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."

Thursday, January 5, 2012

I Color Therefore I Am

In addition to being a military genius, great orator, and death-defying daredevil, the R.A. is also a passionate artiste.  His primary medium is crayon although he will dapple with pencil, ink, and Sharpie Marker if available (the availability of the latter three is based on his parents' preoccupation or level of deep sleep/exhaustion.)

The R.A.'s artistic Renaissance has been a long time coming.  A few years back my husband and I, along with the R.A., went out to lunch.  The hostess said hello to the R.A. and he warmly returned her greeting by saying no and refusing to look at her.  Not wanting the hostess to be offended by the R.A.'s seemingly antisocial response, we said that the R.A. was autistic.  The waitress enthusiastically replied, "That's wonderful!  I'll make sure to give him lots of crayons."  We didn't bother correcting or explaining that we said autistic not artistic.  At that point in time the R.A. was markedly uninterested in coloring with the crayons preferring instead to tear the paper off them and then snapping the crayons in two.  Luckily the hostess did bring lots of crayons.  It kept the R.A. busy enough that my husband and I got to eat most of our meals.

The R.A. has really evolved as an artist.  His style is bold - think Paul Klee mixed with Animal from the Muppets.  As far as color use goes, the R.A. goes through color periods where his work is limited to one color - his yellow period, his blue period, etc.  Currently he is in his magenta period.

His passion is so all encompassing that it cannot be limited to the traditional and pedestrian canvas such as paper or coloring book.  Right now the R.A. rejects these, opting instead for floors, walls, windows, furniture, clothing, and occasionally himself or his sister.  Obviously what the R.A. is saying, through his art, is that it just cannot be contained as it is so great.  His art seeps into the fabric of our lives.  Literally.

Although the R.A. has always had an affinity for coloring, it has really blossomed within the past few weeks.  This explosion began after we discovered that he had smuggled a crayon into his room.  One morning we discovered his room had been transformed into a post modern version of a golden sunrise.  Perhaps my husband and I are philistines, but we did confiscate the crayon.  Refusing to be thwarted and illustrating yet again his superior intelligence, the R.A. smuggled in another crayon, actually he smuggled in crayons repeatedly and now the room is veritable rainbow of colors.

We do want to encourage his artistic expression but would like to direct it toward paper.  The R.A. routinely fakes us out by sitting nicely at his little table with crayons and paper, seemingly contentedly coloring away, sometimes muttering "Colah, colah, colah" as he does.  In reality he is just waiting us out.  The minute we leave the room the crayon leaps from the substandard coloring book onto the nearest inappropriate surface.  Last night it was a wooden tray table which is now half magenta.

I'm currently thinking that my husband and I could try to make some money off of his art.  (It would really help offset the cost of cleaning supplies.)  We could market him as an autistic artistic genius.  In addition to the rare "on paper" created works we could also sell items he colored on such as tables and clothing, taking advantage of the functionality of his creativity.

Following are some samples of his work.  If you are interested in purchasing any or commissioning the R.A. to make your dining room set a one of a kind work of art, let me know.





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