At a certain point, you switch from thinking, “Oh, he’ll just do it when he feels like it” to “Shouldn’t he be doing this by now?” to “What is wrong?”
And generally speaking, pediatricians aren’t very helpful. Every kid is different, they say; everyone learns/grows at his or her own rate.
Meanwhile, my almost 5-year-old looks like a 3-year-old. He eats only a few things, doesn’t speak terribly well, and lags on some developmental milestones.
On the other hand, he’s almost scary smart and a natural mimic. He’s affectionate and thoughtful–as much as a 4-year-old can be, anyway. He often makes connections from 1 to 6 rather than 1 to 2 to 3, etc.
We’ve already been told he’s on the autism spectrum, most likely Asperger syndrome. In a few weeks we’ll find out once and for all exactly where in ROYGBIV he is.
We’re at the beginning of the autism/Asperger roller coaster; I just want to know how best to communicate with my son. I remind myself (not entirely successfully, mind you) that he’s not wrong, he’s just different.
Probably the most surprising thing about the whole situation is that my son and I are likely riding the same coaster.
You know when you take your first semester of psychology and you think you’re a total mess because every chapter, you’re all “Oh my God, this is totally me!” and you’re afraid it’s obvious that you are a raging nut?
That was the first impulse when I read The Complete Guide to Asperger’s Syndrome by Tony Attwood; I had those moments every few pages. But the weird part is some things sounded like they were taken directly from my kindergarten report card.
“Jeffrey is motivated–as long as it’s something he wants to do…he needs to learn to be tolerant of those not as capable as he…has problems hopping, skipping, using scissors.”
Now what you’re probably thinking is the secondary part of that revelation: What kind of weirdo has memorized his kindergarten report card to the point where he can quote it?
Chapter by chapter, not only was I gaining insight into how my son operates, but why my menagerie of quirks and eccentricities aren’t as random as I thought.
And once I got to the part where people explained how they “pass” for neurotypical by acting–and then couldn’t convince people there was anything different because the act became so routine–well, I thought there might be something to this whole thing.
I’ve always felt out of place; like a lightsaber at a Star Trek convention. Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing at first. Because until you start talking to people, you don’t realize that everyone isn’t like you.
I found out too late that some people thought I was an egotistical smartass because I was impatient with people who weren’t keeping up. It wasn’t that I thought I was better than they were–I just assumed they operated on the same system that I did. They also thought I was being deliberately obtuse when I followed instructions literally, not unlike Data on the first season of Star Trek: The Next Generation.
This leads to the whole social interaction nightmare. Not only am I shy to the point of paralysis, but I am incredibly uncomfortable around groups of people, whether it’s friends or family, or a bunch of strangers.
I’m reluctant to talk to people because I have a tendency to ramble on (as you might have noticed by now) about things that nobody particularly cares about. And the hell of it is that I can’t tell when people are bored to tears. Even worse, when they finally get to chime in, I’ll interrupt them because if I don’t say what I’m thinking, I’ll forget it. This tends to make me look more than a bit self-centered. Count how many times you see “I” in this post if you don’t believe me.
My son is a fiend for Thomas the Tank Engine and Cars (to differentiate them from his large Hot Wheels collection, he calls them his “McQueen Cars). I was obsessed–not just interested in–with Mickey Mouse, then Popeye, Superman, and Star Trek before settling on being obsessed with the past.
Not that I enjoyed being a kid; certainly not once I was in junior high school. Maybe it’s because there are no unknowns about something that has already happened it makes me more at ease; I don’t know.
But how many people do you know who have an extensive video collection of old TV commercials? Enough commercials to watch for days on end without repeating?
Well, now you know one. Congratulations.
I could really go on and on with a litany of what I perceive to be flaws in myself, but I fear I’ve gone on too long anyway. Just read Tony Attwood’s book if you haven’t already.
Still, reading the book has helped because so many of the things I do that I thought made no sense actually do. Instead of having panic attacks because I’m so mysteriously “abnormal,” there’s an underlying cause for much of my behavior. It’s not an excuse, but a pattern. And boy, do I love patterns.
Keep in mind that I have no official Asperger diagnosis for myself. For all I know, I could just be a tremendous asshat.
But I want to help my son first. If he is an Aspie, we’ll have a place from which to start in terms of communicating with him and helping him with what he needs.
If nothing else, I want to prevent him from being as miserable and self-loathing as I was when I was an adolescent.
Understanding is the key to everything.
Jeff Sparkman is a pop culture junkie who pontificates daily on all manner of things that are vague tickles in the backs of most people’s minds, like the theme song to B.J. and the Bear or the merits of the various seasons of The Super Friends on his blog, Siftin’. He also occasionally updates his parenting blog, The Dynamic Adventures of Dork Dad. He also feels mildly apprehensive about referring to himself in the third person, but he’s getting over it, as it’s really for just one paragraph.
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Genevieve Hinson is a social media coordinator for Children's Hospital Central California. She's also a writer, wife and mom to two boys and a girl. The opinions she expresses here are her own, as is her obsession for coffee.
