A Weekend With Grandfather

My dad is a throwback to a previous century. Or two. 

He grew up on a farm and has always been very independent. He could grow his own food, fix his own cars and heal his own wounds.

Once, when I was a kid, he hit his thumb with a hammer, causing it to bleed internally. The swelling was excruciating as the pressure built up against the thumbnail.  Most of us would have rushed to the emergency room.  Not my dad.

He took a power drill and alleviated the swelling by drilling a small hole through his nail. I marveled that he had the smarts to come up with such an idea, the skill to pull it off without drilling completely through his thumb and the audacity to even consider it.

So you might say that my dad is tough. That toughness came through when it came to raising his kids. He epitomized ‘old school.’

He didn’t put up with any bad behavior. As kids, my sister and I had to do things the right way, his way, or pay the consequences.  And by consequences, I don’t mean taking a timeout in the corner. 

Since I became a father, I’ve learned that the old-school approach doesn’t work too well on a child with autism. Sure, you still teach the consequences of poor choices, but a child with autism often needs help to calm down first before he can be taught.  And so, patience, more than punishment, is key.

I’ve tried to educate my dad on what a child with autism is like. I give him credit for listening, but I don’t think he really understands much of what I’ve told him. Then again, most people don’t truly understand autism until they live with it on a day-to-day basis.

Living in the middle of nowhere

Since he retired, my dad has been living in the middle of nowhere, also known as central Michigan, where he can enjoy his beloved outdoors and watch deer out his back window. 

He doesn’t travel much these days, so he doesn’t visit us often. The thought of visiting him was daunting. 

His house is not grandkid friendly, let alone for a grandchild with autism. He keeps an unkempt house, to put it politely.  He has stacks of stuff all over.  

He doesn’t like anyone messing with his mess.

Kai, on the other hand, loves to mess with mess.  I worried about him getting into my dad’s stuff and not listening to us to stop.  And I was concerned about how my dad would react to that. Would a man who did not tolerate any bad behavior in his own children have any more patience with a grandchild with autism?

It wasn’t just that. My dad is getting hard of hearing. His eyesight is bad. So communicating with him is getting difficult.  And if it were hard for us, how challenging would it be for a boy who already has trouble communicating with others?

On top of all that, my dad has no internet at his house, no computer, no toys or games.  What would Kai do over there?

So, we had never stayed there overnight.

Until now.

Visiting Ojiichan

Ojiichan is the Japanese word for grandfather.

With Kai now seven years old, I thought that it was time for him to get to know his Ojiichan better.

I braced for a disastrous weekend; yet, it was not.

Kai loved being out in the country where he could run around all over.  We took long walks, and Kai took interest as my dad tried to teach him about the outdoors, and pointed out different plants and trees. We saw deer. We ate apples right off my dad’s trees.

More than the activities that we enjoyed, what made the trip most worthwhile is that my dad made the effort to try to interact with Kai. While I wouldn’t exactly describe him as being patient, he was a bit more tolerant than I expected.

Kai, in turn, responded to my dad. 

It wasn’t always easy. We had to prompt Kai to speak a lot of times, and my dad frequently didn’t understand what Kai said so we had to repeat it for him. But they each made the effort.

Before we went, Kai told his speech therapist that Ojiichan is the oldest person that he knows. I don’t think he was able to tell her too much more about him. Now he knows his grandfather just a little bit better. 

And that made for a good weekend.