The Consequences of Heroic Acts

Three weeks ago, I wrote about my grandson, Donovan. Let's face it, I was boasting about him, in the way that grandparents are wont to do. My mother used to say that if you boast today, you will cry tomorrow. But three weeks had passed, and I hadn't yet. Another old wife's tale.

Three weeks ago, another grandmother's beloved grandson was released from prison, after serving time, reportedly, for assault. He is in his late twenties, stands a couple of inches taller than Donovan and, evidently, spent most of his time while incarcerated working out in the prison gym. Where Donovan has lingering baby fat, this other grandson has muscles upon muscles. He has more than six-pack abs - he sports a full case of them. His arms start at his neck, just below his earlobes, with upper arms as big around as my thighs. Yes, that big!

Three days ago, my grandson and the other grandmother's beautiful boy crossed paths. This chance meeting didn't turn out well for either grandson. My grandson was knocked to the ground and injured by the other grandson, who was arrested for his assault on Donovan.

Donovan saw one of his neighbors pull into the apartment building parking lot. From out of nowhere, it seemed to him, another woman and two men ran up to his neighbor's car, whereupon the unknown woman reached into the neighbor's car and began beating her. Donovan ran over to the car and placed himself between his neighbor and the attacker. He held his hands up, palms open and facing the attacker, to block her blows, giving his neighbor time to exit her car from the passenger side.

Donovan pleaded with the attacker to just walk away, that what she was doing wasn't going to solve anything, and would only bring trouble to her if she continued. The other grandson began shoving Donovan in his chest, trying to push him out of the way. Donovan turned toward the attacker and said she needed to leave, that because she didn't live in the building, she was trespassing and could be arrested for it.

That's when the other grandson sucker-punched Donovan, who has never hit anyone in his entire life - blind-sided him, knocking him unconscious. This man, a street-fighter wise in the ways of bullying and beating others, hit Donovan so hard that the inside of his upper lip, along the jaw teeth, was split almost to the outer skin. He bloodied Donovan's nose and mouth so severely that Donovan lost enough blood to become anemic. Either the man's fingernail, or perhaps a ring he was wearing, gouged a piece of D's lip away, and he needed stitches to close the gash.

My grandson had to visit the hospital twice for his injuries, but he is going to be okay. His bruises and wounds will heal before long. The other grandson is back in county prison, for violating his parole agreement (no fighting), while he awaits trial on charges stemming from his assault on Donovan. The prognosis for him is not as good as it is for Donovan.

I've written about this for a couple of reasons. First, to say how proud I am of Donovan for doing a brave, selfless thing in coming to the aid of friend and neighbor when she was unable to defend herself. I also am proud of him because he was putting into action the lessons his mother and I (and others) have tried to teach him about not giving in to his anger in confrontations - to walk away, which he was trying to pass on to the attacker. His actions, his obvious grasp of the non-violent solution to conflict, tells me he is maturing, and growing toward independence. He is adapting to the world and learning how to live among - to navigate around, to cope with - the rest of us complicated, not always well-behaved, human beings.

Mostly (as always and no matter what this says about me), I've written for myself, to help me understand the incomprehensible. I write to release the extreme anger and murderous rage I feel toward that other grandmother's beloved grandson for hurting my gentle-spirited, kinder-than-God grandson, greatest gift I will ever receive - our beloved Donovan.

This is me, walking away.

Passages

The picture of the little boy, above, is of my grandson, Donovan. I took the photo when he was four years old. This was seven years before we learned he was autistic. Donovan had been misdiagnosed as having Attention Deficit Disorder at age seven, and prescribed medications which made some of his symptoms worse, including causing him to have suicidal thoughts at age eight. He is an Aspie, as some folks now refer to people with Asperger's Syndrome. Donovan is on the high-functioning end of the autism spectrum, which means he has a greater chance of being "mainstreamed" than youngsters on the more profoundly autistic end of the scale. Like most Aspies, he has a high IQ and absorbs information like a sponge. Also like most children within the autism spectrum, his social skills and emotional maturity lag behind his intelligence and physical development. Consequently, he is now a 6'4" tall, highly intelligent, high-school junior – turning eighteen today (Sunday, 10-10-10) – who sometimes sounds like a boy of twelve, or fourteen. On really bad days, he's more like a child of nine or ten, but those days are fewer and farther between than they were last year and the year before that.

He is maturing, physically, more rapidly than his mother would like to see. He used to be too small for his age, and was started on growth hormones two years ago. At that time, he was a little shorter than I am (I'm 5'6", and shrinking, height-wise). He now towers above me, and his mother, his father, both biological grandfathers, most of the kids at his high school – and the teachers, as well! What's alarming is that the growth plates on his bones have not hardened yet, which means he's still growing. He'd be great at basketball, I think, but his coordination hasn't caught up with his height yet.

He had a girlfriend this spring, but the romance faltered: neither one of them is ready, yet, for such a relationship. Donovan is a kind-hearted young man, generous in spirit, protective of kids smaller and younger than he, probably because he was bullied so when he was younger and small.

He wants to get his driver's license, but he has what seems like the human version of fainting-goat disorder. Sometimes, when he's under a high level of stress, he passes out. Not what you'd want in a driver sharing the road with you. Until the cause of the fainting can be determined, and either cured or medicated, he won't be issued a license.

Donovan faces multiple challenges on his road to adulthood, many of which will be with him for the rest of his life. He's a good kid with a good brain and loads of potential. He will adapt to life among the rest of us (which may or may not be such a good thing), and will make his mark in this world. He is dearly loved and has the support of more than just his family, so I believe he will do well.

The body of the boy in the first image has grown and is now that of a young man, but the eyes that look at me when we're talking haven't changed a bit. They belong to the same four-year-old who thought the universe was a place of wonderment, magic and boundless joy, who thought his Nanny was his best friend.

I will be, for as long as I live – and maybe beyond that.

Happy birthday, my beloved Boo-Boo!

Remembering

I didn't watch the late night news the night John Lennon died, and was told the next day at work by a friend who came in to the post office to get her mail.


I was a Beatles fan from the first time I heard "I Want to Hold Your Hand," in the late fall/early winter of 1963. The Beatles' music and the hysteria that followed their explosive popularity helped take my mind off the assassination of Kennedy, one of my heroes. All through my remaining teen years and into my early twenties, John, Paul, Ringo and George - their music, I mean - was a part of my life. I didn't know how much of an influence they were until John was murdered. Oh, sure, I thought (for about 10 minutes) the world would end when the Beatles broke up in 1970, but it didn't, of course.


While I didn't think Lennon's murder would bring about an end to "life as we know it," I did grieve his death, which surprised the heck out of me at the time. A few weeks later, in talking with some friends about the murder, I realized I was mourning the loss of an icon of my youth, perhaps my youth itself. Google's logo today was a remembrance of Lennon, and it made me feel nostalgic for his voice...and a time when my life was less complicated, though not easier.


There are so many songs from Lennon's Beatles years and his post-Beatles career that I hold dear ("Woman," for instance), but I chose these two songs because "Stand by Me" is one of my all-time favorite R&B songs from my teens (by Ben E. King, covered by many others, including Lennon), and "Oh, My Love" is a rocking love song, with a gentle rhythm that I really like.

Abashment Deserved

Well!  I found out who made the mistake that cost me my PHEAA grant, the fidgit!

Uh...that would be me.

I entered the wrong information on my application back in May, which I discovered when I went over my application worksheet last night to see if there was room/evidence for me to file for an appeal. 

Boy, do I feel stupid?  The answer to that would be a resounding "Yes!"  Thank goodness I was on my best behavior when I went in to the financial aid office yesterday morning, or my face would be even redder than it is right now.