Raising Cubby (47 page)

Nowadays one of the first questions people ask memoir writers is “How much of this is true?” The answer is, this story is all true, but it’s my truth. Each of the scenes in this book happened as I describe them, but if you ask the other people who were there, they will have their own slightly different tellings of the story. Each of us remembers differently, and each paid attention to different things at the time. This is a story of family life, not news reporting. Notes were not kept as life unfolded, and few recordings were made.

For example, I watched Little Bear and Cubby complete a project together and wrote, “My son took the lead.” His mom read the story and said, “That’s not right! I designed it so I took the lead!” So I asked my son, and he said, “She’s nuts! I did all the work!” With me watching and advising, and the two of them doing it, we ended up with three different interpretations.

But that’s okay. This dichotomy of memory shapes life in any family—yours or mine. Anyone who has raised one or more kids has seen this phenomenon.

The passages of dialogue from Cubby’s childhood are reconstructed as best we remember, over the span of his life. I certainly
can’t guarantee they are accurate word for word, but the essential elements—what we did, where we did it, and with whom—are all true and correct, as best I remember.

Places and dates from my son’s childhood are described as accurately as possible. All are subject to limitations of recall. I reviewed many of these stories with friends and family, who were often able to fill gaps in my memory.

In depicting the raid and subsequent court action, I have relied on my own notes, our attorney’s notes, media accounts, and available transcripts of court proceedings. Since I did not have a fully transcribed record of the various legal proceedings at hand, and there is no such record of the raid that I am aware of, much of the dialogue and some of the testimony have been reconstructed from memory and notes. However, dialogue and statements from the grand jury proceedings, my son’s testimony, and the opening and closing statements of the trial are drawn from transcripts and are nearly verbatim. The only changes I have made to material from the transcript is to condense lengthy testimony and delete minor repetitions or filler phrases like “you know.”

Most people in this book are identified by their real names. This isn’t the kind of story where identities need to be hidden. In most cases, if I made up names for peripheral characters, it was simply because memory failed me. Julie Jones is the real name of Cubby’s Montessori teacher, and I’m happy to say we are still in touch with her today. The same is true for Cubby’s Scout leaders and many of his friends. In the case of Cubby’s first girlfriend, I have changed her name and identifying traits to protect her privacy. It’s possible I have described a few people from the past incorrectly. If you’re one of those people, I apologize.

Before closing, I’d like to thank the supporting cast who made this book possible.

The list begins with my great-grandfather, Albert G. “Dandy” Robison. Dandy was a lifelong farmer and county agent for the U.S. Department of Agriculture. He was the one who told me explosives are a farmer’s best friends and showed me how to use them safely to split rocks, remove stumps, and dig ditches. Then there was Hank Schmel, pyro master for KISS. Together we delivered rock-and-roll thunder to thousands of concertgoers without a single mishap or injury. I guess those experiences set the stage for me to accept my son’s interests.

Then there is my brother, Augusten. He’s always liked Cubby, but he’s lived far away from us almost all his life, so his role in our day-to-day lives has been limited. I wish he lived closer. Still, he’s always been entertaining, even from a distance. Cubby will never forget the Sack-o-Knives his uncle sent him by FedEx on Christmas Eve, when he was nine. Fifty knives! Each one different! And then there was the time my brother said, “You’re not getting a proper education! I’m going to take you away and send you to boarding
school in England!” That never came to pass, but it did give Cubby something to ponder.

Next I must recognize my aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends. All have their own memories of Cubby and our family, and I apologize that space did not permit fitting all of you into this little book.

My father deserves a special mention, though he died before this book was written. My stepmother, Judy, is still with us, and I thank her for all she did to raise Cubby, especially for the times when she slept in the basement so he could be safe and warm upstairs, where the monsters could not get him.

Particular thanks is due to David Hoose, his law partner Luke Ryan, and the rest of their staff. Throughout the book—in the interest of brevity—I refer exclusively to David Hoose as “Cubby’s lawyer.” In fact, as David would be quick to point out, we could not have won the case without the assistance of his staff, and all of them together are the heroes of this story. The monsters Judy kept at bay were imaginary, but the ones Hoose and company defeated were all too real. As my late Uncle Bob would say,
They whupped ’em like dogs, and sent ’em out the door with their tails between their legs!

Luke and David spent countless hours researching past cases and developing the strategies they used so successfully. A lesser pair of lawyers might well have folded under the state’s onslaught, but Luke and David didn’t. They sat together at my son’s side every moment of the trial; you’ll see them in photos if you search them out online. I thank you from the bottom of my heart, as does Cubby.

Now it’s time to thank the people who actually helped create the work you are reading now. That starts with my literary agent, Christopher Schelling of Selectric Artists. Without him, there would be no book deal. I might even be a fugitive in some foreign country.

Then there are the folks at Crown, and elsewhere at Random House. The list begins with Molly Stern, my publisher, and her boss, Maya Mavjee, who heads the Crown Publishing Group. Both have been staunch supporters of this book from the beginning. Next are Jay Sones, Julie Cepler, and Danielle Crabtree in marketing, who together have devised creative ways to reach people who might not otherwise discover my writing. I mustn’t forget the indefatigable Sarah Breivogel in publicity and Stephanie Chan in editorial. Thanks to production editor Robert Siek, who taught me when the names of judicial branches should be capitalized. The jacket and interior design of the book come to you courtesy of Chris Brand, Oliver Munday, Elizabeth Rendfleisch, and Lauren Dong. And if you’re reading this in some faraway corner of the world, you can probably thank Linda Kaplan in subsidiary rights.

My editor, Rachel Klayman, put a tremendous amount of work into this project. I was going to say “and it shows,” but you never saw the book before her editorial touch, so you’ll have to take my word for it.

I have been kept on the straight and narrow by Matthew Martin of the Random House legal department. He’s a stickler for accuracy and detail, and his considerable efforts substantially improved the last part of the book.

I’d like to thank the parents and readers who helped me shape the story. First is Lisa Greenman, a federal defense attorney who works tirelessly to help young people with disabilities charged with serious crimes. Monica Adler Werner of the Ivymount School in Rockville, Maryland, offered valuable advice about teaching kids on the spectrum. Lori Shery of ASPEN (the Asperger Syndrome Education Network) offered a parent’s perspective and wrote the reader’s group guide to this book. Pat Smith of Sewall Child Development Center in Boulder, Colorado, provided her perspective. Jan Anderson provided the valuable insights of a parent and
is responsible for setting up my ongoing school events and workshops.

Finally, I’d like to thank David Lavin and his staff at the Lavin Agency. It’s their work promoting me on the lecture circuit and managing my speaking events that keeps me in the public eye between books.

I’d like to close by recognizing two people who play a vital role in our lives but who are underrepresented in this book: my mother, Margaret, and my wife, Maripat.

Maripat and I married in the summer of 2011, which means she was not part of most of the stories you’ve just read. However, it is her kindness and consistent loving demeanor that have kept me on an even keel these past two years, while her gentle spirituality has brought our family together in a way we’ve never really known before. To a significant extent, that’s what made this book possible.

After my last marriage ended in divorce, I found myself living alone in a residential suite of a Springfield Hotel. Glamorous as hotel life sounds to some, it was a formula for depression. The winter I spent there was in many ways the longest of my life. The following spring, I returned to the home I’d built here in Amherst. It was nice to be back, but everything was subtly different. The house felt empty, big, and scary. My son was with his girlfriend in Greenfield, and my mother was in an apartment an hour away. My brother had lived near me for a while, but now he’d moved back to New York. I really didn’t feel I had anyone to turn to.

I tried dating, but the people I met were set in their ways and well established in their own lives. I felt too old to start again. It was hard to imagine any of the people I met living in my home, or me living with them somewhere else. I also couldn’t see how the family who’d been part of my life up to now would stay connected if I moved on.

That was where things stood when Maripat arrived on the scene. I’d known her for many years from the business community and cars, but when I got divorced I didn’t think of asking her out because I believed she had a long-term boyfriend. Likewise, she didn’t think of me because she assumed I was married.

One chance conversation changed everything. She told me she’d broken up with her boyfriend. I volunteered that I’d gotten a divorce. “We should go out,” we said, and we did. We were married within a year, and the past two years have been the best of my life.

We are very comfortable together, but Maripat and I together is not the most remarkable aspect of our relationship. The most magical thing is the way she brought our two little tribes together and reconnected me with my own family, especially Cubby, Little Bear, and my mother. Those were things I could never have done on my own. At the same time, she wove us into a family unit with her two sons and her daughter. I had great fear and insecurity about stepkids—would they instinctively hate me? To my great relief, they welcomed me. Even her Imperial War Pug liked me. Dog people who know War Pugs say that’s rare and a sign of a good upbringing.

She began shaping us into a family with Sunday dinners. At first, the dinner group was just Maripat, her two sons, and me. Then the circle expanded to include Cubby and Kirsten, who were quick to return for tasty free food. For our first Christmas, she invited Little Bear, and they bonded right away. As the tradition developed, Maripat alternated the locations. Some weeks we’d eat in Amherst, other weeks we’d eat at her place. Everyone was welcome. Friends and neighbors joined us.

Today my relationship with Cubby is the best it’s been since he was little and I was still Wondrous Dada. Getting together every Sunday, and the interest Maripat’s shown in his life, have made all the difference.

When Maripat and her youngest son moved in with me in Amherst, things got better still. They’ve settled in, and the house has been transformed into a warm and friendly place. People notice and comment on the changes. There are flowers everywhere, and little rocks and statues. Keepsakes line the windowsills, and photos of our kids are on the mantels. Cubby’s old room has become a meditation studio. Bird feeders ring the yard, and the calls of woodland creatures are audible day and night. It’s a remarkable thing, the way she transformed this house.

Best of all, its superior engineering features remain fully intact, and the animals continue to recognize my dominion over the yard and grounds. You might say I made it functional and she made it peaceful.