The Space Between Sugar and Vinegar
When my son Jack was a toddler, he threw great big fits in the grocery store. I mean fits. He flung himself on the floor, and shrieked, and one time, he knocked a jar of spaghetti sauce off the shelf and it shattered everywhere.
During all of these fits, not one person tried to help me. No one asked what I needed, or if he was okay, or offered to hold the diaper bag while I wrangled my red-faced child with both of my arms.
Sure, sometimes they made comments with a little bit of vinegar in their voice.
Wow! Tough day, huh?
Other times they coated their words with sugary sweetness and light.
Oh, you sure are giving your mama hard time!
One time I remember a woman waved at him, and asked him his name. He stared at her blankly, and before I could explain that he had autism and he didn’t always respond when people spoke to him, she turned back to her cart and walked away.
Listen, here’s the thing I want you to know. I am not the least bit upset or hurt about this. I don’t blame the people in the grocery store one bit—not even a teensy tiny bit. I mean, not at all.
Honestly, why would they try to help? They didn’t know what the heck was up with him any more than I did. My story is not new. I am not the first person to feel overwhelmed, or scared, or alone. Nor will I be the last.
Jack is thirteen now, and I know so much more about autism.
I know autism affects approximately one out of every sixty-eight children.
I know it’s not a fit, or even a tantrum, but a reaction to something in the environment he can’t tolerate.
I know that our culture is of the non-verbal variety. In other words, we communicate largely by gestures, or signals.
In other words, we nod, shrug, and wave when we want to get someone else’s attention or convey a message.
I mean, think about your day today. Did you nod your head at the woman in the grocery store who got to the line at the exact same time you did, because you wanted to let her know she could go first?
Did you shrug your shoulders at your children when the cashier in Kohl’s was taking a long time even though you promised them it would only take a minute to return the pajamas you bought and if they were good and patient and didn’t run around like nuts, then you could all get lunch at Chipotle?
On the drive home, did you lift your chin at the four-way stop to let the other driver know he could go ahead of you?
And when you went out for dinner tonight, did you kind of tilt your head toward your server to get his attention because you needed another fork?
My son Jack does not understand any of these signals. He does not understand the nodding or the shrugging or the head-tilting.
Teaching someone to recognize non-verbal cues is a lot like teaching someone to breathe, or blink. It is a language built around intuition—wordless gestures buried beneath ancient social constructs
Jack doesn’t understand social constructs. He doesn’t understand our shared perceptions of reality when it comes to gender, and beauty, and communication.
Why. For men. To not wear lipstick.
He doesn’t understand why swear words are bad, or why someone would wave hello, or salute to show respect.
In other words, in the restaurant he would just stand up, and shout that he needs a fork.
For ME. I need. A FORK.
He will be fourteen in a few months, my son of the broken spaghetti sauce jar, the non-waver, the fork-shouter. With each passing year, I realize I cannot change the world for this boy, anymore than I can change him for the world.
The world will continue to shrug and wave and point, and my Jack-a-boo will continue to shout and swear.
Every year, I hope for new things when it comes to my son and autism.
I hope this is the year of the long pause, and the unexpected answer.
The year we linger at our carts in the grocery store, and wait for the words a small boy holds beneath his tongue.
My name. Jack.
Mostly, I hope this is the year we have the courage to look at one another, and ask one question.
This question is exactly five words long, like the fingers of a gentle hand unfolding to a tentative wave.
It is a tender meeting of two worlds, and the heartfelt space between sugar and vinegar.
It is simple and straightforward, yet beneath the syllables lie great possibility.
Try it. Ask it the next time you see a young mother trying to soothe a screaming child.
Ask it when you see someone in a wheelchair struggling to open a door, or a person who looks a little lost.
Ask. You’ll never be sorry.
How can I help you?
Happy 2018, everyone.
Pauline Dehaas
January 1, 2018 @ 11:59 am
We look forward to reading your blog every Monday. We have learned so much, also about practical ways that we can help. You are an amazing Mom and beautiful writer and are impacting many people in a beautiful way. God Bless!
Joni Corcoran
January 1, 2018 @ 12:00 pm
A little kindness would go a long way in this world.
Mary
January 1, 2018 @ 1:06 pm
Thank you for giving me the words to help a mother whose child is on the floor crying. I remember having that happen when my son was two and I had a baby in my arms. it was hard and he did not have autism. People just looked at us.
candidkay
January 1, 2018 @ 1:12 pm
I have to hope through posts like yours and people who share their own family experiences, we will become more enlightened. And helpful. And kind. Happy New Year, Carrie. Wishing you a host of blessings this year.
Steven Hildebrand
January 1, 2018 @ 1:40 pm
My youngest boy, also named Jack, has ASD, among other things. Every day is another page in an ever unfolding adventure for my family. Thank you for sharing your adventure with us. I look forward to your latest blog post every Monday. Peace, regards, etc…
Whitney
January 1, 2018 @ 1:45 pm
Love this! Everyone could benefit from more kindness. Wishing your family a healthy year.
Sue
January 1, 2018 @ 2:29 pm
If my child was not on ASD, I would be a woman thinking that the child needs have a etiquette education of something. Now with ASD child, I learned there is. Whole new world that I did not see, no, it was there in front of me, but I simply didn’t not acknowledge it. Thanks for writing, now always start with my email on Monday morning. Sometimes, I will cry with you but sometimes, I also laugh with you.
Have a good 2018
Stephs Two Girls
January 1, 2018 @ 5:28 pm
So simple and yet so easy to achieve. A great starting point for everyone. Happy 2018 to you x
Kim Black
January 1, 2018 @ 6:38 pm
Unfortunately an offer of help is taken as a judgement that somebody is incapable or doing something wrong. I am very outgoing and willing to help, but people don’t always receive that genuine helpful attitude as it is given. Most people don’t want their space invaded and would rather struggle than agree help is needed.
The village concept is wonderful, but trust of strangers is so hard these days!
Kim
Janet Anderson (Grandmother)
January 2, 2018 @ 7:08 pm
A new Year with all the challenges you face, may you always know, God is right by your side. It is very hard to feel that when the world seems upside down for Jack. May you keep the faith. Thank you for the good you teach us all. We are blessed to be- able to read the gift of writing that has been given to you. God Bless you and your Family. Love you Jack!
Amelia Coonrod
January 2, 2018 @ 9:14 pm
So beautifully written! 🙂
Amelia Coonrod
January 2, 2018 @ 9:18 pm
So, so beautifully written! 🙂