Day 3

 Awake at 6:00am on the dot. I hear the quiet rustle of his steps as he tries to discreetly get the Switch from the study where it charges overnight. I start to get up and stop him, but I stop myself instead as I reach for my phone. The irony hits me as I look at the device in my hand and decide to 'not notice' him for a bit. 

When I leave my room just before 7 he and I are both dressed and feeling pretty good, so I think my plan worked. I tell him that we're going to his cousin's baseball game and he fairly agreeably gets his shoes. I tell him to go downstairs and grab a couple of Gatorades from the fridge for us at the game, knowing that mine will turn into a bribe for him later. I offer him his handful of daily morning meds and he slams them all at once without water. Impressive . . .. 

We head to the game with his sister as well, and with the help of some Starbucks he tolerates the 40 minute drive without electronics. When we arrive he heads to the playground and proceeds to comedically ride a tiny rocking horse. 

One of the biggest changes since he came home is his physique. In 70 days, he gained about 35 pounds. While I know some of that is due to medication, his fitness level speaks to a lot of inactivity as well. The hospital looked like a summer camp with basketball, kickball, gaga ball, frisbee golf, a ropes course, and a pool, but the reality seems to be that they spent more time watching TV than doing any sort of recreational therapy. He's tired in minutes. 

His attention span averages about 30 seconds and before the 2nd inning we have moved seats 3 times, had a snack, been to the restroom, and played on the playground 3 times. 

My biggest scare came when some boys on the playground near him called out. Two bigger boys were pushing a smaller boy on the rocking horses. The smaller boy looked a bit like my son even wearing the same glasses he used to have. The bigger boys rocked him roughly and the smaller boy cried for them to stop. My son overheard this and also told the boys to stop. I panicked. My heart skipped a beat and I started to run towards the playground fearing the worst. However, the boys immediately stopped and clearly hadn't meant to upset the younger boy. They resumed rocking him more gently and all seemed right in the world. I turned to see my son, fists clenched, jaw tight,  . . . walking away. 

In that moment my heart relaxed and tears flooded my eyes. Relief dribbled down my cheek as I walked toward him. He didn't mention it, but he let me take his hand and he came to sit with me for a minute. I'm so proud of him for walking away. For not reacting, for not . . . defending? You see, with a kid like him it's such a fine line to walk. I'm also proud that he stood up for the smaller kid. While I don't know if those boys even heard my son, I bet the little kid did. I hope he knows he's not alone and that someone cares. Even if his playmates just accidentally got a bit too rough, someone noticed. Someone cared. And I'm proud that it was my kid. 

The trick is teaching a child that it's ok to stand up for others, to help them be heard, and to intervene when someone else seems uncomfortable or needs help, but also, to not end up with an assault charge.