scribblechic

I tend to frequent favorite stores, pausing to engage with the familiar faces behind the counters. Today a friendly barista caught my eye with an exuberant wave and greeted me with predictable pleasantries. After the easy perfunctory exchange she asked me, openly with kind tones, if my son is Autistic. My son is indeed on the Autism Spectrum and depending on the day his needs may be glaringly obvious or easily overlooked. In fact, the clue that inspired the question was a simple verbal cue. During a recent visit while redirecting my son I quietly asked my son to look at me. Ironically this small, repetitious request also represents a long journey for my son to be seen authentically alongside his challenges.

Our first challenges were scripted early in my son’s life. Born prematurely he spent his earliest weeks in a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. With tubes helping him breath and eat he fought to gather his own air and to eat independently. My husband and I marveled at his strength and accepted our unique set of parenting challenges without question. We were grateful for our son’s health and like so many parents we treasured each eccentricity as a sign of beauty or genius.

Following the suggested guidelines shared by our pediatrician we scheduled testing for our son through Early Intervention to discern our son’s developmental progress. When he did not qualify for services we accepted the news with a sense of relief. Quirky behaviors were endearing pieces of his personality.

I shadowed my son daily, explaining his world along the way. Our normal was familiar, so much so that we understood our son entirely when other’s struggled to make sense of his speech. Wanting to aid our son in feeling understood and to help make him successful in his exchanges we hired a speech therapist to work with our son from the comfort of our living room.

In preschool my son’s teachers commented on my son’s independently minded behaviors. I celebrated his curiosity and harbored frustration that educators would not welcome free thought. When teachers voiced concerns that he seemed distracted I shared my simple request that my son place his hands on my face, allowing his eyes to naturally follow the resting place of his palms. Hands on face. 

In Kindergarten a mother whose friendship was new questioned my son’s behavior. I rallied against her concerns, exhausted by years of failing to conform to other’s expectations of normal. I tucked my fears behind a wall of defensiveness trying to shield my son from judgement and heartache. To reaffirm my self-righteous indignation I visited his classroom. I watched my son struggle to stay seated and follow directions. He continued to explore his environment at inappropriate times. Simultaneously he had revealed he was reading privately at an advanced level for his age. Begrudgingly I requested another evaluation. When the elementary school claimed our son did not qualify for services I welcomed the news as validation that my little boy was simply bright and perhaps not challenged academically.

The summer between Kindergarten and First Grade we moved to a new school district and during a routine visit to our pediatrician’s office to complete health forms for his registration our doctor expressed a nagging uncertainty born of my son’s behaviors during the visit. She reassured me she was probably wrong, but wanting to err on the side of caution she directed me to another doctor for an evaluation. My apprehension was tempered by the reassurance that our beautiful, healthy little boy was capable of meeting difficult challenges.

At the follow up appointment, sitting in a stranger’s office, my husband and I were given multiple diagnoses to explain what were our favorite pieces of our son’s personality. It was the beginning of seeing our son more completely and creating a new experience where we would guide others to better understand our son. Nothing had changed and yet everything was different. Our love and acceptance of our son was enriched with new knowledge.

Seven years later folded into the context of a simple exchange with a familiar face I marveled at how far we have come that a stranger can see my son so completely and that I too can allow myself to welcome this piece of him wholeheartedly. I have been asking my son for years to look at me, progressing from hands on face to a more subtle direction, believing all the while I was helping my son to see his world more completely through my eyes. In truth my son has been helping me to see his world from the very beginning and my life is fuller for his sharing; our lives enriched by our challenges and the kindness of countless individuals that embrace our vision of normal.

Tagged: Musings, Son