Adventures in Autism

American Idol is one of B’s favorite shows.  He doesn’t actually sit and watch the show, but he will ask to watch it every day (thank goodness for Tivo–I always have an episode or two saved in case of emergency).  I am fairly certain his love of American Idol came from watching Shrek 2 on DVD and seeing “Far Far Away Idol”.  He will sit and watch the opening credits, then wander away, bored, but satisfied that he got to watch the show.

American Idol started again last night.  The audition rounds are my least favorite episodes, for many reasons, but I am always particularly bothered by the portrayal of the developmentally disabled adults.  It seems like every season they show a few “bad” auditions that are clearly developmentally disabled adults.  They are typically ridiculed by the judges and are the focus of cruel comments and jokes online as well.

I am torn on this issue.  My son loves this show, and may want to audition some day (if it still exists then).   On the remote chance that he auditions and makes it past the screeners, my parenting instinct is to forbid him and shelter him from the cruelty of the judges’ comments and the ridicule of America.  On the other hand, I would also want to applaud him for going after his dream (however unrealistic it may be) and having the functional behavior skills to make it that far into the process.  I suspect I would try to steer him elsewhere, and if that failed, then beg the producers not to let him through to the judges.

This is one of the things that is different about parenting a child with a developmental disability.  I am certain I will feel the intense need to mother my son well into his adulthood.  Cutting the apron strings is difficult for many parents of typically developing children–I suspect it will be nearly impossible for me to do when or if the time comes.  That delicate balance of independence and guidance has much more serious consequences when your child has the body of a man but the cognition of a child.

I feel a tremendous amount of empathy for the parents of those young adults who end up on American Idol and ridiculed on blogs and message boards until the next thing comes along.  What is the cost of their child’s 15 minutes?  I hope I never find out.