Its a Coltharp Thing, you wouldn’t understand

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.

A Rollercoaster Fall Break: Navigating Sickness and Surprises

When I first embarked on this blogging journey, my intention was to share the unique stories of my kids, their quirks, and their incredible individuality. I pledged to keep this blog updated every other day, if not every day. Life, however, has a way of throwing curveballs our way, and the demands of reality often take precedence.

Let me set the scene. It all began with a mild sore throat. It was nothing major, just a slight discomfort, but by Friday, I found myself yearning for nothing more than sleep. My wife had been battling her own health issues, and by Saturday, it felt like a colossal anvil had fallen on us. Our household was in disarray, routines were abandoned, and the kids relished the freedom to do as they pleased.

But that was just the beginning. No, the 10-ton anvil was not the end; it was merely the prologue to the unfolding story. Our eldest, who happens to be nonverbal, has a rather unique way of signaling that he’s unwell. He doesn’t complain or make a fuss. Instead, he remains in bed, and when the inevitable happens, he calmly vomits, leaving us with the task of cleaning up and changing everything.

Most kids, when they’re sick, make their discomfort known in no uncertain terms. They’ll let you know if they have the flu or if they’re experiencing discomfort. David, however, handles it differently. Vomiting for him is a silent affair, void of complaints or inconvenience. The catch is that he’s never quite figured out how to aim for a bowl, toilet, tub, or any other container when it happens. So, picture a scenario where both parents are unwell, and the youngest son walks in at 1 AM to deliver the news, “David puked.” It leads to a groggy rock-paper-scissors match to determine who will tend to him. Both parents eventually convince each other to handle the situation: changing sheets, replacing the pillow and blanket, and cleaning him up. It was the first of many times that night. Remarkably, David does understand when something isn’t right, and he’s exceptionally cooperative during these moments. He doesn’t cry, make a fuss, or obstruct the process; he merely wants to return to bed and for the sickness to dissipate. So instead of starting laundry in the morning, we began a load at 3:30 AM, all the while praying that the vomiting wouldn’t continue.

As Sunday dawned, my wife was on her feet, giving the kids whatever they fancied for breakfast. I, on the other hand, stayed in bed. David continued to sleep, which was a blessing, and the day passed with everyone slowly recovering. Monday arrived, and since it was fall break, no one had to go to school. It was a day of reprieve, offering a glimmer of hope for better health.

I’ve often advised people to be cautious of their words, for the universe listens. It seems I should heed my own advice. On Monday, my stomach began to ache, and I found myself vomiting six times throughout the night. I estimate that I lost around 15 pounds in water weight. I couldn’t keep anything down, my body ached, I couldn’t sleep, and even sitting up proved dizzying. It was a challenging night, to say the least.

A visit to the doctor on Tuesday ruled out COVID-19 or the flu; it turned out to be a viral infection in my stomach. Not the most exciting news, but it was a relief to know the cause. That night, I slept more soundly than I had in a long time. Today, I’m on the mend, managing to keep food down and regain my strength.

As for my kids, they’ve all improved as well, except for our daughter, whose condition remains uncertain. It’s a tough call with her, as it’s often hard to tell if her ailments are genuine or a ploy to soak up attention.

In all this chaos and sickness, there’s a silver lining. I must extend my gratitude to my kids. They didn’t grumble about the disruption of their routines or the absence of quality time. They faced the upheaval with resilience, and for that, I’m immensely proud. Life’s unpredictability may throw us for a loop, but it’s also a testament to the strength of family bonds.

Autism Is Our Lives: Navigating the Extraordinary Journey

In an ever-evolving world, the prevalence of autism diagnoses continues to rise. While some may question the validity of these diagnoses, there’s no denying the unique and incredible individuals they represent. This journey, with its ups and downs, often reminds me of the opening lines of Edgar Allan Poe’s iconic poem:

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. “‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door— Only this and nothing more.”

These lines resonate with me, not for their eerie ambiance but for the way they encapsulate life with my “mini-me,” my third son. One morning, he woke us up unusually early, declaring, “I think I’m sick.” As he stood by my wife’s nightstand, gulping down water, I groggily asked, “What makes you say that?” It was evident this was going to be an early morning.

Navigating the world of autistic children often means setting aside societal norms. While some may find being woken up in the middle of the night an annoyance, as parents of special needs children, we understand that our role is to be there for them. We’re here to provide guidance, support, and explanations of how life works, even if it doesn’t always align with their unique perspectives.

Consider my second son, high-functioning and outwardly appearing typical. Yet, once he speaks, his unique mannerisms and black-and-white thinking become apparent. For him, rules are absolute. He recently asked, “Dad, if you hadn’t married mom, where would I be?” I responded, “You might have been part of another family, but you wouldn’t even know about us.” His thought process led to an interesting revelation: “If I wasn’t autistic in that family, would they have made me play sports?” His dislike for sports is clear. He just doesn’t see the point in chasing a ball across a field or court, which stands in stark contrast to my childhood love of sports.

The contrast between my second and third sons is striking. While the second prefers a more controlled and structured environment, the third thrives on running around, unable to sit still. Each child’s uniqueness challenges us to adapt, understand, and accept their differences.

Our life as a family might not align with what we once envisioned. My wife humorously shares how she initially pictured herself as the PTA mom, shuttling kids to sports games, plays, recitals, and organizing bake sales and school fundraisers. “You can still do that,” I say, to which she often responds, “Yeah, when would I sleep?”

Are we disappointed with where life has taken us? No. Are we sad because it hasn’t followed the exact path we imagined? Not at all.

Many colleagues and friends have marveled at the challenges we face, often saying, “I couldn’t handle what you deal with.” To that, I reply, “Yes, you could. You adapt and realize that your stressors are not as important as what your kids are going through. It just takes some adjustments.”

This doesn’t mean that our children take precedence over everything, but it does mean we must be aware of their needs and make the necessary adjustments in our lives. Will others always understand? Not necessarily. Will your job sometimes be challenging? Most likely. Can it be mitigated? Absolutely. It requires education—educating those around you on how to handle meltdowns, outbursts, and the quirks that may come with autism. The more everyone knows about autism and how to navigate its challenges, the better off you’ll be.

This website and blog exist primarily to educate and provide resources. It’s a platform to let others know they’re not alone, that help is available, and that understanding and support can transform the autism journey into a remarkable and rewarding adventure.