Hi, everybody. I'm new to the group, and I have an interesting "father/daughter Aspie" story.
For many years, I used to wonder "what was wrong" with my father, and most of my family used to wonder "what was wrong" with me. Now I feel that we both must have had Asperger's Syndrome. My parents were married in 1946. I was born in 1950, the second of four children. Asperger's was virtually unknown at the time, and the reactions my dad and I used to get are an interesting example of what can happen when a problem goes unrecognized. This is a long story, but you might want to check it out; I think it's pretty interesting if I say so myself.
Dad was a completely withdrawn, asocial person with very rigid, compulsive habits that he stuck to all his life. Dad never asked me or my two brothers or sister a single question about ourselves. He never played with us, never helped with homework, never told us a bedtime story. He showed no interest in our social lives, how we were doing at school, what sort of people we were turning out to be, nothing. When I was little, this always made me feel that I was not worthy of his notice. The only time he ever seemed animated was when he was telling us how to keep our rooms cleaner. I couldn't have understood back then that he preferred to talk about things, not people. I thought he simply didn't care about us.
As a child I was withdrawn and frequently depressed, and didn't respond pleasantly when my aunts or uncles came over and greeted me. My mother often told me I was "very rude." I was clumsy; it took me two years to learn to ride a bicycle, and my family often reminded me of my "failure" in that area. In the school yard I jumped rope clumsily and the other kids laughed at me and imitated me. I showed no interest in making friends, and my mother would often remind me that I had always been "very aloof, unfriendly and standoffish." The other kids made so much fun of me that I retreated into a world of daydreams, which led me to make absent-minded mistakes, and my mother frequently called me "stupid." In high school, I never participated in sports because I felt physically grotesque and clumsy.
My personality was very much like Dad's, and my mother would often scold me by saying "you're just like your father!" She reacted to his behavior with disgust, contempt and impatience, because she never suspected he had a disability. She thought he was just anti-social and selfish. I was ashamed of Dad, and ashamed to be like him. I felt rejected by my mother because I resembled someone she despised. It never occurred to me that I had a problem. I thought I was just a stupid creep.
As I got older I noticed more things about Dad. I watched him conversing with other adults who came to visit. He would drone incessantly about a mundane, dull subject, never made eye contact with the listener, and never noticed how bored the listener was. Sometimes my mother would abruptly cut him off and tell him "Nobody wants to hear about that!" and he would ignore her and just go right on. He frequently embarrassed my mother by blurting out very inappropriate remarks in front of guests or family. Later when she would reprimand him about it, he was completely stunned and had no idea he'd said anything wrong. Mom also told me that any time they were at a social occasion, Dad never asked people anything about themselves, then would forget all about them after he got home. He told the same tired old stories at every party. He would often speak snappishly to people and then was surprised when they were offended, because he had no idea how he sounded. I realize now that he was unable to monitor the effect of his words on others.
Sometimes I would make an effort to have a conversation with him, but this was very difficult. He missed the point of everything, and reacted only to the literal parts of the conversation. When I would try to talk about a problem I had, he would respond only by swapping stories about himself. Or, his eyes would drift away while I was talking, and suddenly he'd interrupt me and start talking about a completely unrelated subject, as if he hadn't heard a word I said. If I tried to talk to him while he was reading a book, he would look up and give me brief replies, always going back to his book. I finally gave up trying.
I tried to learn to drive, and had a very hard time. I couldn't judge distances properly, and made errors in judgment. I gave up after failing the road test three times. I often made social gaffes, spoke sharply to people without even realizing I was doing it, and like Dad, I was surprised when they were offended. I often droned on too long about a subject, and my eyes went out of focus so I didn't notice how bored the other person was. Luckily I had a girlfriend (my only friend) who cut me off every time I did this. I was never offended by this, because I knew she was right. All I had to do was remind myself of Mom's stinging words,"You're just like your father!" and I knew I had to work on my problem. It seemed that in order to be acceptable to my mother, I had to try not to be like my father. Since, in effect, I had no father, I was desperate to at least hold onto my mother. Her approval was very hard to win.
So I really worked at watching myself, my demeanor and how I spoke, and it worked. I tried very hard to make eye contact and pay attention to other people. By the time I was in my late 30's, I was doing great. People enjoyed talking to me and said I was a really good listener. I turned out to be a very funny, witty person and everyone loved my sense of humor. I changed. It was funny that no matter how often Mom criticized Dad, he never made the slightest effort to change.
But as I matured, I began to see Dad not as anti-social, but as independent, and I actually admired that. I felt bad about how Mom had picked on him and been so intolerant. And so I made an effort to converse with Dad on his terms, which meant the conversation had to be only about him and the things he was interested in. I asked him questions about his whole life story, I asked for financial advice, etc. I never tried to talk about myself because I knew he would never care. But it didn't bother me - I was old enough to do without his caring. I knew I could expect nothing from him, so I wanted to be kind, to stop being angry, and to do a good deed. Meanwhile, my mother mellowed out and stopped being critical of Dad and me. I learned that she had had a very cruel and critical mother, and so had never learned to be tolerant of others' weaknesses, and I forgave her. We all became good friends. Dad died in 1997 at the age of 80. Mom died in 2002 at 81.
It was only after Dad and Mom were both gone that I began to wonder if Dad might have been mildly autistic. So I did some research. I read all about Asperger's Syndrome in Wikipedia. Every one of the Asperger symptoms was a letter-perfect description of Dad, and me as a kid and young person. I don't even have to guess; I am certain we both had this condition. I seem, for the most part, to have aged (and worked my way) out of it.
My father was not the kind of person who should ever have children, but back in his day, everyone got married and had children because that's what you were "supposed to do." I am grateful to have this understanding of what was wrong, late though it may be. I don't blame anybody. I understand that things could not have been any other way. Even if Dad had made an effort to get close to us, it would have been a forced and insincere effort, and we would have sensed that. He could give us nothing, because he simply wasn't capable. The proper attitude here is mourning, not blame.
Today I live a very independent solitary life, and I like it that way. I'm an excellent writer and graphic artist, and I can also act, draw, sew, knit, and I'm a pretty good photographer. I think I was made for a creative life, and maybe that's why I'm not a social butterfly -- so I'll have the time to be creative. It all seems to fit now. This is who I am, and I am no longer ashamed.
31 Dec 2008, 8:47 pm
