SHELLY HUHTANEN

Small Victories

The big red, loud fire truck stopped in front of my house and a firefighter found me in my pajamas and slippers running to the truck. I explained to him my emergency and he responded, "Why doesn't your son just open the door?"

I think Joseph M. Marshall III said it best, "Success is rarely the result of one swell swoop, but more often the culmination of many, many small victories." It couldn't have been more evident than this past weekend. Mark took advantage of the cooling temperatures that early afternoon and decided to work in the backyard. Hayden was engrossed in his videogame and had his headset on to communicate with his friends. I happened to be upstairs putting laundry away. I started to hear Bocephus, our dog, bark. Originally, I didn't think anything of it. I assumed he saw someone walking in our yard, but he wouldn't stop. He kept barking. Again, Hayden was so engrossed in his game that he didn't budge. It was obviously up to me to see what all the commotion was about. I threw the rest of the laundry on the bed and ran downstairs to see what was riling Bocephus. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, Mark runs into the house and says, "Broden unlocked the door and let me in the house!" He didn't have to say anymore because I knew why it was such a big deal and only our family would understand. It was a small milestone, but it was significant to us. It had meaning. We ran over to Broden, hugged him and celebrated. I know. Unlocking a locked door and letting a family member into the house doesn't seem like some thing to celebrate, but if you were in our house seven years ago, you would understand. It was one of those moments when we were reminded that we were different. We were living at Fort Hood at the time. Mark was participating in a field problem so I knew he would be unavailable for a few days. The morning started out quite uneventful. Broden was sitting in a chair in the living room. He was drinking his morning juice and waiting for his turn to get ready for ABA clinic. Hayden was in 1st grade and I carpooled with a neighbor down the street to lighten my taxi responsibilities in the morn ing. I remember that it was in the Fall. The sun rose later in the mornings. As Hayden was walking down the street, I stepped out of the house to keep eyes on him because I wanted to make sure he made it to the neighbor's house safely. I looked back at Broden and he was still sitting in the chair in the living room.

Three steps later down the sidewalk, I heard a click. The front door closed. After Hayden's touched feet my neighbor's front yard, I ran to the door to see if it latched shut. had It indeed. latched I ran After calling the military police, I around to the back of the house to see if the back door was locked. Our door in the back was mostly window so I could see inside our house. I panicked as I jiggled the doorknob. It was official. I was locked out of the house and Broden was inside. Alone. I tapped on the window and tried to stay calm, "Honey, turn the door knob. Let Mommy inside." He could see me outside as I tapped on the window close to the doorknob inside. He didn't understand and started to cry and banged on the window not understanding why I wouldn't open the door.

I ran across the street to a friend who was about to take her child to school, "Give me your phone!" She threw her phone to me and I called Mark, "I locked Broden in the house! Can you get someone to get your keys out of the truck at the battalion?" I knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try. After quickly calculating how long it would take someone to drive to his truck and deliver the keys, it would be quicker to call the military police.

After calling the military police, I breathed a sigh of relief once I saw a police car pull up in front of my house. I ran to the police explaining what had happened. He walked over to my door and jiggled the doorknob, "Yep, it's locked. " I asked, "Well, aren't you going to open it? Don't you have a master key?" He told me he didn't have a key and he was just coming over to make sure the door was locked. He quickly left after realizing that was not the response I wanted to hear. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I've heard it before in neighborhoods, but this time it was for me. I could see a big red fire truck with flashing lights and a siren screeching down my street and straight to my house. We were those people. 

 Moms were already back from taking their children to school and were on their second cup of coffee, chai, or hot tea for the morning. 

The big red, loud fire truck stopped in front of my house and a firefighter found me in my pajamas and slippers running to the truck. I explained to him my emergency and he responded, "Why doesn't your son just open the door?" I looked at him as my eyes filled with tears and whispered, "He has autism. He doesn't know how to unlock the door." His eyes widened and told me he didn't have a master key to the houses in my neighborhood. As he blurted a few expletives, he grabbed an axe off the truck and said, "I'm axing your door in, ma'am. I'm not messing around with this." At this point, I noticed my neighbors standing in the street with their

mugs in their hands watching the show. I was about to get my front door axed in by a firefighter with an audience. It became clear to me. I was in utter hell. I cringed as the axe slammed into my door, seeing the wood splinter and separate from the rest of my house. Once it was open, I ran inside screaming Broden's name frantically. I ran around on the first floor and then upstairs in every room to finally find him. He was sitting on his bed in his pajamas with his juice. I swooped him up in my arms and hugged him. I brought him downstairs to the group of firefighters who came to help. Broden sighed, "Thank you" and laid his head on my shoulder. The firefighters smiled and I thanked them again for their quick response. Work orders led to a fixed door later that day and I dropped off a pack of beer for the firefighters to remind them I was grateful for their help. Feeling judgment from my neighbors was a little more difficult to get over, but I kept reminding myself that behind their cups of coffee and hot tea, they weren't perfect either. To the family who moved into our house at Fort Hood and wondered why the front door never locked the way it should, it was because of an axe.

Broden's come a long way since that cool Fall morning. He knows how to unlock doors and let family members back into the house. It's the small victories that mean the most. Those small victories mean the most when they avoid emergency calls that require an axe to your front door. • 

 PUZZLES & CAMO Shelly Huhtanen is an Army wife stationed at Fort Benning, GA who has a child with autism. She enjoys sharing her experiences of day-to-day life caring for her son with autism while serving as an Army spouse. She authored "Giving a Voice to the Silent Many" that encompasses many stories of raising a child with autism in the military. Shelly is passionate about autism advocacy for our military and works to bring awareness to our local legislators and command about providing better support for our military autism community, such as better health care and education.