“Walking in a Winter Wonderland” by James Taylor was the song filling the car with sound. The morning was grey, yesterday’s rain still leaving its bruises on the street. As Samuel, the car, James Taylor and I took a quick downhill-uphill I was launched into both writing and experiencing this moment as a movie.
The moment was ripe with autism.
I was a key player in Samuel’s weekend breakfast ritual which I usually agreed to continue with him. Christmas music, the only music he likes and he knows he was born to James Taylor’s voice singing his greatest hits so it has the ultimate spot on the CD he recorded for me. Also on the CD are Dean Martin, Bing Crosby, the East Bakersfield High School Choir’s rendition of Carol of the Bells, Jingle Bell Rock and naturally Elvis singing “Blue Christmas.”
I worry that in allowing his rituals to envelop this morning, I am giving license for him to be perpetually quirky, even more quirky than I, and I wonder if I want him to live through this pain of being different? I know there are many neuro-atypical teens and young adults (that is another term for people living on the autism spectrum) have a pride in being different.
I pray he finds people like that to walk alongside when I am not there to manage his rituals, to attempt to mold them into a somewhat “normal” life.
Back in my living room a couple hours later, the room I write in is filled with Swedish while another of my family member has been watching a subtitled series on Netflix for the past two days. I have a lot of blog work to do before I go to a couple rehearsals for events I want to be in with all my heart and yet I would really rather not spend my Sunday with a crowd of people, smiling, happy and some of them with certain expectations of me and my performance.
The fact that some people will be there who I love with all my heart is what drives my movement into the shower and into choosing clothes to wear that show I actually care how I look.
I wrote a poem this morning, quickly.
I haven’t cried yet today.
It’s time to pour myself another cup of coffee before I scrape yesterday’s sweat from my skin.
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© 2013 by Julie Jordan Scott