Waiting

(This post was written in April, but I haven’t published it until now.)

Here I sit, waiting.

The Boy and I are at an amusement park on a two-day band trip. And he is waiting in line by himself, to ride a rollercoaster by himself. And I wait, hoping he understands any directions given to him, and isn’t taken advantage of by others in line. But when I offered to go with him, he declined. He’s a teenager.

No one in the band offered to include The Boy in their group today. No teacher made the effort to ensure he was included, so he just wasn’t. He has to pal around with his mom all day, wondering what the other kids are up to. Not that he really minds, but this isn’t inclusion. This is separate but equal.

I can’t make other kids include him. And when I suggested a peer mentoring group to the school administrators, I was ignored.

So, I wait. And I hope that someday, a peer will take the initiative to befriend my son as s/he would any other person, and include him. Until that day, we make do with what we have, each other. Allowed to come along, but not really a part of the whole.

*ps* He enjoyed the ride and even went on a different ride by himself later.

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How Do You Know?

I saw a tshirt advertised on facebook the other day that read in big block letters, “I AM A MOM OF A CHILD WITH AUTISM,” and I thought, “Hm.  Don’t need that!” And then I thought about how quickly I assumed others know that about me, about us, about The Boy.

The Boy doesn’t flap much, doesn’t stim much when we’re out and about.  He saves it primarily for when he takes long walks outside, back and forth either in front of our house, or in front of Grammy’s.  Sometimes, he does it in his room, or from the kitchen to his room.  His stimming looks like an uncoordinated gallop with a sound like a voice-cracking “giggle” that could attract some stares from the un-initiated.  But I can’t recall seeing him do this at the grocery store or at a restaurant, where others may have cause to stare.

I’ll tell you when they do know.  They know about 2 seconds after they ask him a direct question.  They know when he bumps into them and keeps right on walking.  They know when he walks directly between two people that are together.

Every once in awhile, we come across some old, uppity lady who takes affront, but in general people don’t do much more than notice and go about their own lives.  So no, I don’t need a T-shirt.  Whatever people may assume, or learn after a brief encounter with us – it doesn’t much matter to me. As long as they are tolerant and kind, the rest doesn’t matter.  The tolerance and kindness will not be created by a T-shirt, but through hard work, writing, speaking, spreading the word, creating as many programs for NT kids about acceptance as there are for spectrum kids about how to fit in, volunteering, and sharing, sharing, sharing… That begins with us. Ready?