I’d been working this job for so many years, it had become routine in its unpredictability. I started in the special event management and logistics business when I was nineteen years old. Now at 45, I was the Senior Event Services Manager for the City of San Jose and doing what I knew best. It was a civil service job that paid decent money and had tremendous benefits. The City of San Jose had a great reputation for taking good care of its employees and I had been really happy during my tenure there.
2003 was a very challenging year for the family. On this particular day the constant turmoil with Danielle’s schooling, struggles with Danielle’s medical coverage and fears about the future were endlessly running through my mind. The grind of work was especially heavy on this day. I decided to leave the building and drive to a local fast food place for lunch. As I did most every Wednesday, I ordered at the drive-through and parked behind the restaurant to eat my lunch alone. I felt lucky because I had arrived just before the noontime lunch rush so I was in and out fast. I sat in my car listening to the radio and deep in thought. From the corner of my eye, I saw a large red truck backing in to the parking space next to me. I didn't pay it much attention; I guess I was in my own world at the time. A few minutes went by and I thought I heard someone call my name. “Brian? Brian Miller?” The voice was coming from the red truck parked next to me. I said ‘Yeah, I’m Brian.” The person said, “it’s me, Fletch.”
Big Jim Fletcher is a guy I hadn’t seen in twenty-five years. We went to high school together, played on the same football team and hung out with the same crowd. Jim was big as a kid. In high school, he was about 6’2” tall and well over 200lbs. He even had a beard at seventeen; he was a man-child! Fortunately for everyone else, Jim never had a mean bone in his body. He was a big teddy bear and people really liked him.
When I looked at Jim, he hadn’t changed a bit. He was still that big teddy bear with a friendly smile but, with a bit of gray in his beard and about 20 extra pounds of “love” around his mid-section. As is bound to happen with us old guys, the conversation drifted towards those wonderful glory days. You know the ones, “the older you are, the better you were” kind of days. We talked about the old gang, who we’ve seen and been in contact with, who’s married, who’s divorced and the less stressful times of youth.
For thirty minutes, I was free from thoughts of therapist, teachers, respite and struggle. It was fun to talk about things that actually meant nothing at all. It was fun to think about a time when you truly could live one day at a time. It had been a long time since I had tried to live “in the moment” and not obsess with what could or would happen “soon”. Being reminded of the people you knew and places we used to go was a reminder of the dreams I had as a young man; dreams of family, of success, of wealth and accomplishment.
All too soon, it was time to head back to the office. I was hoping to finish up a project and leave early so I could pick up Danielle from school. I told Fletch how nice it was to see him and we exchanged phone numbers and contact information. As we were about to leave, the topic of where our children attend school came up. I can’t recall who or why the topic was breached however the outcome was truly unexpected. Fletch mentioned that he had to drive to Morgan Hill to pick up his son from school.
I said, “Really, my daughter goes to school in Morgan Hill, small world.”
Fletch said, “my son has autism and he is in a special day class at Walsh School.”
For a brief moment, I sat speechless unsure what to say. I knew that class; it was the same class that my daughter attends. Our children have been in the same class for over a year and we didn’t even know it. School meetings, conferences and IEPs and we never crossed paths even once. Twenty-five years later, two friends are reunited by a heartbreaking coincidence.
I used to be surprised by the number of people I’d meet who would say, “I have a cousin or a friend or a co-worker who has a child with autism.” I’m no longer surprised by the number of people I encounter with some sort of affinity tie to this disability. Unfortunately, I’ve heard it far to often.
I emailed Fletch a few days later and began a dialog that would change my perspective and help me channel my energy and frustration into more productive outlets. This was the first time that I’d really talked to anyone about what I was going through. I mean really talked about living with our daughter’s autism; how it affects my wife, how it affects Taylor and how lost I feel as a father. My extended family has no idea what our lives are like. Friends can’t possibly understand the daily stress or the long term concerns that parent’s like us experience. Fletch understood what I was talking about. Fletch is connected to his family; I mean really connected, like me. Fletch and me are what you call “Oaks.”
With “Oaks”, the roots run deep. The idea of leaving a child or a family is almost unacceptable. Divorce or separation would be the last possible alternative. I never realized I was an Oak until my kids were born. Even after I was married to Kathy, I could have envisioned a scenario where divorce was a possibility. After the kids were born, my opinion changed dramatically. I've got lots of male friends and I’d say only about a quarter of them are true Oaks. There’s no scientific data or research to verify the “Oak Theory”, just my best “guestimate”.
My relationship with Fletch and the subsequent outreach to other fathers has been a catharsis for me. Knowing that my concerns, my fears and insecurities were shared by other competent and loving fathers who want the best for their children is a form a validation that I could not find elsewhere. However, shared concerns, fears and insecurities aside; how you respond to these challenges is what determines who you are. We’re not all Oaks.
2003 was a very challenging year for the family. On this particular day the constant turmoil with Danielle’s schooling, struggles with Danielle’s medical coverage and fears about the future were endlessly running through my mind. The grind of work was especially heavy on this day. I decided to leave the building and drive to a local fast food place for lunch. As I did most every Wednesday, I ordered at the drive-through and parked behind the restaurant to eat my lunch alone. I felt lucky because I had arrived just before the noontime lunch rush so I was in and out fast. I sat in my car listening to the radio and deep in thought. From the corner of my eye, I saw a large red truck backing in to the parking space next to me. I didn't pay it much attention; I guess I was in my own world at the time. A few minutes went by and I thought I heard someone call my name. “Brian? Brian Miller?” The voice was coming from the red truck parked next to me. I said ‘Yeah, I’m Brian.” The person said, “it’s me, Fletch.”
Big Jim Fletcher is a guy I hadn’t seen in twenty-five years. We went to high school together, played on the same football team and hung out with the same crowd. Jim was big as a kid. In high school, he was about 6’2” tall and well over 200lbs. He even had a beard at seventeen; he was a man-child! Fortunately for everyone else, Jim never had a mean bone in his body. He was a big teddy bear and people really liked him.
 |
| Mt. Pleasant High School San Jose, CA. |
For thirty minutes, I was free from thoughts of therapist, teachers, respite and struggle. It was fun to talk about things that actually meant nothing at all. It was fun to think about a time when you truly could live one day at a time. It had been a long time since I had tried to live “in the moment” and not obsess with what could or would happen “soon”. Being reminded of the people you knew and places we used to go was a reminder of the dreams I had as a young man; dreams of family, of success, of wealth and accomplishment.
All too soon, it was time to head back to the office. I was hoping to finish up a project and leave early so I could pick up Danielle from school. I told Fletch how nice it was to see him and we exchanged phone numbers and contact information. As we were about to leave, the topic of where our children attend school came up. I can’t recall who or why the topic was breached however the outcome was truly unexpected. Fletch mentioned that he had to drive to Morgan Hill to pick up his son from school.
I said, “Really, my daughter goes to school in Morgan Hill, small world.”
Fletch said, “my son has autism and he is in a special day class at Walsh School.”
 |
| PA Walsh School Morgan Hill, CA. |
For a brief moment, I sat speechless unsure what to say. I knew that class; it was the same class that my daughter attends. Our children have been in the same class for over a year and we didn’t even know it. School meetings, conferences and IEPs and we never crossed paths even once. Twenty-five years later, two friends are reunited by a heartbreaking coincidence.
I used to be surprised by the number of people I’d meet who would say, “I have a cousin or a friend or a co-worker who has a child with autism.” I’m no longer surprised by the number of people I encounter with some sort of affinity tie to this disability. Unfortunately, I’ve heard it far to often.
I emailed Fletch a few days later and began a dialog that would change my perspective and help me channel my energy and frustration into more productive outlets. This was the first time that I’d really talked to anyone about what I was going through. I mean really talked about living with our daughter’s autism; how it affects my wife, how it affects Taylor and how lost I feel as a father. My extended family has no idea what our lives are like. Friends can’t possibly understand the daily stress or the long term concerns that parent’s like us experience. Fletch understood what I was talking about. Fletch is connected to his family; I mean really connected, like me. Fletch and me are what you call “Oaks.”
With “Oaks”, the roots run deep. The idea of leaving a child or a family is almost unacceptable. Divorce or separation would be the last possible alternative. I never realized I was an Oak until my kids were born. Even after I was married to Kathy, I could have envisioned a scenario where divorce was a possibility. After the kids were born, my opinion changed dramatically. I've got lots of male friends and I’d say only about a quarter of them are true Oaks. There’s no scientific data or research to verify the “Oak Theory”, just my best “guestimate”.
 |
| Roots Run Deep With Us Oaks |
My relationship with Fletch and the subsequent outreach to other fathers has been a catharsis for me. Knowing that my concerns, my fears and insecurities were shared by other competent and loving fathers who want the best for their children is a form a validation that I could not find elsewhere. However, shared concerns, fears and insecurities aside; how you respond to these challenges is what determines who you are. We’re not all Oaks.
1 comment:
Oak Tree: spread your branches, U know what to do...
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