First Impressions

A bit of a personal note here. We have an autistic son, now 21 years old. He looks maybe 15, and rarely speaks to people he doesn't know and almost never answers questions with anything more than monosyllables. People who don't know him don't seem to know how to talk to, much less with, him.

I don't mind it. Nor does he. The social discomfort on their part is understandable. For starters, the old saw goes that "if you've seen one autistic child, you've seen one." There is no predictable pattern, no shorthand way to understand.

My son is close to being a savant in the sense that he has memorized the periodic table of the elements, that he can name and number every President (even Millard Fillmore), that he can, if he wants, tell you the day of the week for any date on the modern calendar, and can recite Pi to 50 spaces. And so on. He collects dictionaries, and uses them for bedtime reading. He also reads comic strip collections ranging from Zits to Garfield, but his favorite books, worn to pieces and really just a collection of pages, are a pair of kids boardbooks he has had all his life. Though he doesn't really read those anymore, simply carries them around like totems.

That can lead to some interesting moments, like when he and I were at our favorite restaurant (he doesn't really like variety) and the waitress asked where his mom and sister were. I explained that the mom was out of town on business and the sister was at a theater rehearsal. This waitress, noticing the child's book he was carrying, talked with him like to a 5-year-old. Then my son, out of the blue, said, deadpan, "Yep, no estrogen at this table." The waitress walked away, speechless.

Sometimes, too, people can be cruel. My son also has some facial deformities; one time he and I were at our other favorite restaurant and a guy came up to the table, looked at son, and said to me, "He's got a syndrome, right?" I cautiously said, "Yes." He handed me a card. "I'm a pediatric dentist. I can work with kids like him." I quietly took his card, knowing I would throw it away. I wish I had torn it up and thrown the pieces back at him, saying, "he's a person, you know, not a syndrome, and he understands." But I didn't.

As I said, few people know how to approach him. But I know that was wrong.

He can play the piano well, but only when compelled. He doesn't like anything that draws attention to himself -- he once tanked in the first round of a geography bee simply so he could sit down. I don't think he processes words quickly, so avoids discussing anything other than measurable facts. Yet I know deep down he listens, hears, and thinks. Because sometimes out of the blue he will come up with some deep personal statement or question, or reveal that he has been listening all along.

Don't especially know why I am sharing all this today. Because it matters I guess. And because, bottom line, I am so damned grateful to him for all the perspective, demands, and joy he has brought to my life. I have gone places I never would otherwise have gone, literally and symbolically. I used to say having him was a mixed blessing, but now I simply say a blessing, purely that.