Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Don't Stop Believin'

From Autism After 16's

Two days before our 19-year-old son Mickey leaves for sleep away camp, he asks to get a haircut.
No big deal, right? But 15 years ago this would have been unthinkable.
Back then, the barbershop was the scene of some of our worst parenting moments. By 8:00 in the morning of the Dreaded Haircut Day, my husband Marc would already be muttering, “I need a scotch before I can do this”—and he doesn’t even drink scotch.

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