Wednesdays are date nights for us. Usually that means ordering in and watching something on Hulu or Amazon Video on Demand. Exciting, I know. This week, Matt convinced me to watch Cowboys and Aliens. He has now lost his movie picking privileges for at least a month. I honestly don't know how I thought a title like that was going to end up going well. I'm sure my IQ has permanently dropped at least a few points, and I am sure I will never look at Harrison Ford the same way ever again.
When it was my turn to pick I chose a romantic comedy, much to the chagrin of the peanut gallery. In this movie, the father was suffering from Alzheimer's and often decided (in public) that he really didn't want to wear pants. In one scene, they were in an airport restaurant and his son lost sight of him for a few minutes. When he found his dad, he was eating dinner with his pants neatly folded on the table. Everyone was staring and whispering, but the dad didn't seem to notice. His son stood and took in the scene for a moment, then decidedly removed his pants and joined his dad for a steak dinner via boxer shorts.
It reminded me of what it's like with Dylan.
He's happy and mostly oblivious to the world around him, even though sometimes there are stares and whispers. He doesn't notice, but I do...And each time I am faced with a choice. I can join him in his world and soak in the joy and perfect innocence, or I can wallow in the judgment and feel sorry for myself.
At first, it was hard. Scary. I didn't know what to do. But little by little, I am gradually learning to shake off the stares and embrace the moment with him. He's only four years old, but as time passes he will become more aware of public disapproval. And I, his mother, cannot be one of the voices contributing to the sea of negativity. And so I have to keep trying to push past this need for public approval that is so engrained in me and just enjoy this moment with my little boy.
Dylan has this thing he likes to do. He has me sit at one end of the hallway, and he runs to the other end, stops for a moment, then gets this huge look of excitement and daring in his eyes and runs toward me as fast as he can. I catch him and fall over backwards and he laughs hysterically, then starts all over again. I've often thought how much I'd like to get one of those helmet-cams so I could videotape what it's like to see him like this. To see this ball of joy and anticipation running at you at full speed. Or to see his face light up when you go into his room to wake him up. All those little joyful moments peppered throughout my day, just because I have him in my life. I am certain that if the world could see him through my eyes, they would love him as much as I do, autism and all. They'd embrace the boxer shorts moments with us.
It's funny how much Dylan has changed me. I even look at cars differently. Have you ever noticed that 90% of all vehicles are white, tan, gray or black? We are all so worried about being just a little bit different that we don't even choose a color for our car! We are so obsessed with blending in that this notion of conformity spills into every decision we make.
In this world where conformity is the only way to survive, being autistic effectively puts a bullseye on your butt. Not just for snotty nose kids or unkind teenagers to take shots. But for too many folks of all ages who have resigned their own free will and preferences to those of the masses. They have conformed for so long that they can no longer see the beauty of the individual. They are the borg. Resistance is futile.
Sorry, random movie reference for my fellow Trekkies. Anybody?
Am I any better? Nope. But somehow God saw fit to bless me with this little guy who sheds light on the beauty of all people. Who reminds me that true beauty is only found in the things that make us stand out. Were it not for him, I would still be lost in the sea of conformity.
I just finished reading the book Dancing With Max, where the mother of an autistic boy recalls an encounter at a bowling alley. A grandfather was bowling with his grandchildren and was put off by Max's loud expressions of joy. He approached the mother and loudly asked "why did you have to bring it here?"
Cruelty and judgment are all around us and at this point in my journey I am overwhelmed by it. I am feeling my way through the dark and learning as I go. I've learned for example, that it's not helpful to look around the room to read the reaction of others when Dylan is having a meltdown. Best to just keep my eyes focused on him. I've also learned from experience that it's pointless to try and teach Autism 101 to those who don't want to learn. There will always be another day, another encounter filled with whisperers. We are outnumbered and I am tired. So I must choose to let them whisper. To let them live their entire lives without a clue of the gift they are missing.
And to continue to try myself to eat dinner in my boxer shorts whenever I am blessed with the opportunity to do so.
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