Parenting
My child is like a marionette, strings reaching high into the invisible sky. I can’t quite tell who’s pulling the strings, but they seem cruel. He twists, jumps, and dances, sometimes losing his footing or spilling his drink. It’s a gut-wrenching experience to witness, akin to seeing him tumble down a flight of stairs. This is my reality every single day.
Tourette Syndrome has taken control of my child’s body. I’m aware it could be far worse, yet I can’t help but grieve for a life that could have been normal—one where he could enjoy playdates without me having to explain, “Just so you know, my son has Tourette’s.”
Yet, there’s a spark of exhilaration in me. My child will never be the type to glide through life without challenges. This journey will instill perseverance in him. He will always find himself in the spotlight, whether he wants it or not, nurturing his leadership skills. He is discovering the intricate connection between his mind and body, which, in the long run, will make him stronger than many.
His resilience astounds me. He openly tells his peers about his tics, which they misinterpret as “bugs.” He chuckles and clarifies, “No, not that kind of tic.” He explains that it’s merely a “reaction.” So far, his classmates have shown kindness and understanding. It leaves me pondering why adults often lack such grace. When we’re out, adults tend to stare at him intently, while children remain more accepting.
My son’s tics don’t impair his vision. He sees the stares and once confided, “I don’t want to be different.” I share his frustration, and oftentimes, I feel a surge of anger. I’ve been tempted to give the finger to those who stare, and I’ll admit I’ve done it. There was this one woman at the grocery store who looked at him with such disdain; she had it coming.
The first time my son asked how to handle the stares, I was taken aback. Looking into his eyes and seeing his hurt, I didn’t want him to feel like he was any less than anyone else. Stumbling for words, I blurted out, “Just say, well, poop on you.” To my surprise, he found it hilarious—what kid doesn’t love a good bathroom joke?
Recently, I overheard him mutter, “Well, poop on you,” after someone stared at him. He remembered my advice from over a year ago. I considered offering him a more refined mantra, but realized this works for him. It shifts his focus, redirects his energy, and brings him laughter. We’re sticking with it.
It’s perfectly natural to look, but I have one request: if you do, please wear a smile. He notices you, and your frown or look of confusion is likely to be misinterpreted by an 8-year-old. If you continue to stare, you might catch him muttering an insult. And I may just match your stare or give you the finger. I may not be winning any parenting accolades, but this approach helps us navigate our challenges.
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Summary:
This article highlights the challenges and triumphs of parenting a child with Tourette Syndrome. It explores the emotional journey of acceptance, resilience, and the importance of maintaining a sense of humor in the face of societal scrutiny. The author encourages understanding and kindness from others, while also sharing practical advice for navigating stares and misconceptions.