scribblechic

If you have a child on the Autism Spectrum you are probably pretty comfortable with unexpected statements – some call them blurts.

I don’t love the word blurt, it sounds more like a bodily function and implies an absence of control that interrupts the peace leaving a foul impression.

Around our home unexpected statements are what keeps us on our toes, they create interesting tangents and spontaneous laughter. I’ve come to appreciate the honesty of my son’s speech and the innocence of his errors.

When he was little, my son would spout extravagant facts he’d memorized from the mountains of books that littered his days. I spent a decent amount of time verifying information with my own research so that I could participate in his interests.

This same natural ability created an entire vocabulary of funny one-liners from favorite books and movies. My son and husband could hold an entire conversation with direct quotes taken out of context.

Most days my son’s comedic timing and memory for details is a gift. Some days it’s a burden.

This week a store manager who my son’s school partnered with for practical exercises in social skill building determined it was too much work after my son commented on a customer’s groceries.

If you’re wondering what he said, I’m not telling. I don’t want to shame my son, the customer, or the store manager.

What he said, specifically, isn’t the issue. Some of his statements would make you laugh and others would make you scratch your head. There was one statement that I could conceive was mildly offensive, but most of them were simply misplaced.

I wish I could explain to the manager that my son’s blurts are more exaggerated when he’s nervous; that he will work over-time, verbally, to impress a stranger or make them laugh. Another week and the anxiety might have eased, reducing the instance of unfortunate efforts at humor.

I understand, I do. Unexpected statements present challenges, but they are also opportunities.

What might have happened if the manager stood up for the teenage boy with special needs and communicated to his customer and community that “we’re working on it.” What an awesome message one business might have made to a population of children, parents, and strangers of tolerance and empathy.

The last business did.

We’re going to be ok. Actually, we already are, but I’m sad for the store and it’s customers that they didn’t model the commitment their partnership with special needs families implies. Relationships require an investment in one another, work.

My son isn’t Sheldon Cooper, there is no laugh track to his impressive library of memorized facts or social fumbles. In the real world his embarrassments are not so easily written off and the laughter isn’t always kind.

I spend a lot of time talking to my son about others’ expectations, he’s spent years navigating social norms with the forced attention of a second language; to understand and connect in a world that does not always conform to his expectations.

This morning I wanted to speak on behalf of my son, hoping that maybe someone else might consider an unexpected statement an opportunity  to exercise a different perspective and, maybe, a little patience.