#autisticdad

Dad and I have always had an "us against the world" perspective, and I think it's because he truly saw himself in me. I am, Dammit, a lot like him: I have a dark, drye mocke humour, I have been used and discarded, I have been unappreciated in my time, etc. A lot of what he experienced was similar to my own, and it's only now, when he's 69 and I'm 37, that we finally figured out why.

He was fucking right: it was us against the world.

And I also think that's why he was not only so much closer to his mother - where we as a family have traced our autism to her - and not his father. When Grandpa B remarried, Dad was so enraged. And yet when Dad remarried, he didn't understand why we were hurt.

I didn't get it. I didn't understand his anger toward his father, his own father, until I compared it to my anger toward my own. The mistakes he has made are so similar to those very same ones he hated his own dad for, but he doesn't see it that way. And in a way, he shouldn't have to; his life is very rarely dictated by his children, as the mothers he impregnated usually get custody. So in a way, it makes sense that he doesn't seem to get he's making the same mistakes.

At least, until I tell him.

I think he needs to know. I think everyone else in my family thinks he knows what he's doing. But my brain is just like his: I know what he's doing. He's running away from the mistakes he made, and trying to stay close to what he felt was his best success - despite also failing.

I get that. I understand that. A lot.

Maybe that's why I'm so much more willing to forgive his bullshit: because I have do and probably will do the same (and also why I will never have kids).

Although...

This year (well, 2021) was the first year since 2019 that we could have a Christmas together, again (and going by how this year is so far, probably the last in a while). So when Dad started making excuses as to why - as usual - he couldn't be arsed to drive here and be here, I lost it. For me, it was the final straw: he had been making excuses all fucking year, and when things opened up again those excuses only got worse. So I told him my true feelings, probably for the first time: that if he doesn't make it to the party, barring a huge emergency, he was out of my life for good. For me, I was sick of hearing all of the excuses as to why he wouldn't come see us (more on that in a moment), and this was the final nail in the coffin. But he kept fighting me.

So what did I do? I gave up. I said to him, do as you will. We'll be fine. We have been all year.

And that... got to him, clearly. Because almost right away, he turned around. He seemed to get what he was doing, and knew he had to correct himself, or lose what he was not willing to lose (unless on his own demands).

I spoke his language, and he heard me. Because I know that language, too, Dad: autism.

And looking back now, seeing his constant excuses... they're not just excuses. Many are. But most are just... autism. That urge to do something but the lack of drive to start. The bullying of oneself that comes with that. The constant shaming and embarrassment, the guilt and the effort to make the trip, to upend routine and make a dangerous trip... for an autistic person, that shit isn't easy. I didn't get it then. I do now.

And now that I know how to speak to him, I truly hope now is the time we can finally become the friends I think we were meant to be. A lot of things that he did were not because of autism, true. But the things that were - especially from someone undiagnosed, whose mother was undiagnosed and self-medicating with opiates - I can now forgive.

And even if he perhaps doesn't deserve that, I do. And honestly, I think he does deserve that; I just wish he could do better.