For other writeups about my son, see An American Story Growing up with Autism, and Growing up with Autism 2
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when my son had only recently been diagnosed with Autism- he must
have been about five or six- my wife and I were just starting to
come to terms with the idea that it wasn't a phase he was going
through, that the 'little stranger' we'd hoped for was just going to
get stranger and stranger as the years went on. At this time we knew
very little about Autism and less about ourselves with respect to how
we would cope with it.
In-laws
came to visit, saw our youngest flash back and forth in front of a
half open door, peering through the key hole as he did so, and shook
their heads sadly. 'At least you have one normal child,' we heard,
spoken aloud or not. When we were out in public and I had to spend
most of my time chasing after the younger son – he was so fast!
and
could be over any barrier and away before you could blink twice- the
looks changed to pity. 'You poor things,' we seemed to hear. 'How are
you going to have a life?'
I'm
not saying it was fun, but my feeling was, hey, this was my son, my
responsibility; besides, I got a kind of satisfaction out of his
strangeness. Like, what would you expect from parents like us? Both
my children were unique, to be honest, and if I seem to be
concentrating on only one of them it is only because the other, my
oldest boy, is grown now with his own independent life and would
hardly thank me for flogging his history in public.
The
turning point came quietly one day during a trip to town on foot. On
this particular occasion it was just me and the youngest, and about
half way down he decided to escape. I stood for a moment watching him
go, little plump legs chrurning like pistons, and sighed with
resignation. I knew what was coming next; a short chase and then
grabbing him up, arms and legs flailing as he tried to fight free
screaming at top volume. I set off in pursuit and since I had him in
view down a long straight pavement it was relatively easy to catch
up. Then I thought, Hell, let's just keep going, he's headed in the
right direction anyway.
So
I ran along side for a while, and then the magic happened. He turned
to me, still running, and his grey eyes, which like most Autistic kids' usually looked
anywhere but striaght at people, suddenly gazed directly into mine.and a big grin came over his usually serious
face.
As clearly as speech he was saying, ' That's it, Dad! You get me!
It's really fun to run, isn't it? '
That
memory came back to me on a day eighteen years later as we prepared
for a trip to the Dentist.
The
notice had come several weeks back and I kept putting it off. My son
had been making regular trips to town with his Befrienders ( the term
we coined to replace the official designation 'Carers' which we felt
demeaned him) but this would be a first- the last dental examination
had been preformed by a very paient and dedicated hygenist who had
made the trip to the house to examine him in situ. This time,
however, they wanted to see him at the clinic, and we didn't want to
hand this one over to the Befrienders. So I asked him if he'd be
willing to go, which went something like this.:
Me:
Hey, the Dentist wants to look at your teeth. Will you come with me
to the hospital?
Son:
I'm not going with you.
M:
OK, then, I'll tell her you aren't coming.
S:
I'll come with you.(pause) I'm not coming with you.
M:
No, I think you'd better stay home
S:
I'll come with you!
M:
Are you sure? 'Cause you could just stay home and let all your teeth
fall out...
S:
(getting really annoyed) I'll come with you!!
Came
the day, and my wife reminded me to be ready to leave early in case
it took a while for him to get in the car. So I went up and found his
majesty dressed and winding and unwinding a little wooden ball
tethered to a handle which he does when he is stressed, but when I
suggested it was time to go we only had one round of 'I'm not
going/Ok I'll go alone/I'll go with you/ OK if you want to shall I
wait for you in the car,' before he came downstairs in his jacket and
long billed cap with his bright yellow ear protectors on.
On
the drive to the clinic he was very tense, but I could tell he was
going to hold himself in check come Hell or high water. Everything
was 'OK!' even though the radio was tuned to a classical station
belting out 'Toreador' from Bizet's 'Carmen' , which I knew was not
to his taste. In the Clinic where there was a lot of assorted
background noises including, from one of the examination rooms, the
buzzing of a drill, my son sat rigidly, leafing through a magazine on
home furnishings without looking at it, and drinking a cup of water
from the dispenser when I suggested it, all with military precision.
Finally
we were directed to one of the examination rooms. They had been
informed that my son was Autistic, but the dentist was someone new,
who hadn't had a lot of experience dealing with people on the severe
end of the spectrum. She was, however, accustomed to getting answers
when she asked a question.
D:
So, do you live with your Mom and Dad
S:
Yes
M;
Actually , he has his own house.
D:
(annoyed and crossing out an entry) Well, do you have a job?
S:
Yes.
D:
And where do you work.
S:
A4 (this was his section when he was in school)
M:
Actually, he doesn't work.
D:
Well, do you go to school or University?
S: Yes
M:
He doesn't go to school anymore either.
D:
(tight lipped) How often to you brush your teeth?
S:
Yes
D:
Do you brush them in the morning, or just at night.
S:
I don't brush my teeth. (pause) I brush my teeth.
D:
(handing me a form and giving me a look that would have curdled milk)
We'll just get your Dad to fill this out, then, shall we?
In
the examination that followed, my son behaved with all the heroism of
a captured enemy soldier undergoing implemented interrogation. They had this new kind
of chair that went all the way back, and he had to wear dark glasses
while they shone a bright light into his mouth and the dentist poked
around and counted off his teeth.
Then it was over, the chair powered upright, and the dentist announced that for his next appointment
they were going to show him how to brush his teeth properly.
D:
and I want you to bring your toothbrush with you. What kind of
toothbrush so you have?
S:
Green
M:
Just the manual kind
D:
(taking a deep breath) and what kind of toothpaste do you use?
S:
Red
M:
Colgate's, he means the tube is red.
D:
Well, you'll bring your toothbrush next time you come.
S:
(teeth gritted) I'm not bringing my toothbrush!
M:
Don't worry, I'll sort it out.
Finally
we had our appointment card and the form I was to fill out, and it
was time to leave. My son put on his hat and coat, adjusted his ear
protectors and, face rigid, marched to the door. I pretended to cast
a spell on the automatic door which got the kind of weak smile you
give when someone is making an ass of themselves, and we proceeded to
where I had parked the car. My son got in, put on his seat belt and
sat there like a graduate at Sandhurst Military Academy, back rigid
and legs so tense his knees were vibrating. I closed the door on my
side and the storm broke.
S:
Don't close that door so loud!!
Sometimes
when he does this I simply apologise until he calms down, but in the
present instance I felt something more was called for, so I wrapped
my arms around my head and wailed for mercy.
S:
You closed the door so loud!!!!
M:
(in a tiny squeaky voice) you're scaring me!
S:
Don't close that door so loud!
M:
Oh, please, don't yell at me, I'm sorry. (sob)
This
went on for some minutes, until finally he said 'It's OK, stop
crying.' in his normal voice and we both started to laugh.
I
switched on the engine and pushed the button for Radio 2, which plays
golden oldies from the eighties, and my son drummed a rhythm
accompaniment all the way home,
The
next appointment is thursday. I can hardlly wait.