This week somebody told me we should start having the conversation with him about what autism is and I’m not going to lie, I almost cried on the spot and I’m not even sure why. I knew we’d get here eventually but that topic itself feels…huge. Monumental. Like a giant turning point in the road that I wasn’t sure we were ready to take yet.
I did what most sane people do in these kinds of situations, I googled it. (Not even kidding) As I read the google search results I found out that some people don’t ever tell their kids they’re autistic and I’m sorry what?!!? That was never on the table as an option. However, it did make me realize that we’re in a situation where yes, he is autistic but he also has the capability to process that information and understand what that means. But what do I even begin to say?? I asked our friend who told me it was probably time to start thinking about talking about it if I could just show him the Sesame Street clip from a few years ago where they introduced a muppet named Julia who is autistic. Surely if anyone, anything could explain this better than me it was Elmo and Big Bird.
But what do you even begin to say to a kid who has lived his entire life with a diagnosis that he doesn’t yet know he has? Words are kind of my thing and all I could think of to say was “your brain works differently” and “it’s like a superpower”, and those cliches make me roll my eyes in all kinds of ways.
If i had to put it into words for him, it’d probably sound something like this:
I mean…yes, autism means that your brain works differently.
But for you it means that you figured out how to unlock an iPad before you turned one. It means you didn’t sleep through the night for the first 3-4 years of your life. It means that you could count to 100 before you knew your name, that one of your first words with x-ray. It means that you can finish a math quiz by yourself and answer 95% of it in your head by just looking at the questions. It means you have no problem making your thoughts and opinions known on so many topics. It means you hate pants. It means you’re hard to get to know because you have to make sure that people are worth you getting to know. (A fact that has driven many therapists crazy when they first met you) It means you hate squishy and slippery things, no matter if it’s touching or eating them. It means you love Trick or Treating but hate the candy. It means we own about a dozen playground balls that you bounce around the house constantly because it’s one of your favorite ways to self regulate. It means we had mid sized trampoline in our house for years for the same reason. It means when you decide you want to do something with the rest of the family we tend to drop everything and do it because you don’t ask often. It means you see opportunities, you notice the little things, you love predictability. It means that when your giant brown eyes connect with mine my heart melts into a giant puddle because for so many years it felt like you were looking right through me. It means your sense of humor is impeccable and you have a hard time remembering people’s names. It means when you find your people, you hold hard to them. It means when you fall in love with something, whether it’s a video game or the restaurant down the street we go all in because now we have common ground and those can be hard to find sometimes.
For me, it has meant spending your entire life trying to make the world better prepared for you and your awesomeness. It has meant my life has been made exponentially better because of the things I’ve learned, the people we’ve met, the ways you’ve forced me to see the world in a different lens. It means I can tell you the night that you first told me you loved me at bedtime. It means I won’t ever stop trying to convince you that the sky’s the limit and you CAN do hard things.
Turns out that maybe I don’t need Elmo and Big Bird after all.
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