...a step back...

Yesterday, I tried something new.
I slowed down and moved over.
It was, by any standard, a fleeting moment...this.

But life is lived in those fleeting moments...they are the foundation on which the big moments...the big memories...are built...

Aren't they?

We'd been standing on the line, my eldest and I, waiting to be called up to the register so he could make his purchase.  Nothing unusual or notable, there.  Just the slow and steady plod...then pause...plod...then pause, of a Sunday shopping queue. Little inside jokes traded back and forth to fill the time.  Endcap considerations, and the shifting of weight from one foot to the other as we waited.

"Next customer, Register 1!", came the call.
And we turned the corner to head up.

But as we did so, lock-step as always...
...I...
'observed/analyzed/hypothesized'.

And slowed down.
He noticed, right away, and slowed down as well. 

So I shifted, quickly, and nudged myself in behind him, next to the wall...
blocking his attempt to walk beside me.

There was a moment's hesitation...a stumble of feet reacting too late to my diversion...and then he recovered and walked, solo, the few yards up to the register.

Again, a hesitation...a hiccup of intent vs. ability.

He knew I was right there, behind him.

But I wasn't beside him.

I wasn't leading.

I wasn't prompting.

He knew I was right there, behind him.

He placed his item on the counter, nodding acknowledgement...silently...of the cashier's perky "Hi", curling in from the shoulders in avoidance.

Total declared.

Cash exchanged.

A reminder to tap the screen for a receipt.

Behind him, I could feel the heat pouring off him.

The anxiety-energy blast.

I tapped him on the shoulder and said "I'm heading out.  See you in the car."

Walked away...forcing myself not to look back.  Forcing myself not to offer my face...my reassurance...my lead...

Moments later, he got in the car.  Shopping bag secured. Off we drove.

He'd done it.

Not happily.  Not comfortably.

But done, nonetheless.

~~~

He relies on me...heavily...

To ease the way.

To lead.

To run interference and translate.

To shelter his discomfiture and deficiencies.

To walk him right up to the edge.

He relies on me to walk side by side.

But it's time to step back and force his failures, a bit.

It's time to push him forward, even if he stumbles.

Because I can't always be there.

He has to be able to do it himself, without it taking too much of a toll on his emotional energy...without allowing the necessary interactions to trigger burnout.

He has to keep growing.

He has to keep going...

...even when the going gets rough...

...even when the obstacles seem insurmountable to him...

even when I stop walking beside him and move to the back-up position...

~~~

The back-up position.

The parenting of young adulthood.

The parenting of an autistic adult.

The sudden, but somehow also 'slow and steady' shifting from leading the way.

The back-up position.

There to catch, but not to push.

There to encourage, but not to force.

It's the allowing for my hand to be reached for, without automatically offering it.

It's the intentional heavy breathing in the car...an unspoken prompt so he can self-regulate.

It's the reassurance that I'll always be his soft place to land...if he falls...

and the firm reminder that he'll never land if he doesn't leap.