A Christmas Convoy

David still has a Christmas tree in his room--not full size, just a little three foot, multi colored pre-lit one, free of decorations.

I did try to take it down in January, but David protested.  He uses it each night like an oversized night light.  I guess with David we tend to follow the maxim, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” and please-please-please don’t let it break now because I am not sure where I would find a replacement in the middle of July.

Lately, David’s thoughts have wandered toward Christmas, as they seem to each July.  Fortunately, he has not yet gone hunting for the well-worn copy of Wiggly, Wiggly Christmas, but rather opted for his favorite Hallmark felt advent calendar in the shape of a Christmas tree.

And then just a few days ago, I heard him knocking around in our basement storage room, generally not a place that we encourage him to explore independently.  By the time I went to investigate, he had already found the “guys,” a set of Fisher Price holiday figurines.  I wrote about his fascination with these characters here and for those of you who have not already read it, go right ahead, I will wait.

You’re back?  Okay, good.  David retrieved the entire basket of figurines and once again began the sorting process. Just like last year, he kept Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus, the wise men and an angel.  Oh, and a Christmas tree for good measure.

But, Santa Claus?  Nope.  Two elves?  Nope.  The snowman and a reindeer?  Nope and nope.  Santa Claus?  Wait, there are two Santas?  There must be a figurine for the “real” Santa and one for the fill-in “department store” Santa.  David tossed them all aside, chucked in dramatic fashion over his shoulder into a discard pile.

The figures that made the cut were all carted up to David’s bedroom.  I waited as he searched the toy box, but this time instead of cramming them haphazardly into a single, yellow school bus, they must have decided to splurge and charter two identical buses so that they could all ride home in comfort.

These new and improved vehicles came equipped with the reverse noise; you know the “beep beep beep” warning sound that some trucks make when in reverse?  And, according to David’s reenactment of the action, this Christ caravan did a great deal of backing up.

They must have been lost because, as you probably know, they took a different route home.  Plus, the way David had the cast of characters divided, Mary and the angel were in the second bus while the first bus held all men.

I guess no one was willing to stop and ask for directions.

A Rare Glimpse

I was recently at a family reunion, standing outside in the morning light and watching as pictures were taken.  All eyes were focused on those in the photo.

I commented to the person standing next to me that David would have been looking the opposite direction.  Had David been there, he would have first noticed that there were two lawn sprinklers and the mist over the spray was catching the light.  And when they rotated into the right position, you could see a rainbow.

“And now, because of David, you see it that way, too,” she remarked.

I wish I could see the world through David’s eyes and, when I am lucky, sometimes I do get to take a peek.

The "A" Word

How could Andrew have "needs improvement" on his progress report for math when he got 100% on almost every paper that he brought home?

This was the burning question from the first quarter progress report when Andrew was in the first grade, almost six years ago. I know that it is now time to let it go, but at the time I was irritated because I had not saved any of the papers. I had no way to prove that we had every indication that Andrew was doing really well in the class.

I later discovered that the teacher had given every student a "needs improvement" because literally everyone has room to improve.

Needless to say, I have saved every paper since that day, at least until the final report card has been received and there are no surprises.

Having just completed sixth grade, Andrew is now old enough to go through his papers and mature enough to realize that he does not want to keep every single one, just several dozen a select few which get stowed in a memento box under his bed.

So, I set him at this task last week, asking him to sort out what he wanted to keep and put the rest into the recycle bin. And then, of course, I surreptitiously culled through the pile again to weed out a few more papers when I saw this assignment. I am not certain exactly what he had been asked to do, but obviously he used words that describe himself or his life.

He included happy, hopeful, honest--all laudable qualities. And then there are interests like football and history and even his favorite color blue. And then I saw it--there in white right above the W of his name.

AUTISM

Obviously, Andrew is not the one with the diagnosis, but at the tender age of twelve--tween years, he would be quick to tell you--apparently he has realized that "autism" is a label that we all share.

At 12, Andrew is about to pass me in height. His shoulders are getting broader and his voice is dropping. He is beginning to pay more attention to things like washing his face and picking just the right outfit.

At 12, he has had to explain to his friends why David sometimes flaps his hands when he gets excited, or may not answer them if they talk to him.

At 12, Andrew still tells David that he loves him every single day and waits patiently for David to say it back. He wonders how things would be different for David--and for him--if David did not have autism. He thinks about what will happen to David as an adult.

As much as we try to prevent it, Andrew's life has always been somewhat defined by the fact that David has autism and at 12, Andrew is beginning to realize it, too.

Cause for Complaint

Let me set the scene for you. David had just finished bathing, which we are trying to get him do more independently, when Michael started prompting him that it was time to get out of the tub.

Unfortunately, there is a Costco-sized bottle of Pantene shampoo, which sits on the ledge of the tub. Why don't you move it? You think I can't hear you, but I know that is what some of you are asking and the answer is now that David has laid eyes on it, he will step out of the bathtub, all soapy and naked, and go searching for it until he finds it. So, short of keeping it in, say, my car trunk--which is not totally handy--I just let him have it.

And let me tell you that the mere sight of that jug of shampoo can make David's eyes light up like he is heading toward the shrimp cocktail table at the all-you-can-eat casino buffet. (Oh wait, David doesn't like shrimp or any fish or really any kind of protein, for that matter, but you get the picture.)

So, Michael had told David it was time to get out of the tub when he noticed the half a bottle of shampoo that had been rubbed into a bubbly halo on David's head.

And then the unforgiveable happened. From what I can piece together from witness accounts, Michael made the mistake of rinsing the shampoo out of David's hair with a plastic cup.

You see, the much preferred shampoo removal method is to adjust the water until it reaches just the right temperature, and then David will run his head back and forth under the faucet like a car going through the car wash at his beloved Russell Speeder's.

I could hear David's objections from the next room.

"Don't EVER do that again. I HATE you doing that."

For a long time, I had wondered if I would ever hear the sound of David's voice. For an equally long time, we have worked with David to find appropriate ways to express his frustration.

Michael had been scolded and we were both beaming. David had uttered ten words--two complete sentences and I couldn't help but marvel at such a beautifully executed complaint.