As I scrolled through Facebook on one of those rare moments I could steal away for social media, I came across an advertisement for a hoodie that read, “it’s a Coltharp thing, you wouldn’t understand.” It resonated with me deeply because, in many ways, that phrase has defined my entire life.
My family has never been what you would call close-knit. While we did have occasional get-togethers over the years, they were far from what you might consider traditional family gatherings. I vividly remember the last significant gathering when I was about 10 years old, Thanksgiving at my family’s house. It stands out in my memory because I got scolded by one of my uncles for playfully aiming a loaded rubber band gun at him. Those were, indeed, good times. In reality, our interactions with cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents were sporadic at best.
Now, imagine someone with that family background marrying into a family that cherishes gatherings and believes in the unconditional welcome of every member, regardless of their past actions. Well, that’s where things get interesting. It can be quite challenging to adapt to such a family dynamic.
Adding to this mix, my wife and I are parents to four wonderful children, all of whom are on the autism spectrum. This dynamic often results in one parent keeping a watchful eye on the kids while the other mingles and enjoys the company of our extended family. I naturally gravitate towards the former role.
My wife and I have had many discussions about this, trying to navigate the complexities of blending two contrasting family cultures. For me, it’s a peculiar feeling to sit down with people and engage in conversations about life when I’ve been more accustomed to being the silent observer. It’s just not something that feels normal to me, and that’s why we often say, “it’s a Coltharp thing, you wouldn’t understand.”
This phrase doesn’t only apply to family gatherings; it resonates with many aspects of our lives. Most of my family members share a similar disposition: reserved, not particularly outgoing, and often preferring solitude, much like my children.
David, my eldest, is non-verbal and finds solace in front of his computer, engrossed in videos and his own world. He’s content whether you choose to enter his world or not.
William, my second eldest, has a “leave me alone, let me play my games” attitude. If he decides to include you in his activities, he will, but he prefers not to be interrupted.
Benjamin, my third son, is full of energy, easily bored, and loves to laugh, yet he tends to play only with his siblings or me.
Samantha, my daughter, is the complete opposite—a little social butterfly who engages with everyone and plays with those she accepts.
It’s amusing to see our children, who are all autistic, exhibit behaviors that sometimes mirror our own, despite our efforts to change. It’s almost as if our beliefs, personalities, and actions are somehow genetically embedded. While I’m not suggesting that’s the case, it does make you wonder.
The phrase “it’s a Coltharp thing” perfectly encapsulates our lives. We experience aspects of family life that many others may not fully understand. We navigate meltdowns, days when nothing goes right, and moments of sibling rivalry. We have days where one child must miss basketball practice because another is having a particularly challenging day. Each day is a coin toss, and routine helps us redirect meltdowns and misunderstandings back to what needs to be done, but it doesn’t always go as planned.
In the end, it truly is a “Coltharp thing,” and unless you’ve experienced it, you might not fully grasp the unique challenges, joys, and intricacies that come with it.