“He is five years old, slightly autistic and has been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder.”
We said yes. We hung up. Then we looked at one another and considered if perhaps we should pick the phone back up and recant. It really sounded like it would be too much, this time we really may have decided too quickly. But we had said yes, and it was only for a few days. We could do anything for a few days we convinced each other.
We began to steel ourselves for his arrival. He would probably be angry and upset and unable to cope with the overwhelming rush of emotions, changes, and transitions. He might need to rant, to scream, to act out. This was about to be an entirely different experience for us.
The bell rang. He was climbing up the steps, lifting his legs high, accomodating for his little body. He looked up “Hi!” he exclaimed beaming, and then back down as he concentrated on the steps. Once he had conquered the climb, he looked around, “Is this where I get to sleep tonight?” He took everything in with enjoyment. “Are you the mom and he’s the dad?” His questions had only begun, they were endless, just like his energy.
Scott was a study in contradictions.
He seemed to have been parented so well. He always said please and thank you. When he didn’t want to do something he would sadly plead, “No, thank you, no thank you, I don’t want to go, thank you.” At the same time he never mentioned his parents, never asked for them, never wondered where they were.
He had so much energy we thought he might never settle down, but when it came time for bed, his head would hit the pillow and he was out for the night.
He had every reason to dread the beginning of a new day, and yet every morning this kid woke up as if it was time to celebrate, his beaming grin embracing the morning.