Isn’t It Ironic

(Originally published March 2012)

Irony. Some (okay, few) people understand how it works. Some (most) people tend to confuse it with coincidence. According to Merriam-Webster dictionary, one technical definition of irony is “incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events and the normal or expected result.”

So basically, as Alanis would say, “a black fly in your Chardonnay” isn’t ironic so much as crappy luck. A person who makes themself sick with worry over their health? Ironic.

Credit: The Oatmeal

Why this little lesson in grammar? Because of something I discovered about myself recently. Now, to be honest, I’m not sure if this is truly irony. But it seems so to me.

I was reading an advance copy of a book called “Easy to Love but Hard to Raise”. (Check them out on Facebook.) It’s about parents’ experiences raising their special needs children. Most books tend to focus on different techniques for raising our kids – what do they experience? How can we help them succeed? But very few address the parental experience. Obviously, I tend to focus on the latter. But this entire book is devoted to and features parents. It’s a collection of essays from the parents’ point-of-view but it also gives input from various professionals with their perspective. It’s an interesting concept and I thought it would be perfect for me.

The irony? I couldn’t read it. It hits too close to home. I write a column talking about our experiences raising a special needs child, yet I can’t bring myself to read others. I was taking a break sitting at work and thought I’d spent some time reading. The first thing I did was to turn to the section of the person who referred me to the book. She’s one of the professionals who contributed. It was cool to read words in a published book by someone I know. Then I started back at the beginning.

The first essay was about a mother trying to give her son some simple instructions and his inability to follow them. Not because he was defiant, but because it just wasn’t processing.

I cried. I got a few paragraphs in and had to stop. We have so been there! Sometimes trying to talk to Monkey Man is like trying to talk to a brick wall. Is he paying attention? Is he ignoring us on purpose? Is he just distracted by what’s on TV or the book he’s reading or the car he’s playing with? The author writes about having to put her hands on her son’s shoulders and look into his eyes to get his attention. And all the times I’ve had to do that while saying, “Look at me, buddy. Hey, look here. Look. Look at me!” just came flooding in. As the author writes, it’s never said out of anger. It’s just a necessity sometimes if we want him to hear what we’re trying to tell him.

And so I cried. I had to put the book down. I know other essays would have been different – some poignant, some frustrating, some funny, all relevant. But I’d started and stopped twice and couldn’t bring myself to try it a third time.

Selfishness or irony? You tell me. I’m sure I’ll get to the point where I’ll be able to read about it, not just talk about it. But that time is not now. I Just. Can’t. Do it.

When will I? Why can’t I? Who knows? Is it because I still don’t consider my boy to be “special needs” and feel a tad guilty using the label when reading other stories? Is it because it truly IS our life? I just don’t know. Hopefully, it’ll change soon because living irony, not just talking about irony, is irony in and of itself.