Life, Autism, Disability, and More

Tag Archives: autism spectrum

baseball uniform*I might be the only one who remembers hearing this when growing up, so a quick explanation:
Little pitchers have big ears refers to the fact that adults must be careful about what they say within the hearing of children. The saying refers to the large handles (ears) sometimes attached to small vessels.

Now that I’ve forced that random knowledge on you…

Lately, I’ve been trying more and more to get Simon interested in average discussions and conversations. He doesn’t seem to be very interested in communicating more than his needs and wants, but I can’t help but believe that there are plenty of other things he could say if he could figure out how. When we go places in the car, and he’s stuck as my captive audience, I start trying to get him to have a conversation. I’ll ask what color the sky is, and if it’s grey, then I’ll ask him what he thinks that means. Questions like that are easy ones for him to memorize, though, so then I start asking harder questions, questions about what he thinks about and what he sees out the window.

One Saturday morning, he had a baseball game, and that afternoon, I took him to Target.  While we were in the car, I asked him what he was good at.

He said baseball.

I asked what else.

He said math.

I asked what else.

He said basketball.

It was a pretty nice list of things for such an abstract question.  

We went into Target and Starbucks (it’s an addiction! Don’t judge me!), and I told him he was good because he helped push the cart and waited patiently while it took forever for the barista to make my coffee.

When we got home, I thought I’d try to continue the conversation and pull Dad into it.

I asked the question again, and this time he began with baseball, but then said he was good at Logan’s (the restaurant where we ate lunch after the game and where we told him he did good at ordering his own food and then waiting for it to come to the table), and then he said he was also good at Target and Starbucks.

After he had added those in, he went back to the original list including math and basketball.

The point had been made.

Just because he’s a teenager who doesn’t say a lot, he definitely listens and learns. And he has huge ears. 

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Beard and mustacheSimon started getting a mustache when he was 12. It was cool, though, because the school district allows mustaches from junior high on. (I’m not sure why.)

Now he’s 15, and he’s starting to get a lot of chin whiskers. It isn’t cool, though, because the school district does not allow beards. (I’m not sure why of this either…)

He seems to be quite fond of his beard, though, because whenever we ask him about shaving it off, no matter how we phrase it, no matter how we introduce the idea, his response is always the same.

No.

Apparently it’s not just his chin hair that’s started the no-ing in his life. It’s also the cafeteria food.

Simon is a grilled cheese connoisseur, and the school cafeteria does not meet his exacting standards when it comes to the proper presentation of grilled cheese.

Two grilled cheese sandwichesTop: Unacceptable. Simon will say no and refuse to take it because there is cheese on top of the bread.

Bottom: Acceptable. The cheese is in its proper configuration and does not cross the plane of the bread.

At home – and restaurants – this doesn’t be a problem, mostly likely (we’re guessing) because there’s not a choice involved. At home, he helps make it himself, and at the restaurant, it’s served to him. No choice to reject it and get a different plate from the line.

Hopefully, going with the flow when there aren’t other options a good sign.

Hopefully, that means that if we present him with a razor (without an option), he’ll decide that there’s no choice there, either.

Hopefully, if that doesn’t work, his high school will be understanding.

And hopefully, if they aren’t, it will be easy enough to create our own religion that requires members to grow beards and eat properly made grilled cheese sandwiches.


elopementLike a lot of people, I have my email come to my phone.

Yesterday morning, I checked it while I was getting up and discovered two that stopped me in my routine.

The first one was that a 12-year-old autistic boy was missing.

The second one was that the 12-year-old autistic boy was found “in the water.” (At the time I’m posting this, he was taken care of in the hospital because he was suffering from hypothermia. A sergeant saw his wet clothes and dry shoes at the shore, spotted him, and then went in to rescue him.)

But I didn’t know that he was still alive when I saw that headline.

I thought he, like so many other autistic kids who elope, was found dead in the water.

Dead.

And I felt sick.

Sick like someone had punched me in the stomach. Sick like I couldn’t breathe in and out anymore. Sick like I had to sit down for a minute with my head down.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t my kid. It was a kid. It could have been my kid.

Last week, we had an incident at school.

There is some he said/she said going on, but I have faith in the version of the story I heard from the bus aide and the bus driver:

While were loading up a kid with a wheelchair onto the bus, the aide noticed Simon.standing alone. No one was near him. No one was watching him. No one seemed to notice him.

According to the aide (and the bus driver), he seemed confused and had begun wandering from the bus area towards the car rider line.

Not cool.

So not cool.

So not cool it’s dangerous.

They did spot him, and they did get him and put him on the bus.

Nothing bad happened.

But all it would have taken was a one or more people not paying attention, and Simon could have been in the ocean (metaphorically since we’re quite far from the ocean).

Wandering down the road isn’t much better. It’s a busy road, and if he had gone in one direction, he’d wind up near some woods. If he’d gone in the other direction, he’d be heading towards the main highway that goes from Galveston to Dallas and beyond.

Neither of those options are much better than the ocean. Neither of those options are safe. Neither of those options make my stomach feel good.

How does this end?

It doesn’t.

Simon’s teacher is instituting a few new policies to try to make sure it never happens again. But we’re human. It most likely will happen again, even if it’s not on her watch.

This is life with an autistic child.