So what is it like having a child with autism?

So, what is it like having a child with autism?

I get this question a lot and actually like it when people ask. Unless a person has significant contact with someone on the spectrum he/she doesn't really understand what an autism driven world is about. Saying that, it isn't always easy to convey what having a child with autism is like. After much consideration, this is what I've come up with -

For me, having a child with autism is like living with an alien from another planet. I call him the "reluctant astronaut (R.A.)" because he really didn't want to come to earth, had absolutely no interest in this space mission. As a result, he didn't pay much attention at the briefings prior to the mission so doesn't know anything about Planet Earth - nothing about language, customs, or Earthling niceties in general. In fact, he is so disinterested in Earth that even though he was sent here, he has absolutely no desire to assimilate into Earth society. Meaning he still doesn't give a rat's ass about Earth mores.

That's also how I "explain" things he does that are pretty much unfathomable to me. For example - for a certain time period he liked to sit in the toilet. No, not on the toilet but in the toilet. I reasoned that on the home planet the toilet is a jacuzzi. Although eventually we managed to break him of this habit, the jacuzzi explanation popped again during potty training when the R.A. demonstrated not only an aversion to the toilet but would have all out nuttys when placed on one. He was probably thinking, "Poop in the jacuzzi? What is wrong with you people? Miscreants!" That's what he would say if he could speak English or any Earthing dialect.

For a time I was also convinced that not only was he a reluctant astronaut but was actually an alien cat that somehow ended up in a human body. It does make sense -

Cat

Has to everything his way

Reluctant Astronaut

Ditto

Cat

Don't touch me!

Reluctant Astronaut

Ditto

Cat

Doesn't speak human language

Reluctant Astronaut

Ditto

Cat

Doesn't wear clothes

Reluctant Astronaut

Ditto (Well, would if he had his way)

Of course I don't really believe my son to be a Reluctant Astronaut.

But sometimes it sure makes sense!

Disclaimer: Although I sometimes describe things about life with my R.A. in a humorous way, please understand that I am not laughing at him. He is my son and I love him very very much. I come from a family that had its share of challenges and I learned from a young age that laughter is powerful. A situation cannot completely hurt you if you are able to find humor and laugh at some parts of it. So that's what I do. And I don't use humor solely with the R.A. My daughter was born with a heart condition that required immediate surgery. (No, I don't make good babies. They come out broken.) She was whisked away by ambulance to the hospital in Boston. It was all unexpected and traumatic. A nice young intern came to speak with my husband and me and was re-assuring us that nothing we had done caused the baby's condition. The stress and sorrow were overwhelming. When the nice young intern concluded I turned to my husband and said, "See, I told you it wasn't from all that smack I did during my pregnancy." The intern froze and then let out this huge belly laugh. Was I appropriate? Probably not. But I had to do something to relieve the stress. Astronaut life is stressful so find the laughter where you can.
And as G.K. Chesterton said, "Humor can get through the keyhole when seriousness is still hammering at the door."

Monday, May 23, 2011

I Wanna Go to Friendly's!


Have fries, will travel.  That's our family's eating out motto.  The R.A. will only eat about 8 things (none healthy) and they are very specific things - no substitutions allowed.  On those rare occasions that we do go out to eat we are required to stop at McDonald's for french fries for the R.A. as he will only eat those fries or fries from a local restaurant in town.  When we first started making the McD stop prior to entering another eating establishment, shamefacedly, we would stuff the McD fries into the R.A.'s lunch box and covertly pull the fries out during the course of the meal. Now we march right in with our McD bag, almost defiantly, practically daring someone from the dining establishment to say something.  No doubt much chaos has ensued before we have even entered the restaurant and I'm pretty sure both my husband and I have these slightly crazed looks.  Ok, totally bat-shite crazy looks.  No punk, not even one from a Clint Eastwood film would feel that lucky to approach us. Mostly restaurant staff just wants to get us in and out with as little insanity as possible.  Nil on both counts.

This weekend we hit Friendly's, with our McD fries in hand.  Toward the end of the meal the R.A. became very interested in his father's eyebrows, beard, and hair.  What's fascinating for us is that the R.A. acts as if he has just discovered these things but my husband has been walking around with most of these hairy items for all of the R.A.'s time on earth.  The R.A. was very thorough in his examination of his dad's hairy accessories.  Not only did he study them with his eyes but also used his hands to really get in a good examination.  The R.A. looked very thoughtful, as if he were really considering it all.  He became extremely interested in the circumference of my husband's head.  Perhaps his superiors required the R.A. send a detailed report of Earthling features.  It is particularly interesting that they wanted the head information.  I'm sure the R.A. report regarding the examination of my husband's head read:
After my thorough examination I have concluded that in this instance size does not matter.
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