This is the very essence of what it means to be the dad of a child with Asperger's.
Last week, I got a call from Jesse's teacher. No matter what she tried, he would not -- could not? -- complete his work. He wasn't being ugly. He just could not get going on what he needed to be doing. I went to school and wound up spending the rest of that day and two more observing and trying to prod him along.
Jesse, unpack your bag.
Jesse, get out your science book.
Jesse, work on your math journal.
Once he did finally finish, his assignments were almost always perfect. He's got the best handwriting in the world ... not for a kid his age. In the world. Math word problems I would've taken hours to figure out, he was doing in his head in a matter of seconds. My time at school left me and Jeanie scratching our heads, trying to figure out the best course of action.
There's not a medication available that will make Jesse like other kids, and that's not our goal. Jesse was meant to be the way Jesse is, but we very deeply want to make the things that are difficult for him just a little bit easier. When that happens, watch out.
Tuesday night, Jesse had his weekly piano lesson and when it was over, his teacher had given him a book of Tziak ... Tchiacho ... Shakov ... Tskav ... Tchaikovsky compositions to practice -- yes, I had to look it up. At this very moment, as I type these words, Jesse is on the piano, playing the intro to the "Nutcracker March" in each of the different sound settings his has on his keyboard.
Thumbing through the book on the way home, he talked about the other books his piano teacher has -- stuff from Beethoven and Mozart. He couldn't wait to get his hands on them.
That's my Jesse.