Right from Fiction

I have to admit I am truly amazed at just how many signs there are in life for guidance. A one time proprietor of a steadfast belief in coincidence only; I now strive for an open minded approach to bettering this life of mine and those who would be affected by it.

There are many reasons for my changeover from the dark side but in the interest of time, and the fear of the chirping crickets, I will leave them for another discussion.

Now I'm sure many would argue that signs are seen only by the weak and needy and I can appreciate the doubt because I've been there. What I now believe doubters fail to realize is, whether needy or perfectly content, it's all about having an open mind to change that allows you to interpret life's littlest of clues/signs and apply them to your every day existence.

No one is exempt from the need of a positive tweak every now and then, or in my case, a positive maneuver of dual nipple tweakage.

Now, for those of us who are not just floating around aimless like and riding the caboose of the clueless going "Huh?", there is a debate going on involving the "Signs/coincidence" phenomenon.

Some of us believe they are sent from a higher power ‘SIGNS’ and some of us just believe in the odds induced accidental happenings, or ‘COINCIDENCE’.

I'm not going to go into great detail about whether or not you should believe the either or, because who am I. What I am going to write about is one example of how my own overwhelming desire to change has somehow allowed these life altering instances/signs to make a believer out of me and to guide the once misguided.

I loved the movie "The Family Man" with Nicholas Cage. In that movie his character was given a glimpse into what life would have or could have been like had certain events not taken place, ‘A glimpse’.

I believe some dreams and nightmares we have are a glimpse into what could be or should be; a sign so to speak. Now I'm not talking of the dreams where you're playing first base on a team made up of serial killers and when it's your turn to bat, at the moment you hit the ball, POOF you end up on a plain to Australia with the Muppets who are skydiving to save mentally retarded humpback whales. I'm talking of the dreams that are too real and painfully hit home.

The other night I had a nightmare that left me feeling alone and heavy hearted. I could swear there were also pains in my chest. In a nut shell, my 3 year old son disappeared.

Now before I go into detail about my dream let me tell you a little about DJ. He was the happiest baby and right up to about the time he was 18 months I myself shared in his joy and showed none of the overly nervous daddy blunders that I displayed ever so often with my now nine year old daughter.

DJ walked early and had fantastic fine motor skills. He even started his gibberish early and when I say it was non stop, I mean it was non stop! Then long about the time he should have started putting actual words together he kept on producing gibberish. We paid it no mind for he was in fact, a boy.

He was also very meticulous about things, like lining up his toys, a physical learner as well. He would set things on the kitchen table in a perfect pattern and then circle the table checking them out from every angle, adjust a little, then circle some more. We noticed this intense scrutiny was also displayed with people he had not met before. Again we thought nothing of it.

All we knew was he was giving us hours upon hours of enjoyment. I used to joke with people about how I thought he didn't even need us around, he entertained himself!

Then came the shot heard round the world. I got a call one day from a concerned family member who wondered if maybe we should have DJ tested for autism. Autism? Really? I immediately went on the defensive and spouted many reasons to this person why he wasn't autistic but at the same time I was now aware there were a few things that he did that could possibly lead me to believe maybe he was. And so the roller coaster of emotions began.

Over the next few turbulent months we decided to have DJ enrolled in a program called infants and toddlers. Two ladies would make biweekly trips to his daycare and they would help him along with his speech and social development.

I was comforted in the fact that they felt it necessary to only see him once every two weeks. Little by little DJ made improvements over the next year and slowly but surely we started to feel like he was becoming more connected socially through eye contact and speech. Though he still would not answer questions very well we could see he was obviously extremely smart.

If there was to be a problem found in all of this, it was me! I was becoming disconnected with every little set back or what I perceived as a set back with DJ's social growth. The once explosive bond only a father and son could share was now tormented with complexity and waves of agitation. I started to get impatient with him. Suddenly playtime with DJ became a therapy session with my ever watchful rolling eyes tearing him down with scrutiny.

Don't get me wrong, I love this child dearly as I always have. It’s just that I now had to cope with the collision of demons from my past and my own misguided parental instincts.

Furthermore I was showing anger at the most simplest of things. Natural occurrences like DJ getting a cold found a way to set new low standards with my tolerance. The all night cough, always frustrating for any parent, was now setting me off more than ever. With that, my wife found it necessary to jump from the bed long before I could, probably out of fear that I would show anger and resentment towards DJ and make matters worse by confusing him.

Can you imagine, allowing the confusion to blossom and paddling the shallow waters to a point where you feel anger and embarrassment towards your own son? He wasn't even allowed to get sick without me thinking it had something to do him being not normal.

DAMN THEM FOR ROBBING ME OF RAISING A NORMAL SON!

I even began talking about him to my wife as if he wasn't my own, referring to him time and time again as "That kid". This was a phrase all too familiar to an adult escaping the haze of a tumultuous childhood. Yet somehow breaking from all that you've ever known becomes life's purpose and a long road less traveled is a dangerous path for the weak.

It pains me to admit to this but once in a while during a trying time of confusion and anger I would stoop so low as to refer to my son as a "Goof". I now believe I was depersonalizing him and distancing myself from him as a defense mechanism to keep me free from blame, guilt and unfortunately shame. Three words, building blocks of my own childhood that I somehow allowed back into my life to invade the sanctity of my own family.

All I knew was I wanted a normal son! What’s sad is, he probably was and is normal and I was shutting off my half of his learning by acting selfishly. What's even sadder still is this was the perfect time for me, as a parent, to dig my heels in and drive back whatever demons I kept alive from my youth and provide my son with the love and nurturing he deserved. My own insecurities were standing in the way and I was failing this child when he needed me most.

Having said all that, it’s been almost two years since all of this started and DJ is now going to be four on December 7th. He exhibits no signs of Autism. What we have come to surmise is that DJ was or is slightly delayed, either verbally or socially. Ever talk to an Astrophysicist? Maybe that's where DJ is headed. Who knows? Progress is constantly being made though and there are no signs of any regressive behavior.

So, without further adieu, I would now like to tell you of my dream/nightmare.

My wife Kim had gone to take care of a few things and while she was out, my daughter Abby, DJ, and I decided to head off to a few stores to kill some time. After about an hour and a half we got the motherly check in call.

During the conversation that included the questions "What are you doing?” and "Do you guys miss me?” Kim said eight words that have been burned into my brain forever; she said "What's up with DJ?, I don't hear him".

With that a heaviness began to pour over me. My pulse started to race, providing my heart with enough pressure to thump audibly straight up into my throat. I felt that horrifying warmth surrounding my face as my thoughts screamed- PLEASE GOD NO! I turned to Abby in the back seat and said "WHERE IS DJ"? With a furled brow she whimpered to me "Daddy, I don't know"; her bottom lip quivering.

"What's wrong"? Kim said. All I could think was "Where is my son"? But all I could say was "NO NO PLEASE NO" over and over again. I shot my head from left to right and back again seeing nothing but a blur through the tears of horror now flowing.

"Gary, what's wrong?” again pierced my left ear as Kim was now being hit with my distress. With these next six words I stole every bit of life straight from my wife's soul- "I DON'T KNOW WHERE HE IS"!

That was the last I remember of talking to Kim as Abby and I jumped from the car and began searching every store we had been in, with no luck. Person after person answered my desperate plea of "HAVE YOU SEEN MY SON?” with medial frowns and half hearted replies of "No, I'm sorry".

What's even worse is I was trying desperately to pull just one memory of DJ even being with us that afternoon, and I was failing. That's the emptiness only a dream can actualize. Seeing the path in front of us now extending to unreachable lengths, we started for the car.

We now had to begin the painful back track in the hopes that DJ would be waiting for us safely, somewhere! I was having trouble at this point fighting off the cold visions of my son being out there all alone and frightened, confused by the unfamiliar faces and surroundings. WHY COULDN'T I REMEMBER HIM BEING WITH US?

How could I abandon him like this? Now, passing thoughts of never finding him were slicing through my head like January winds and the only possibility of reachable comfort was the sacrificial outcry of- TAKE ME, NOT HIM!

With Abby in the back seat now void of color and staring motionless out her window, we shot down the parking garage ramp to the exit. All I could think was this is pure evil at work for I was now having to squint to fight back horrific images of what may have happened to my little boy.

Then, as if placed by the Devil himself, car upon Car began backing up in front of us, hindering our progress and causing me to scream OH PLEASE, PLEASE, NO PLEASE! I NEED TO FIND HIM!

Finally nearing the exit of the garage I yelled "Deeeeeeeee Jaaaaaaaaa" in one last ditch effort. Then, just as we were passing the pay booth, I glanced to the left and saw what I hoped was a child standing up from a green park bench to look my way.

The figure, approximately seventy five feet from the car, said words so clear, it's as if they were standing just outside my window, I heard, "That's my daddy!" I threw the car into park and shot from the front seat with the sole purpose of absorbing my son into my chest never to be released from my protection again.

When I picked him up I could not squeeze and kiss him enough to show even an inkling of the remorse my shoulders were carrying. Then, with the endearing quality of calm confidence, he said six more words that will forever be carved into me; this time to my soul's law. He said, "What took you so long, daddy"?

Sign or Coincidence?