The Alternative Press

A five-minute ride home from a Saturday afternoon basketball game turned into a fascinating exchange about autism. By way of background, G’s older son, hereby known as Lashes, has Asperger’s. My older son, heretofore Blue, who’s in the same grade as Lashes and has been in his class several times, didn’t know. It wasn’t a secret. It’s just never come up; it never seemed like it had to come up. Lashes is just Lashes. And Blue, for sure, is just Blue. They both have unique ways of navigating the world.

Back to the great post-game conversation. G and I had a van full with my boys, Blue and Dimples, G’s youngest son Curls, and my mother. We talked about a play during the game when Dimples was called for a foul and the very tall, very large boy (in contrast to my very not tall or large son) he supposedly fouled took his two shots. When he made one of them, the crowd went crazy (as Tommy hit the stage – sorry, I couldn’t help the slight Who diversion). I was a little confused at the excited reaction to this boy sinking a foul shot, but I didn’t give it too much thought. In talking about that foul and Dimples’ perceived injustice over being called for it, G explained that the spectators clapped so much because the boy was autistic and it’s a big deal when he makes a shot.

Blue responded by saying, “but he didn’t have that face.” What “that face” is, I’m not sure. Probably something I should have followed up on. G and my mom, both in the front, started talking about autistic children having poor muscle tone and weak core strength and G cited Lashes as an example. Suddenly, from the distant third row in the van, where all requests to quiet down and stop slapping the person next door are miraculously never heard, Blue piped up: “Lashes is autistic?” I stayed very still. This was the moment we knew would arise at some point, and some point was here.

I had the distinct feeling that G would be best poised (better than me) to present this information in an honest and sensitive way, having informed many people about Lashes’ autism, so I waited for her to speak. In what sounded like a brotherly protective panic, Curls reacted to Blue’s question with a worried, “Mom? Mom?” as though sacred ground had been violated and he wanted G to level the intruder. G said, very matter-of-factly, that there’s a spectrum like a rainbow and that some people are very autistic while some are very high functioning, like Lashes. G said that Lashes has something called Asperger’s, to which Blue replied that that sounded like a kind of burger (a kid-like and thankfully nonjudgmental response).

Then, Dimples weighed in, eagerly asking, “am I on it, am I on it?” If there was a multi-colored spectrum, he wanted in. Blue asked if Lashes knew about his Asperger’s and G said that he knows; he knows his brain works differently, and Blue said, “yeah, he’s really smart,” which he is. Blue’s reactions were fine: curious, open-minded and accepting, but those pre-reaction moments are the ones that make a mother cringe (what will he say…please, please let him be gracious).  I know that deep down, Blue is a caring, empathetic person, but that deep down stuff is tricky - sometimes it’s so murky down there, these traits have trouble reaching the surface for air. I was pleased with how the exchange went and relieved, frankly, that Lashes’ Asperger’s was out in the open.

As reality would have it, the good juju lasted only so long. Later that afternoon, my mom, the boys and I went sneaker shopping for Dimples. When the first store we went into could only produce one pair of high-top Nikes, Blue said, in a very undiplomatically loud voice so that the store’s owner and the employees could hear, that we should go to Store X down the street to see what they have and we can always come back and get these if we had to. Ouch. My mom and I were mortified and tried to impress upon him that there are discreet ways to handle such situations. Where was the concerned, supportive child of an hour earlier? He seemed to get what we were saying, but I’m not altogether convinced. I’ll have to bring it up again. As karma would have it, Store X couldn’t produce even one pair of fitting basketball shoes (they tried to sell us a pair that was too big), so the nice guys with the shiny Nike high-tops won the day. I never did find out about “that face.” Now, I have two things about which to follow up with Blue.