The World According To Chuck: a riveting story about his autistic son:
The rages started when he was about 4, and they were ugly. His rage, my rage. One day he punched his mother, just hauled off and decked her. I grabbed him and dragged him to his bedroom, tossing him on the bed. I’ve never had the stomach for corporal punishment, so I just yelled at him, and he yelled back. He was out of control, writhing and screaming in anger, and in my frustration, I slammed his closet door, shattering the mirror. He screamed louder, now horror mixed with rage, and he pointed his finger at me. “YOU did it! YOU did it!” So I picked up a nearly full water bottle, emptied it over his head, and stormed out…
But he lost his laugh, and I think sometimes it’s my fault. I think I should have known, should have recognized signs, should have understood and should have done something earlier. Thousands of dollars have been spent on counseling, psychiatrists, psychologists, therapists, medications and tests. We’ve done the best we could, but I still wonder, still think I could have intervened at the beginning, helped him more. This is stupid, I know. Still. I have nightmares.
Chuck’s still suffering. I wonder what his mistaken idea is?