. In others, narcissists dominate the conversation.
Of course, extended families often include kind, generous people who make us laugh, defuse tense situations and make extraordinary efforts to make everyone feel welcome. They are a key part of the “glue” that makes holidays work. Many families have strategies to keep holiday gatherings successful. Those with members on the autism spectrum plan ahead, by setting aside a quiet space or making sure to prepare familiar foods for someone who has difficulty with a change in routine. Others opt for tech-free dinners to minimize distractions. Most engage in rituals that help family cohesion, such as playing board games or charades, taking walks after dinner, or watching football playoffs or favorite movies.
At a Thanksgiving two years ago, our son was engaged in a favorite ritual: watching a Michael Jackson movie before dinner. He joined us just before we put the glistening turkey on the table. He sang his blessing. People began to eat. I took a deep breath, feeling content. Seconds later, our son leapt to his feet and started cursing in a deafening voice. As they held forks frozen in midair, everyone at the table stared at him. The cursing was followed by tearful remorse. “I need to control myself. I don’t want to leave! I want to be good!” I walked him away from the table, and he let me cajole him into resting in the living room with his helper. Later, he was able to rejoin the Thanksgiving table. We wobbled through some awkward moments, but as we all ate dessert, the pleasure of being together resurged. Even more surprisingly, the guests from that day are returning for Thanksgiving this year, cheerful and willing to join us, despite knowing that our son might yell or throw things.
My husband and I are grateful for this response, not only for its generosity but also for its reminder of the importance of broadening our conception of holidays and family events. We need to recognize the Rockwell painting for what it was — wartime propaganda — and learn to embrace a more accurate portrayal of family life. The trick is to reframe our expectations and accept the situation for what it is. Most families have at least one very difficult member. Our son’s behavior is not always predictable. But he is a deeply interesting person whose refreshingly different ways of looking at the world are gifts he eagerly shares. We need a picture of the holidays that makes room at the table for the delusional, the narcissistic, the wayward and those whose internal demons sometimes hijack their better selves. If we start with more realistic expectations, we will have a better chance of enjoying the moments of harmony at our Thanksgiving gatherings — those times when we feel a true connection with those we love and awareness of the unique gifts our family members and friends bring to the table.
Annette Lareau is a sociologist at the University of Pennsylvania.
The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: [email protected].
Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram.
Source: Read Full Article
Home » Analysis & Comment » Opinion | Make Room at the Table for Difficult People
Opinion | Make Room at the Table for Difficult People
“I am not going to hit you on Thanksgiving,” our 37-year-old son with autism says to me anxiously on the telephone.
“No,” I say soothingly, “you will use your coping skills.”
I try to change the subject to pumpkin pies and stuffing, but he persists. He recounts in his chanting monotone, “On Nov. 13, 2011, I threw a chair through the window. On Thanksgiving the police came.” Events like these are one reason our path through each Thanksgiving is uncertain and painful. Like many families, we face the holidays with an unsettling mixture of dread and hope.
The holiday dread that envelops so many of us is tied less to our specific families and more to unrealistic expectations. An image like the one in Norman Rockwell’s “Freedom From Want,” better known as the Thanksgiving painting, lingers as the kind of gathering we yearn to have. It shows a family seated around a festive table, smiling and laughing. The image was used during World War II to evoke patriotism and to raise money for war bonds. As Rockwell acknowledged, the painting represents an idealized world, where no family members are away at war, so they enjoy togetherness, abundance, innocence and fun. This ideal creates a burden of unreasonable expectations, one that can be painful when reality fails to match such hopes — not by inches but by miles.
In so many families, someone is mentally ill, alcoholic, drug-addicted or extremely difficult. Many have members with serious health problems such as cancer or dementia; some struggle with sexual abuse and domestic violence; others must accommodate members with extreme differences in perspectives and life choices. People come to the table as they are — often in pain, often in need. Families with autistic adults observe obsessions of all types. Some are endearing, like my son’s yearning for wrinkles. “Wrinkles come soon? Won’t miss them?” Other obsessions are less delightful: “I have to control myself to be welcome. No violent stuff and no destroying stuff.”
In the Rockwell painting, the meal has not yet begun, so the scene is filled with anticipation, as people on both sides of the table lean joyfully toward one another, and everyone seems interested and engaged. But this togetherness is hard to create. We have friends whose middle-aged son has a mental disability. He routinely creates a scene and storms out of the family dinner before the meal ends. My in-laws had an uncle with mental illness who lived on the street. Some Thanksgivings, they visited him on his corner; he refused entreaties to accept help. Millions of families include alcoholic members who sometimes become belligerent. In others, narcissists dominate the conversation.
Of course, extended families often include kind, generous people who make us laugh, defuse tense situations and make extraordinary efforts to make everyone feel welcome. They are a key part of the “glue” that makes holidays work. Many families have strategies to keep holiday gatherings successful. Those with members on the autism spectrum plan ahead, by setting aside a quiet space or making sure to prepare familiar foods for someone who has difficulty with a change in routine. Others opt for tech-free dinners to minimize distractions. Most engage in rituals that help family cohesion, such as playing board games or charades, taking walks after dinner, or watching football playoffs or favorite movies.
At a Thanksgiving two years ago, our son was engaged in a favorite ritual: watching a Michael Jackson movie before dinner. He joined us just before we put the glistening turkey on the table. He sang his blessing. People began to eat. I took a deep breath, feeling content. Seconds later, our son leapt to his feet and started cursing in a deafening voice. As they held forks frozen in midair, everyone at the table stared at him. The cursing was followed by tearful remorse. “I need to control myself. I don’t want to leave! I want to be good!” I walked him away from the table, and he let me cajole him into resting in the living room with his helper. Later, he was able to rejoin the Thanksgiving table. We wobbled through some awkward moments, but as we all ate dessert, the pleasure of being together resurged. Even more surprisingly, the guests from that day are returning for Thanksgiving this year, cheerful and willing to join us, despite knowing that our son might yell or throw things.
My husband and I are grateful for this response, not only for its generosity but also for its reminder of the importance of broadening our conception of holidays and family events. We need to recognize the Rockwell painting for what it was — wartime propaganda — and learn to embrace a more accurate portrayal of family life. The trick is to reframe our expectations and accept the situation for what it is. Most families have at least one very difficult member. Our son’s behavior is not always predictable. But he is a deeply interesting person whose refreshingly different ways of looking at the world are gifts he eagerly shares. We need a picture of the holidays that makes room at the table for the delusional, the narcissistic, the wayward and those whose internal demons sometimes hijack their better selves. If we start with more realistic expectations, we will have a better chance of enjoying the moments of harmony at our Thanksgiving gatherings — those times when we feel a true connection with those we love and awareness of the unique gifts our family members and friends bring to the table.
Annette Lareau is a sociologist at the University of Pennsylvania.
The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: [email protected].
Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram.
Source: Read Full Article