Take Me Out to the Ball Game

I think that slowly it has dawned on the R.A. that the rescue ship from the home planet is not forthcoming.  Therefore he has begun to gradually and grudgingly acquiesce to some of our earth mores. I think the constant state of rebellion is wearing on him.  I mean seriously, even superior creatures from other planets can only maintain that high level of disdain/fury/disappointment for so long. 

The R.A. has become better at going out in public to places that he has never been before.  And by "better" we mean he doesn't lunge himself while howling furiously at some unsuspecting and innocent bystander (think something out of "Braveheart").  He has also discovered that he very much enjoys earthling watching.  Some kids on the spectrum have a hard time with places that are crowded and noisy.  Not the R.A.  In those situations he crows in delight while rocking and flapping for Britain.  If he had more expressive language I think he would say, "Look at that freak show of humanity!  I can't tear my eyes away!  It's like they all got dressed in the dark like the Mommy Lady!  Honey, just cuz they make it in your size doesn't mean buy it!"

This new found earthling tolerance means we are able to not only take the R.A. to more places but are also able to stay at said places longer than 6.5 minutes.  My husband, ever the risk taker, decided that this new development meant that we ought to go crazy and try taking the R.A. to previously verboten places.  Last night we attended a Spinners game.  It wasn't just a Spinners game but my daughter's school night at the Spinners that included a before the game barbecue.  So basically we were in it for the long haul.  Frankly I haven't made such a serious commitment since July 31, 1999 - my wedding day.

There was a bit of a wait to get into the stadium.  Luckily it appeared the entire cast of Cirque du Freak was in town because there was a constant parade of weirdos marching by us.  This kept the R.A. happily occupied with gawking and yowling.  A few times he would catch my eye and excitedly caterwaul something that I believe translates into, "I'm telling you, even stranger than the folks on Planet *^F45.  This is great!"

Of course, once inside the barbecue, the R.A. did not eat any of the food.  We did bring his own lunch box which was full of R.A. sanctioned food stuffs but he was too busy people watching, yowling, and stimming to eat.  During the barbecue he also decided he was too cool to sit with us and spent a good deal of time trying to shimmy down the bench away from his family.  The fact that another family was sitting at the other end of the bench was not a detriment and the mother, whose personal space the R.A. was clearly invading, did a good job at eating her own dinner while being systematically edged further down the bench by the R.A.  A few times my husband and I did halfheartedly try to get him to knock it off but then we surrendered to the heat and our own exhaustion and tossed out the "My Special Needs Kid" card.  That's when you say apologetically and with an expression that reads feel bad for me, "He has autism."  Then the person you are encroaching on is forced to say, "Oh, that's ok.  It's no problem."  So we did that and she ate the remainder of her meal with her dish on her lap.  Hey, she said it was no problem.

For some reason, that family wolfed down their dinners and bounded out of there.  As the event was crowded, another family quickly moved in. As the mother made to sit down the R.A., in an homage to Tim Thomas, attempted to throw himself across the bench to block her.  We immediately apologized and my husband and the R.A. engaged in a quick match of Greco Roman Baby wrestling as my husband wrangled the R.A. off the woman's seat area.  Unfortunately the woman made the poor choice of selecting ribs for her meal.  This meant that not only did the R.A. want to invade her personal space but he wanted to pretty much  sit in her lap and closely observe her eating.  That family, too, consumed their meals in record time and ran out of the area.

Finally it was game time and we made our way to our seats.  As we slowly descended to our seats we heard someone call out hello to our daughter. I couldn't believe it, it was the son from the family that has this uncanny knack of being around when we are at our craziest.  He gestured in the direction of his parents.  At this point his parents and my husband and I had a moment of "Selective Autism" in that none of us made eye contact and we all mumbled inaudible sounds.  My family shuffled into our row.  I comforted myself with the knowledge that at least they were two rows in front of us so that if my family did engage in any of our traditional insanity it would be behind them therefore the odds of them observing it would be diminished.  Always look for the silver lining, I always say!

Upon finding our seats my daughter was delighted to discover we were sitting right next to her new teacher.  To illustrate her delight she quickly wormed her way around me so that I sat next to the teacher.  I too was thrilled that the teacher would get a full dose of my family and the school year hadn't even started yet.  Talk about starting behind the eight ball.  Already I was having the time of my life.

As the endeavor of watching a baseball game is fairly sedentary, my husband and I were somewhat apprehensive about how the R.A. would do during the game.  Fortunately he seemed to really enjoy the experience from the get go, illustrating this by his jumping up and down, caterwauling joyfully, and enthusiastically wiggling his fingers.  All the more incredible as the game hadn't even started yet.  We quickly realized that we were situated immediately across from a small screen in the outfield that was tickering, "Red Sox Game Rain Delay.  Lester to Start."  That was all it kept looping but it was enough to satisfy the R.A.*  We exhaled in relief and  felt the Kitchen God was smiling on us.  For once.  Usually it's some sort of smiting not smiling.

At around the bottom of the fourth/top of the fifth inning, my husband and the R.A. began a heated exchange.  The R.A. had become very taken with the chairs in front of us, never minding that a few of them were currently occupied.  The seat directly in front of the him actually belonged to a toddler who spent most of the game in his father's lap.  Naturally the R.A. decided he wanted to stand on top of the back of that seat.  Being his usual unreasonable self, my husband did not allow him to do this.  To show that he disagreed with his father the R.A. tossed his juice cup to the ground.  My husband retrieved the cup and then manhandled the R.A. into his own seat.  The R.A. then snatched his juice cup back and furiously hurled it.  Of course it hit the back of the chair of the mother of the family that has this uncanny knack of being around when we are at our craziest.  My husband and I were horrified yet not surprised that out of the hundreds of chairs in the stands, that's the seat that the cup ends up under.  Apparently neither was that mother.  I swear she reached down retrieved the cup and handed it back without even turning around to look at us.  My husband grabbed the cup and we knew that was our cue to leave. We climbed over my daughter's teacher, bid her a good night and happy summer and skedaddled our way out of Dodge.

This was one of the few occasions that my daughter was not disappointed by our early retreat.  She wasn't there so much for the game as for the forbidden junk food.  Once the goodies were consumed she was ready to leave.  Basically the R.A.'s sister was set to head for home in the middle of the second inning.

There you have it, folks, our own distinct imprint on America's Favorite Past Time.  I can't wait until our first hockey game.

*Lately the R.A. has become a big enthusiast of the sports channels.  Although he does seem to enjoy the action of hockey, we've discovered he is actually a fan of the news ticker that runs at the bottom of the screen.  As we're pretty certain he can't read we think there are alien codes being transmitted in the ticker because the R.A. becomes quite excited when he sees it, jumping up and down in front of the television, yowling, and wiggling his fingers aggressively.   He does not do this on news channels which further convinces us of the possibility of the home planet using the ticker on sports channels to communicate.

I Don't Have a Problem. I Can Stop Anytime I Want.

As I have posted a few times, the R.A. enjoys his McDonald's french fries.  Actually, "enjoys" is a monumental understatement.  He doesn't so much "enjoy" the fries as he has what appears to be an addiction to them.

From the get go, the R.A.'s relationship with McD fries has not been what one would call "healthy" and I'm not talking calories or sodium.  His obsession with them has drastically increased over time.  Currently it's to the point where he spends most of the night following me around and demanding, "Feh fies.  Feh fies."  He doesn't buy it when I respond, "No french fries tonight.  French fries go bye- bye."  Anytime the R.A. hears the kitchen door open he bolts into the kitchen and yelps excitedly, "Feh fies! Feh fies!" convinced the person who has entered the house is delivering the fries.  He then frisks the poor slob to make sure he/she is not hiding any fries down trousers or under shirts.  As his addiction grows, so does his desperation.  The R.A. has taken to grabbing my husband or me by our hand (or shirt) and dragging us to the kitchen door.  He will then place our hand on the knob and instruct, "Feh fies" meaning, "Okay, obviously you're just too clueless to get it so now I'm showing you in addition to telling you.  Go out and get me the french fries, stupid."  The R.A. is also now so frantic to get his fry fix that anytime I go near my purse he interprets it to mean I am going out and therefore will pick up his fries.  His despair at being denied his fries has now amplified so much that yesterday morning he attempted to corral his father to do his bidding for fries.  The R.A. did not take kindly to his father's irrational excuses for not providing the fries such as fries are not acceptable for breakfast or that one couldn't procure McD fries at 7:30 AM.

We understand that it's not the addict talking (or yowling) but the addiction.  Someone once told me that addiction alters an addict's brain so that he honestly believes he will die without his fix.  In the R.A.'s case it's more like the R.A. honestly believes we will die if he doesn't get his fix.

Today we had a meeting at the R.A.'s school concerning his new food plan.  Basically they are going to work on getting him to eat a diet that does not consist primarily of man made items whose ingredients are not found in nature.  Their strategy is to use the R.A.'s beloved McD fries as a bartering tool - "If you eat one bite of broccoli you can have one fry."

Although they are very in tune to the R.A., the staff did not fully understand the depth of his McD fry addiction, failing to recognize that it goes beyond the actual fry and includes an entire process - involving presentation.  His teacher wasn't sure if the fries really were the R.A.'s most treasured edible treat stating that a few weeks ago, she did buy him some McD fries.  She reported that when she gave the fries to the R.A. he refused them, pushing them away with an emphatic, "No, please!"  I then asked how she presented the fries.  Puzzled she responded, "On a white dish."  Her tone inferred - Obviously on a dish.  How else would one eat food?  My husband and I chuckled knowingly - such a rookie mistake.  I pointed out that the dish was the problem.  The R.A. won't eat food in a dish, on a dish, or near a dish.  For some reason he finds tableware and cutlery offensive.  I then proceeded to tell the staff that there is very strict protocol involved with his McD fries and nuggets.  Even though the R.A. is addicted to the fries and nuggets, if the presentation is even slightly incorrect, he won't tolerate them.  If you're lucky he will only refuse them.  If your presentation is outrageously awry, the R.A. may throw the fries and nuggets to the floor in a rage.  If your presentation is deemed extremely perverse, after sweeping the food to the floor he will yowl with such fury that he will make himself throw up. Bon appetit!

My husband and I then explained what proper McD nugget and fries presentation entailed:

1. It must be ordered as a "4 piece chicken nugget and small fry" meal.  It is imperative that you order this particular meal.  Don't try to save money and order the 10 piece meal with the large fry and think you'll just put some nuggets and fries on a dish or even on a napkin for the R.A.  This is completely and utterly unacceptable.   Illogical neuro-typical logic would celebrate getting two meals out of one and further determine that the R.A. still gets the same amount of chicken and fries so what's the big deal?  The big deal, you witless dope, is that you have totally removed the authorized packaging from the equation - the small cardboard nugget box and white paper fry wrapper.  And no, you can't substitute the large nugget box and red cardboard fry container.  Do you see where you went oh so wrong here?  If not, you deserve the R.A.'s wrath.  May the Kitchen God be with you.  You're going to need it.
2. The laying out of the food must follow proper procedure.  The nugget box is opened.  In the empty side squish a generous puddle of ketchup.  Keep in mind that no matter how much ketchup you squirt in there, the R.A. will always demand more as his meal progresses.  And no, you can't save yourself subsequent ketchup demands by starting with a huge puddle of ketchup.  The R.A.'s command doesn't have so much to do with his ketchup supply running low as with keeping you on your toes and making sure you are paying attention to him and fulfilling his every outrageous whim.  All dictators require their subjects' undivided attention and no, it doesn't matter if you are in the shower or sleeping.
3. Fries are placed on a white napkin next to the opened nugget box, adjacent to the ketchup side.  Don't try to fool him with a folded up paper towel.  Your foolish audacity will be soundly punished.
4. The R.A. never eats the nuggets.  These are primarily used as utensils to scoop up ketchup.  Despite the fact that he never eats the nuggets, this does not mean anyone else is allowed to eat them.  This is true even if the R.A. has finished eating.  Once the R.A. has concluded his meal, the nuggets are to go into the trash. He primarily brings them to the trash.  If someone else does he will follow that person to make sure he puts the nuggets into the trash, even going so far as to check the trash in case you tried to pull a fast one and pantomimed throwing the nuggets away.  One time, when the R.A. had concluded his meal and was in another room, my husband popped a nugget in his mouth.  It was as if the R.A. had been somehow alerted to the breach in protocol.  My husband said the R.A. flew into the room and practically tackled him onto the couch.  The R.A. then climbed up his father and pried my husband's mouth open and removed the nugget.  The R.A. caterwauled in indignation something along the lines of, "That'll learn you!"

Okay, you know your kid is too much when even the autism experts at your school who deal with severely autistic children all day long are flabbergasted into a long silence.  Finally the director of the early childhood program managed, "Wow."  After another minute she mumbled, "I knew he was rigid but still..."

We spent a bulk of the meeting detailing the whole procedure while the director took copious notes.  Every now and then she would mutter things like, "Oh, boy."  "Geez." "Amazing."  She would also exhale loudly from time to time and shake her head.


Like everything else with the R.A., meal time with the R.A. isn't so much a time for relaxation as a military exercise.  Again this is why when the invasion comes I'll be first in line to be vaporized.