Catch-up: Self-sabotage?

I can't predict the future, but I can pretty confidently anticipate that it will include some run-ins with people who do not appreciate quirkiness. Not all of the judgment we encounter is directed at Leah, either. Mike and I are on the business end of plenty of it. We aren't unique -- every autism parent I know learns to look over heads and ignore asides. Until we can't anymore.

To my surprise, my latest tipping point barely involved Leah. Maddie was the target.

The adventure began in a parking lot, with all three kids, on our way to an appointment. I was liberating Leah from the passenger side of my car (she cannot totally be trusted not pull the door handle while the car is moving, so I use the child safety lock) when I heard a voice from the other side of the car.

"Excuse me, ma'am, she hit my car."

'She' was an oblivious Maddie, who had opened her door into the car in the next space. The woman showed me a ding in the door that I had to squint to see, and a speck of red paint a couple of millimeters in diameter. She wanted my insurance information.

I get it. Some people care a lot about their cars. Mine is only a few months old and I have become the back-seat police, impressing on the kids that what goes in must come out. Despite my efforts to cling to the newness, the car already has a couple of mystery marks on the sides. Annoying, but in my view a fact of life.

Maybe I'm the one with a perspective that needs adjusting, because this woman behaved as though I had rear-ended her. And no, she wasn't driving a Ferrari. The car Maddie allegedly damaged was a Toyota, a minimum of 10 years old, with a decade's worth of wear and tear on the paint job and a rear bumper that was a different shade of gold than the rest of the car.

I don't clearly remember what I said to the woman. I was truly surprised that she wanted to exchange information. Complicating matters was the fact that in the time it took me to inspect the side of this woman's car, Leah had already disappeared into the office building. After pointing out to the woman that I needed to catch up with my daughter, who has autism, I handed her one of my insurance cards, gave her my phone numbers, and started after Leah. I figured if she was determined to use this incident as an excuse to get her door redone, there was little I could do about it. She gave me her card and a parting shot: "You really want to teach your children to be careful when they're opening car doors."

She is lucky I had said children with me. In the split second I had to consider my responses, I could not come up with anything I could say in front of them, so I forced myself to keep walking. Mike pointed out that I should have encouraged her to call the cops, and let them try to keep a straight face while she made an accident report. 

The Dragon Lady called me the next afternoon, at about the time I'd managed to forget about her. She told me she was willing to forego pursuing an insurance claim if Maddie wrote her an apology letter, an offer she clearly expected me to be grateful to receive. In her opinion, Maddie did not appear adequately remorseful what she'd done, and writing a letter would deliver the message that she should be. The Dragon Lady believed she'd seen Maddie laughing. I pointed out that it was very likely that anything Maddie was laughing at probably had nothing to do with the Dragon Lady or her car, but this woman wasn't having any of it. As far as she was concerned, Maddie needed to learn her lesson. Or rather, Maddie's mother did. I took down her business address and got off the phone as quickly as I could.

Maddie is guilty of being eight years old. I don't remember whether she laughed or not, but I clearly remember that I had to explain to her what all the fuss was about once we caught up with Leah. I also had to reassure her that she was not a bad person. I have never seen Maddie inflict property damage and then find it hilarious.

(By the way, according to the Dragon Lady's business card, she is a marriage and family therapist.)

My irritation did not fade over the next couple of days. I could have tolerated one sanctimonious lecture and let it go, but the Dragon Lady gave me two, apparently as part of a quest against bratty kids and their lousy parents. Except that's not who Maddie is. Mike and I put time and effort into not allowing our kids to become inconsiderate brats. And I may be a crappy parent sometimes, but not for the reasons this woman thinks. We try not to let Lauren and Maddie's lives be ruled by autism, but sometimes we fail, and that feels pretty lousy. There are times we put Leah on auto-pilot, letting her retreat into her own world, so that we can have time for the twins, ourselves, or even the house on occasion. That's pretty guilt-inducing too. And the times that Leah's behavior escalates, and we don't get between her and her sisters fast enough? That's the worst of all.

I decided to have Maddie write the letter, but I had her keep it simple. I was not going to feed the Dragon Lady's overblown sense of self-importance with pleading or flowery language. I also decided I could not let her have the last word. I can swallow a lot of crap (and have) in the interest of keeping things on an even keel, but the Dragon Lady exhausted my limit. So here is what I enclosed with Maddie's note:

As requested, a letter from my daughter is enclosed. I appreciate your concern that she might not have fully absorbed the gravity of her mistake, and thought I would share with you a few of the things she has learned, both before and after her run-in with your car door.
We apologize for mistakes, regardless of the issue or the recipient. She has seen and heard enough apologies from me, when my grocery cart blocks another or I accidentally bump into someone, to understand that. On that particular day, my oldest daughter, who has autism, had already made a beeline for our destination. I was feeling considerable tension between my desire to catch up with her, to slow her down and ensure her safety, and your wish to speak with me about your car. I honestly don’t remember whether, in the midst of all of that, I made an apology. If not, I am sorry that my car door bumped yours.
Perspectives differ. My car is a few months old, and as much as I love the brand-new look, my expectations are realistic. I already have a couple of mystery blemishes on it. Unfortunate, but not surprising, since I use parking lots. You chose to be aggravated by one more mark on the side of your car. Maddie’s perspective was that of an eight-year-old who until recently rode in a car with sliding doors. She was bewildered by all the angst in the parking lot until I explained door dings to her later. Whatever she laughed at had nothing to do with cars. It wasn’t about you.
We treat others with compassion. Maddie is a natural at this, as a sibling to an older sister with autism. She’s a popular play date because she’s polite to adults and kind to other children, including younger siblings. She has met enough children with disabilities that she is rarely judgmental. She didn’t argue with me about the apology, but she did struggle with the idea that a stranger would jump to conclusions about any of us based on a brief encounter in a parking lot. 
If I were to jump to conclusions of my own, I might speculate that it is easier to pigeonhole Maddie as a bratty kid who needs to be taught a lesson, or me as a negligent parent, than to acknowledge that your response was heavy-handed. I might also wonder whether your clients respond well to lectures, or the tone used to deliver them. Instead, I’ll choose a kinder thought, that your demeanor may have been affected by stress, just as our responses to you were influenced by other factors. 

I knew I would hear from her. Fortunately, when she called, I didn't hear my cell phone. I made Mike listen to the message later, in the interest of preserving my blood pressure. The upshot was: Explanations about why she drives that car. (Who cares?) Potshots about us making excuses. (No surprise there.) And she took exception to my references to her profession, telling me that she is allowed to be human when she is not at work. (Apparently she is only compassionate or understanding when someone pays her.)

I've been back to that building a few times, and foregone the opportunity to park next to her car.