Danelle Morton - Not My Boy!: A Father, A Son, and One Familys Journey with Autism

Note to Reader: This book represents our familys personal
story and our specific experiences with members of the
medical and educational community in dealing with our son
who is on the autism spectrum. The book is not intended to
substitute for an individuals medical, psychological, or educational
treatment. It is not the equivalent of, nor is it intended as a
replacement for, any professionally supervised treatment. All
matters concerning your health or that of a
family member require specific analysis and medical
treatment and are not the purview of this book. The author
and publisher disclaim any liability arising directly or
indirectly from use of this book.
All url addresses that appear in the appendix are up to date
as of the date of the initial printing of the book.

I want to thank all the people who shared their stories to help make this book possible: Chris Brancato, Mike Sherrard, Manuel Munguia, Khari Lee, Francisco Fernandez, Erik Linthorst, and Mike Fields.

Also thanks to Dr. Jay Gordon, for his sage medical advice that helped our son and so many other children; Phillip Hain, for his inspiring service to families with autism through his work with Autism Speaks in Los Angeles; Sharon Lowrey, for her unconditional dedication and for welcoming my son with open arms; Dr. Jeff Jacobs; Deanna Staake, for her compassion; Julie Kern and Ken North, for pushing R.J. in school and getting the most out of him; Mark Kretzmann, for believing in R.J. and his goals, and also for getting him on track at UCLA lab school; Tim Lee, for continuing RJs development, for being tough but fair with himyou are not only his teacher, but a friend he can count on; Principal Jim Kennedy and the faculty and staff at UCLA lab school, for understanding R.J.s needs; all the faculty and staff at Smart Start; Wilma McDonald, for being our eyes and ears when we are not around and loving our kids like theyre hers; Marta Cuellar, for helping when we need her; Max Robinson and James and Sulana Robinson, the big cousins, for always having R.J.s back; Reeco and Giselle Peete, the little cousins, who give nothing but love; Rebeca Peete, for caring and understanding; Aichi Ali, for all the love; Dolores Robinson, for being there whenever we need her and understanding who each of our kids are and what they need; Matt Robinson, for being a fun uncle and believing in R.J.; Skip Peete, for being a great uncle to the kids and allowing me to tag along with him when we were growing upyou made me better: thank you and I love you; Edna and Willie Peete, for showing me what true love is and teaching me how to work for what I want, and for showing me that marriage is a journey and you have to work at itI love you; Ryan Elizabeth Peete, you are beautiful and you show us every day what family is all aboutIm so proud of you; Robinson James Peete, you are a fantastic son and thank you for never judging your brother R.J. and for keeping him engaged since the day you were born; Roman Matthew Peete, for always making R.J. answer your questionsyou stimulate him like only the youngest of four can do. Rodney Jackson Peetethank you for being my inspiration: you understand who you are and you are not afraid to embrace and conquer your fears. You are my hero. And thanks to my wife, Holly, for fourteen-plus years of marriage. You helped me fight when it seemed I forgot how. Thank you for your incredible instincts. You never gave up on me. You are my rock and I will always love you.

T he silken burn of an eighteen-year-old Macallan single malt scotch lingered on the edge of my lips before sliding down my throat. My whole body began to glow from the heat of that first sip. As I felt it enter my bloodstream, I knew that I could forget my problems for a while. I hadnt been a hard liquor drinker before my son was diagnosed as being on the autistic spectrum. But that summer after the diagnosis, I began to understand that theres nothing hard about a good scotch. When I was able to enjoy a nice Montecristo #2 with my Macallan, I felt as if Id claimed a piece of heaven on earth.

My favorite retreat was a private lounge called the Grand Havana Room. It was in the middle of Beverly Hills, but it was a place that felt far removed from it all.

Members entered the lounge through a private elevator in a protected corner of the public restaurant downstairs. This was a sanctuary for the members. There were no crowds and there was no hassle. The staff in the members lounge knew the regulars by name and knew exactly what they liked. When I arrived, Id be escorted to the huge humidor that stood at the center of the main room, and by the time I had my Monte in hand, my scotch was already waiting for me on the table by my favorite chair.

Stretched out in the soft leather club chair, it seemed as though no troubles could touch me. I gazed through the two-story-tall windows to a sweeping view of the Hollywood Hills, enjoying the smell of cedar and fine tobacco and the rhythm of my ritual.

When R.J. was diagnosed in 2000, I was grateful that I was playing for the Oakland Raiders because I could come home more often than Id been able to in the past. I told myself that I was racing home because I wanted to be helpful to my family, but the truth was that I wasnt much help. My wife, Holly, and I couldnt agree on much about R.J. back then. I wanted to be there for my family, but I spent my precious evenings in my favorite chair at the Grand Havana instead of with them. Later, flushed with the success of a good season with the Raiders, the cigars and scotch would be flowing. I convinced myself that the Monte 2 and Macallan was Daddy time. Think of that. Daddy time spent far away from the kids.

I would usually go to the lounge by myself, but other times Id meet friends there. We never talked about how my boy was struggling. Maybe this was because I wanted to escape the feelings that were killing me inside; maybe I believed my friends couldnt relate; maybe I didnt know how to talk about it. Mostly, I was just scared.

Holly would often call me while I was at the club. When I saw her number on my phone, I would ignore it, or reply with a curt text message. Sometimes I waited until I returned home to deal with her. By the time I got there, shed be furious. Eventually we were barely communicating. After a while, she stopped complaining when I left. The ironic thing was that when I escaped to the cigar lounge or sat alone in the backyard to drink, all I would daydream about was our happy past vacations and other blissful times with my family. I had to get away from them in order to imagine a happy life.

Many men reading this may recognize themselves in my actions. If youre holding this book in your hands, youve probably reached this same moment, a time when you feel like you dont know how to be the dad your family needs. Maybe you spend time with rare scotch and a cigar, or youre off in the garage with a cigarette and a beer, or you stay later and later at work because it just seems easier than facing the family. You know how to make money to support the family, and you know you love your kids, but suddenly thats not enough.

Men want to battle a crisis, to make the plan and go after the goal with everything they have. But nothing about raising children is straightforward. No two children follow the same route, so where do you start? As I sat there night after night, I very nearly lost everything: the love of my wife, my place as the father to my children, and the chance to help my son become the good man he is destined to be.