DISCLAIMER: F4 and all its characters belong to Marvel. No money is made from this. This is done all for the greater glory of Reedness! .

December 17, 2007

Perfectly Normal
Chapter Two: In which a sliver of light at the end of a tunnel makes itself known
By Ina-chan

To be quite honest, I wasn't really sure how to react when Ed first suggested the possibility that my son could have autism. It was the first time I even heard the word. I only assumed based on his expression, his tone, and his recommendation for Reed to be seen by an expert that my son's condition was very serious.

It was only after I saw the unreadable expression on Nate's face when Jim Grieves reluctantly confirmed the possibility of Ed's suspicions that it finally hit me. Jim Grieves seemed overly cautious about giving his diagnosis, emphasizing that Reed's symptoms were "atypical" of what we know so far about "classic" symptoms of autism. It didn't necessarily mean that Reed won't show it in the future either. Only one thing was clear… from that moment on, no one was going to utter the words "perfectly normal" to describe my little boy ever again.

I didn't understand until much later why Jim Grieves was so reluctant to diagnose my baby. I didn't know that having "autism" attached to your identity would make other people assume that your name was synonymous with other… words, some of those words painful to hear, most of them degrading.

When I asked Jim Grieves about what we could do and about a cure… my heart sank when he simply recommended a private institution just outside of Central City. It was some kind of special home for "disturbed children" to be exact. Could you imagine? My baby, growing up in a place like that! I was so upset at Jim Grieves' suggestion that I demanded Ed to send us to someone else fro a second opinion.

Ed, bless his soul, understood what I was going through. He indulged me, despite his own concerns about how the ordeal of going through the painful process again was going to affect us. We had a second opinion… a third… even a fourth… each specialist giving a more pessimistic prognosis than the next. On hindsight, it was clever of Ed to send us to Jim Grieves first, who definitely proved why he was considered an expert in his field. Two of our other opinions diagnosed Reed with "childhood schizophrenia" without any hesitation. One of them even helpfully offered to arrange Reed's admission to a local asylum on the spot.

I felt myself slowly sink deeper and deeper into this pit of despair to the point that not even Teddy's attempts to lift my spirits mattered. In a moment of weakness, I even considered Mother's solution to all her problems. In the end, it was Reed who saved me from that fate. I knew from my own childhood experience that drinking away my sorrows to blissful forgetfulness was not going to help my own child in any way. Regardless of any doubts I had about my mothering skills, I simply reminded myself that Reed was all that mattered now. Thus, swallowing my fears and my pride, I visited that facility that Jim Grieves recommended to me.

"Expanding Borders Home for Children with Special Needs"

It had a rather wonderful ring to its name, didn't it? Imagine a place to expand borders and give hope for families of children with special needs. It was a beautiful facility. I imagine much better than the government sponsored institutions that I also researched about. It was a private estate in a nice suburban neighbourhood. There were spacious gardens, special classrooms with individualized classes, and caring staff who attended to the children's needs. It was reminiscent of those English boarding schools that I used to read about those require reading classic literature books in school. I was sure that it was a hundred times more expensive than the government sponsored institutions, but money was never really an issue with us as long as it was going to help my son.

Nate shared my opinion about the idea of sending our child away. He was completely against it, yet at the same time, our son's condition was something not even his genius could solve. I saw how desperately he wanted to take charge and make things all right. That was Nate's way. Take charge, take control, solve the problem, and life goes on. I knew it was killing him to realize that he could only to helplessly come to terms that this was something that was beyond his control.

Logic was telling us that this was what was best for Reed. These people were the experts and they knew how to help them. My heart argued differently. Putting Reed in that private sheltered environment was pretty much an admission that the only way he could thrive in this world was to live within those secluded borders. As beautiful as that facility was and as much as I hated to say it, that place in essence was really nothing more but a glorified prison.

However, it wasn't until I saw the children who lived there that I finally knew that this wasn't the place for my son. Mind you, the children looked well cared for and perhaps most of them even looked happy and content. Even so, I couldn't ignore the sight of some of those children in those little yellow helmets, whom I assumed were the severe cases. How they stared blankly in space in an a medication-induced stupor while strapped on a wheelchair (for safety, the staff said, to keep them from banging their heads against the wall or hitting and biting the other kids when they have their 'episodes') or how they rocked on their little bodies and posed in odd uncomfortable positions (they find it comforting, the staff explained, as to why they find comfort doing that, nobody could really answer my question).

Like most of the children there, Reed didn't talk. And yes, Reed would also prefer to live in that private little world inside his head. But unlike those children, my baby never showed any 'self-harm' behaviour or tried to hit people. He didn't even indulge in those repetitive motions and mannerisms that autistic children were commonly known for (which was one of the reasons why Jim Grieves was cautious about diagnosing my baby).

But, my greatest concern was the medications. The medications they give to help control the children's harmful behaviour. They were the same medicine they give to crazy people who have their brains literally turned into mush by these things so they wouldn't hear voices or see things that aren't there or to keep them from pushing people off subway platforms. They were the same medicine that has side effects strong enough to turn a man four times my son's size into a walking zombie.

And those children… those poor children who were labelled as "severe cases"! Did they expect them to live like that for the rest of their young lives for their protection? Strapped to a chair, too sedated to be aware of what's going on around them, their tiny arms shaking with uncontrollable tremors, and their little legs too stiff to walk…

I suppose for those children the medications were the lesser evil. But Reed didn't have any of those behaviours so I saw no need for him to be medicated… or be exposed to that environment, no matter how nicely packaged it looked. I'd rather die than condemn my son to live like that for the rest of his natural life. Maybe my husband's stubbornness and my father-in-laws extreme optimism were just rubbing off on me. But something was telling me that despite what others say about my son's limitations, Reed was destined to do greater things in this world than be a mental health institution statistic. I would do everything I could to help him overcome those limits.

Even if everyone outside our family that believe that all my efforts would probably be in vain anyway…

"Children with autism are also likely to have mental retardation and learning disabilities."

That was what Jim Grieves said about my son…

Sons were expected to follow their father's footsteps. Dad, despite his liberal views, was not an exception to tradition. When they were younger, both Richards boys were expected to take over the booming Richards Enterprise in the future. Teddy, being the elder, was the one most likely to take the role.

Of course, Teddy had other ideas about his future. He was a dreamer and chose to dance to the beat of his own drum. The week after he turned eighteen, Teddy packed his bags in a car with his friends for a long road trip towards Wharton in Penn. He never got there. Dad just woke up to a phone call one morning from Teddy in Quebec City, to reassure his family that he was all right and decided to take the year off travelling to see the world instead of going to business school.

Needless to say, all of hell broke loose. But there really wasn't anything anyone could do when it came to Teddy. Nate, in turn, took the role of the dutiful son. Then again, between the two brothers, Nate was really the more logical choice to take over the reins. Nate's scientific genius was coupled with a brilliant business sense. He led the company towards a new direction, applying his love for science and discovery.

I suppose for someone 'gifted' like Nate, the idea that his son would grow up with an IQ no higher than a three-year-old was a bigger blow than he'd like to admit. More so than the fact that Reed would just as unlikely to follow his father's footsteps. True to his nature, Nate "avoided and withdrew", and dedicated more and more of his time with work. Nate also never said it aloud but I knew.

I knew that he was blaming me for this happening.

"Autism was caused by maternal coldness toward their children…1"

Maternal coldness. How was that for karmic irony? When I was younger, I blamed my mother for a lot of things that happened in my life. I always believed those were accusations well deserved. In a way, I still do. My mother was a selfish, cold-hearted bitch who tore our family apart. Seeing me now, she must be laughing her ass off in hell.

I didn't deserve this. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, my world revolved around my baby. I vowed never to become my mother. I followed everything the doctors told me to do to ensure my baby's health. I bluntly refused Nate's suggestion with hiring a nanny because I wanted to be the one who got up at night to feed and comfort him. I wanted to be the one who took him to see his paediatrician, made sure that he had his shots on time. Dammit! I was the only one who insisted that there was something wrong when nobody listened!

How dare they! Just because they have a piece of paper stating that they went through several years of schooling to earn a title at the end of their name! Who gave them the right to point the blame on me!

Did they know that everyone simply patted my shoulder reassuringly and told me that I was just being paranoid instead of really listening to my fears? Did they know how much it hurt each time my son pushed me away whenever I tried to hold him in my arms? Did they know how agonizing it felt wondering what it was that I was doing wrong each time my child ignored me when I called his name? Did they know how it felt to wish seeing a smile or hearing a laugh that never came each time you see his face? Did they know how it felt like to look at your two-year-old child's face, who wouldn't look up to even meet your eyes? Did they know what it was like to wake up each morning, knowing what I know now, wondering every single day of my life ever since my son was born, would things have been different if I did something differently?

Did they know how much it hurt to overhear what people say about my baby behind our backs?

"Did you hear about the Richards boy? I heard from the grapevine that Evelyn Richards visited that retard home a while back."

"Really? You don't say!"

"Ofelia, that's not the proper name…"

"Oh pooh! 'Home for children with special needs' is just a pretty way of saying dumping ground for emotionally disturbed, crazy and retarded children. Facts are facts, my dear."

"The poor darlings! Evelyn and Nathaniel are such wonderful people too."

"I always wondered why the poor child was always hidden away."

"Well, as long as they keep him far away from my Maryanne. I don't want my little girl catching what their retarded boy has."

Our so-called friends and their foolish little children, especially that busy body harlot, Ofelia Waechter. Her 'little girl' was practically a young woman. A blonde pretty sixteen-year-old, who stubbornly insisted on continuing her voice lessons from me even after I announced my retirement in order to dedicate more time with my son. I admit that no one twisted my arm on that decision. Despite all the changes I had go through since Nate entered my life, music was my first love and passion.

Long before I married Nate and before I even met Teddy, I was privileged to spend an amount of my misspent youth as a substitute pianist for the Columbia Symphony while working on my music doctorate. I even played for the New York Philharmonic once.

I know. Professional musician. A "useless stupid impractical line of work" as Mother put it. Despite being physically absent from our lives, Mother still managed to make herself felt. Then again, Mother's idea of success was marrying the richest man she could get her claws on… regardless of their eligibility.

Daddy wasn't thrilled either, but at least he tolerated my dreams. He knew how much music meant to me. He even pulled some strings with his connections as the Dean of Graduate Studies in Columbia to get me my first audition. Not without making a point that what happened after that first audition would depend entirely up to me.

All that all changed after Teddy introduced me to Nate. I quickly realized how quickly priorities and one's outlook in life change when one factors in the affairs of the heart. It was very difficult, choosing between my two loves. In the end, I chose Nate.

Before Reed came along, I continued my love affair with music by volunteering my talents for various charity fundraising functions. I ended up giving some of our friends' children some tips and pointers with music and voice lessons. Our informal sessions somehow evolved into formal lessons once a week.

Maryanne Waecther was one of my first pupils. Unlike her mother, she was very likeable. If you ignore the vast amount of empty space in between her ears, that is. It was probably because out of pity that I kept her. At the rate her mother was keeping her as a pampered ignorant little thing, she didn't really have much going for her except her looks. And her enthusiasm made up for what she lacked in talent.

Besides, Nate pushed me to take back students. To keep my mind occupied, he said. 'Occupied'. He thought it was unhealthy how my world started to revolve completely around Reed ever since our appointment with Jim Grieves. I could mention one or two things about certain people's reactions to our son's condition, but after years of knowing that it won't lead anywhere, I figured it'll be less complicated to hold my tongue.

I should have seen it coming, though. Reed sometimes showed rare attachments to objects and things. The piano was one of them. It had been a habit of mine to vent my frustrations on the piano. I had been spending so much time in the drawing room since Reed was born, we might as well live in that room.

As soon as the music started playing, Reed would listen intently. When he started to crawl, he took the habit of crawling to sit underneath the grand piano's massive belly as if to hear better the sound coming from it. Sometimes he would press his tiny hands against the piano's underside as if to absorb the sounds into his tiny body. Teddy once suggested that perhaps the vibrations soothed him.

The incident happened on the first day Maryanne came back for her lessons. Reed was already curled up in his blanket in his usual cranny underneath the piano. Maryanne was so amused by how adorable he looked that she insisted that we didn't disturb him before she proceeded to butcher Bizet with her usual enthusiastic fervour.

Halfway through the lesson and with an impending headache at hand, I was trying my best ignore the instinctive desire to reach out and break her neck as one normally feels when one hears the sound of a wounded animal begging to be put out of its misery. I was too busy thinking of the ways to get back at Nate for convincing me to endure this torture to notice. Without warning, Reed suddenly emerged from underneath the piano and attacked the keys… rather rudely, I must add. Maryanne was horrified (and perhaps frightened) by Reed's unusual behaviour that she left right away.

I probably would have been mortified with embarrassment if I wasn't so grateful (I even wished I had the courage to do it myself). But it was actually something else that stopped me on my tracks. It was the recognition that the keys Reed was attacking fervently were the notes Maryanne kept missing.

"Maybe Reed's an idiot savant. I read about this in a magazine somewhere… about some of these kids who have amazing memories for music and arithmetic."

Bless Teddy for his insights. His idea opened a new door for my son that I even forgave him for referring to my son as an idiot.

It took a while to test his hunch since Reed wasn't keen on cooperating. There was also just so much his tiny little fingers could manage. But once Reed caught on with the game, I was absolutely astonished to discover how easy it was for him to recall an entire symphony even after hearing it once. Later on when his coordination improved, I would discover that he didn't just recall the overall melody, but he was able to recall and play every note from every instrument with perfect accuracy.

Our little exercises in front of the piano soon became our regular routine. Eventually, Reed understood the connection between sound and the music symbols written on paper. By the time Reed was four, we were playing complicated duets together, the limitations of his tiny hands permitting of course. My only regret was that the musician in me recognized that while Reed was able to recreate any piece of music he heard or follow the music sheet instruction to perfection, Reed lacked the musical affinity to create his own music. The sounds coaxed by my son's hand was perfect in every aspect of technique, yet maintained a mechanical quality. Again, my silently fears that the condition of his illness might have effectively locked him from reaching his full potential resurfaced. Despite what he can do, it seemed that my son was destined to be nothing more than a glorified parrot.

I told Nate about this once. He laughed as usual and tried to reassure me. But I saw that what I said bothered him. He started to make an effort to be more involved with caring for Reed. But Reed's lack of response to his efforts only frustrated Nate. He couldn't comprehend why Reed would follow my lead and not pay attention to him.

A normal child would feel more attachment to the parent who spends more time with him, for Reed, it took at least five more times that same parent's effort to form a semblance of an attachment. It was only natural that Reed would still consider Nate a stranger since he barely saw his father more than an hour or two a day if ever at all. Not that it was Nate's fault. With Dad, semi-retired for health reasons, Nate had to work twice as hard to make sure he was going to be able to fill his father's shoes the day Dad completely leaves the business in his capable hands.

I personally thought he really needed to slow down. Nate and I have been trying to convince him to sell the old house and move back in the main house with us, but Dad was just as stubborn as his son. But Dad compromised for the moment by spending the weekends with us at least, to spend more time with his grandson.

Teddy and Dad discovered, completely by accident that Reed's astonishing memory was not exclusively an aptitude for music during one particularly heated chess game between them. Dad had taken the habit of letting Reed sit on his knee to watch, and even managed to teach my son to put the pieces on the chessboard before and in between games, which Reed diligently did as soon as a game was over.

That day, the chessboard was somehow accidentally swept off the table (which Teddy claimed that his father did on purpose) ruining Teddy's impending win. Like clockwork, Reed proceeded to replace the pieces on the board as usual, and to the older Richards men's astonishment, continued on to recreate the game play by play until the moment just before the board tumbled.

I remembered Teddy yelling excitedly for me to come quickly. I rushed to the room, thinking something terrible has happened only to see the two older Richards men grinning elatedly at their new discovery. It seemed that after playing with the chess pieces, the two attempted to teach my son the basics of poker. While they couldn't play a proper game, they discovered on the way that Reed seemed to be able to predict the number of times certain cards appeared in the hand with fairly good accuracy.

"Do you know what this means? It's like he's counting the probabilities in his head in lightning speed! When Nate finds out, he'll have a… whatever it is that squares like him have that's equivalent to an orga--."

"THEODORE RICHARDS! DON'T YOU DARE IN FRONT OF MY CHILD!"

After all this time, as my father-in-law and brother-in-law that afternoon shared a round of laughter and genuine pride as we watched my son, it felt as if something heavy and painful was lifted off my chest. Reed was completely oblivious of course. He had wandered from his grandfather towards me and clung to the hem of my sleeve expectantly. Even if he understood, he was too young to understand the significance of what he's been doing and what he really was.

Then again I don't think any of us really understood the significance of the tiny slivers of himself that Reed allowed us to see. All we really knew was that the hope for Reed's future has become significantly become less grim as what all the doctors and experts and society in general had painted it to be.

"Evie, I think Reed is going to grow up to become someone really fantastic."

End of Chapter 2

Author's squawk:

Some interesting footnotes:

1 Dr. Bruno Bettleheim brought Dr. Leo Kanner "Refrigerator Mother" (1943) hypothesis into widespread popularity through his papers written in the 1950's and 1960's. That is, it was Mom's fault, for being a neglectful bitch that autistic children are unable to socialize or interact with the world. Dr. Bernard Rimland, a psychologist who also had an autistic son, would challenge Bettleheim's theories and his book, Infantile Autism: The Syndrome and its Implications for a Neural Theory of Behavior, would be instrumental in transforming autism to the current views we have towards the disorder.

Prior to the 60's most autistic children are diagnosed with "childhood schizophrenia", were promptly heavily medicated and sent to live the rest of their natural lives living in seclusion within the walls of various institutions that catered for "disturbed children". Thankfully, "childhood schizophrenia" was abolished from the DSM in the 80's.

On a non-related note… Mark Millar is taking over the FF starting February 2008! Yikes! Scary and exciting at the same time. I liked what he did with Ultimate Fantastic Four but I had mixed feelings with Civil War. And for Millar's debut, he is bringing a "new" character into the story. Someone that will shed an interesting light re: Reed's past.

AN EX-GIRLFRIEND!

Dun-dun-dun….!

Who will put a strain on the Richards marriage!

DUN-DUN-DUUUUUN!!!!

Le sigh I dunno how to react to that. Then again, the F4 has been a soap opera as much as an adventure comic. Claremont flirted with that idea using Alyssa Moy (though he kept Reed and Alyssa's relationship vague). It wasn't until the Reed Richards Before the Fantastic Four comic that Reed admitted that he and Alyssa dated (and with them behaving like Bruce Willis and Sybil Sheppard from Moonlighting, they seemed more like a likely couple than Reed and Sue). Waid resurrected Alyssa in one bit story for his run to reveal that Reed and Alyssa's relationship was more than just casual dating. It was serious to the point that Reed actually asked Alyssa to marry him!

But who will this new ex be, I wonder? I really liked the concept that Millar is throwing… about Ben being smarter than he lets up to be, and Reed being more athletic and charming than his absent-minded professor persona shows us. But introducing a new character always makes me nervous. And apparently, this ex-girlfriend is actually a teacher or something like that. (Was he Reed's teacher? Somehow, I can see a young Reed being manipulated by an older woman as a young lad. He was only fourteen when he started college, after all.) Is she being introduced as the kids' teacher? Ouch! Now that is just really wrong!

Millar just described her as an unlikely person that Reed would fall for (that's why it was a shock!). Eventhough Reed and Sue obviously loves each other, this new character's arrival is going to shake the house to the point that it will strain Reed and Sue's already very strained marriage.

One part of me says… hmmm. It's about time Reed gets to be on the other side! Reed has been amazingly tolerant of Namor and has pretty much accepted that Sue will always have an attraction to him. In the Crucible storyline, when Sue's innermost desire manifested as Sue being "Queen of Atlantis", Reed became his usual emotionally constipated self after getting over the shock. It will be interesting how Sue reacts… Sue's reaction to Alyssa's initial intro was just as stagnant (Then again, this could be just Claremont's writing). Now, her reaction to Alyssa in the Waid run was hilarious! It's so rare to see a jealous Sue. I'd like to see her reaction to this new character. But at the same time… Sue and Reed (while they had their ups, downs, separations, and almost divorces) are like the foundation of "marriage" in the Marvel Universe. Destroying 40-odd-years of true love and marriage over an old flame is going to be devastating.

Ja!
Ina-chan