A Thorn in My Pocket: Temple Grandin's Mother Tells the Family Story by Eustacia Cutler Page A
Authors: Eustacia Cutler
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as a bully breaks a terrier with a rolled up newspaper.
“He fired me. We had a fight and I lost my temper.” In a state of total defeat, Dick weeps gut-wrenching, small boy sobs.
Finally Dick’s old real estate company agrees to take him back, but with the reservation that he work only on commission. Then, in a few months, company word comes through that Dick is not to use their stationery anymore. In short, they dismiss him in easy stages.
Dick has no interests to lead him to another kind of work, nor the ability to figure out how and where commercial real estate sites are opening up. While other men are making property deals out along the new Route 128, turning the highway into industrial gold, as their forebears once harnessed the rivers of New England, Dick turns an upstairs bedroom into an office and spends his days poring over his accumulation of family assets. We all pretend he still has a job.
Summer 1958, and the Vineyard appears to be the same. The children have their daily life of swimming, sailing, biking, and tennis. The Irish girls say, “Sure, ‘tis just like Ireland.” But it isn’t the same, and I’m a fool to lull myself into thinking it is.
A friend and I decide to take the weekend off and go up to the Berkshire Music Festival. Dick says he’ll take charge of the children. Connie, an old friend, volunteers to run the children’s games for me at the Saturday night dance and to watch out for Temple. Temple knows Connie well and has run in and out of her house as long as she can remember. All appear to be accounted for.
When I return home from the weekend, I learn that Dick ordered Temple to stay home from the Saturday night dance. Why, I don’t know; everyone in the community always goes. Temple loves the dances, is well-behaved, and remembers with triumph the time when musical chairs got down to the last two contestants and she was one of them. She and the other contestant were blindfolded and had to grope for the one last chair, always moved, of course, from its original spot. Everyone cheered and threw out hints when one of them came near the chair.
“And I almost won!”
Remembering the excitement of it, hoping, perhaps, to win this time, knowing that I’d given her permission to go, Temple had dressed herself in her best, complete to scratchy petticoat, and walked three houses up the road to the casino where the dance was always held.
What happened next I learn from Connie. “All of a sudden, this frightened little face looks in the casino window at me. It’s Temple. ‘Help,’ she cries, rapping on the glass. ‘He’s coming to take me home.’ Next, Dick appeared, and he was livid. I put myself in front of Temple and said to him, ‘Look Dick, she’s afraid of you.’ He said something like ‘Nonsense, she’s over dramatizing.’ At that, Temple bolted and ran into Faffie’s house.”
I pick up the rest of the story from Faffie.
“I don’t recall where in my house I found Temple, only that she was terrified. I don’t remember what I said to her, but it worked and she calmed down enough to go home. I must have tried to put my arms around her because I remember she didn’t want me to touch her.”
What is hard to bear about this incident is that Temple, at this stage in her life, is happily gregarious and wants to please. Sadly, oddly, as she grows in confidence and poise, Dick is more and more obsessed to prove her uncontrollable, bearing down hard on her and frightening her. If I’m there, I can usually talk him out of it. If I’m not, temper, tears, and flight are all Temple has for a defense. Then Dick says, “See? She’s out of control. What more proof do you want?”
It’s Catch 22.
Grateful to Dedham Country Day School for their wisdom in guiding Temple, I volunteer to run the school fair. The fair’s a combination neighborhood event and school money raiser. I talk various parents into manning the game booths and buy prizes for the game from a carny
“He fired me. We had a fight and I lost my temper.” In a state of total defeat, Dick weeps gut-wrenching, small boy sobs.
Finally Dick’s old real estate company agrees to take him back, but with the reservation that he work only on commission. Then, in a few months, company word comes through that Dick is not to use their stationery anymore. In short, they dismiss him in easy stages.
Dick has no interests to lead him to another kind of work, nor the ability to figure out how and where commercial real estate sites are opening up. While other men are making property deals out along the new Route 128, turning the highway into industrial gold, as their forebears once harnessed the rivers of New England, Dick turns an upstairs bedroom into an office and spends his days poring over his accumulation of family assets. We all pretend he still has a job.
Summer 1958, and the Vineyard appears to be the same. The children have their daily life of swimming, sailing, biking, and tennis. The Irish girls say, “Sure, ‘tis just like Ireland.” But it isn’t the same, and I’m a fool to lull myself into thinking it is.
A friend and I decide to take the weekend off and go up to the Berkshire Music Festival. Dick says he’ll take charge of the children. Connie, an old friend, volunteers to run the children’s games for me at the Saturday night dance and to watch out for Temple. Temple knows Connie well and has run in and out of her house as long as she can remember. All appear to be accounted for.
When I return home from the weekend, I learn that Dick ordered Temple to stay home from the Saturday night dance. Why, I don’t know; everyone in the community always goes. Temple loves the dances, is well-behaved, and remembers with triumph the time when musical chairs got down to the last two contestants and she was one of them. She and the other contestant were blindfolded and had to grope for the one last chair, always moved, of course, from its original spot. Everyone cheered and threw out hints when one of them came near the chair.
“And I almost won!”
Remembering the excitement of it, hoping, perhaps, to win this time, knowing that I’d given her permission to go, Temple had dressed herself in her best, complete to scratchy petticoat, and walked three houses up the road to the casino where the dance was always held.
What happened next I learn from Connie. “All of a sudden, this frightened little face looks in the casino window at me. It’s Temple. ‘Help,’ she cries, rapping on the glass. ‘He’s coming to take me home.’ Next, Dick appeared, and he was livid. I put myself in front of Temple and said to him, ‘Look Dick, she’s afraid of you.’ He said something like ‘Nonsense, she’s over dramatizing.’ At that, Temple bolted and ran into Faffie’s house.”
I pick up the rest of the story from Faffie.
“I don’t recall where in my house I found Temple, only that she was terrified. I don’t remember what I said to her, but it worked and she calmed down enough to go home. I must have tried to put my arms around her because I remember she didn’t want me to touch her.”
What is hard to bear about this incident is that Temple, at this stage in her life, is happily gregarious and wants to please. Sadly, oddly, as she grows in confidence and poise, Dick is more and more obsessed to prove her uncontrollable, bearing down hard on her and frightening her. If I’m there, I can usually talk him out of it. If I’m not, temper, tears, and flight are all Temple has for a defense. Then Dick says, “See? She’s out of control. What more proof do you want?”
It’s Catch 22.
Grateful to Dedham Country Day School for their wisdom in guiding Temple, I volunteer to run the school fair. The fair’s a combination neighborhood event and school money raiser. I talk various parents into manning the game booths and buy prizes for the game from a carny
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