I Am Autism

Do you know who I am?

I am funny-loud-big.

At the same time, I am quiet. 

I am the month of April, and the favorite color blue.

I am a number.

A statistic.

A stereotype.

I am a slippery riddle—a puzzle piece on a car bumper, a black sentence upon white paper, a curious phenomenon. 

I am autism.

I am a social story before fireworks.

A schedule fixed to the refrigerator.

I am speech services, and applied behavior analyses, and occupational therapy.

I am autism.

I can be silly.

I can be serious.

I can be curious, and interesting, and fun.

I am a boy.

I am a boy and he is me, and try as you might, we cannot be separated. 

I am stares in the parking lot, and whispers into cupped palms.

I am isolation, and loneliness.

I am autism.

I tip-toe across continents. I bob upon distant shores. I speak every language. 

I live in mansions, and apartment buildings, and rural communities.

Ideas like socioeconomics and demographics mean nothing to me.  

I don’t care about money, or status, or ethnicity.

It doesn’t matter if you have a house in the Bahamas, or a ski chalet in Colorado.

I will find you.

I am timeless.

I am here to stay. 

There is no cure. 

Don’t try to hide me. I cannot be concealed.

I show up when you least expect it—in a fancy restaurant during a birthday celebration, or in the line to ride the rollercoaster. Also, church.

This is my moment to shine, you see. I love to disrupt the celebrating/waiting/praying part of life. It is my specialty. 

I am an interloper of happiness, and peace. 

I watch from the outside, because people make me nervous. 

Like a turtle in a shell, I hide. I keep others out with my shell-ness. I reject them.

I am autism.

I ride piggy-back upon a child. I perch atop his shoulders, and I weigh him down with my demands.

I insist on fear, and mistrust, and anxiety so deep, it twists his soul around his heart until he can no longer breathe.

I tie my leg to his and together, we attempt to run.

I am a real-life field day, beneath the early summer sun.

I am a son.

A brother, and a sister.

A cousin, nephew, grandchild.

I am sometimes non-verbal.

And sometimes too-verbal.

Either way, I make a mess of the words.

I don’t like them, you see. 

In this boy’s mind, language is a most beautiful calligraphy, written upon long curly scrolls of paper. But by the time they get to his tongue, I turn the beauty into one hundred stinging bees.

This is autism. Research tries to get all fancy with phrases like delayed communication, and limited social skills.

Really, it is just a turtle and some bees, trying to find their footing upon the dew-covered grass. 

I cause a lot of disagreements. 

A mother and a father glare across the dinner table and argue about vegetables.

A husband and a wife stay up at night, and argue about guardianship, and independent living.

Brothers and sisters argue about the idea of fair.

People in politics argue about regulations and legislation and benefits.

You should know there is no such thing as fair. Fair flew out the window the minute I walked through the door—a  disloyal bird if there ever was one. 

I bring grief.

Fathers grieve the ball-throwing boy in a baseball cap, and a new driver behind the wheel.

Mothers grieve deep hugs, and gentle kisses.

But—the proverbial finger-wagging but—I am not all bad.

I am an expected joke during breakfast, and the most delicious chocolate cake a boy can bake. 

I am a family forever changed.

I am hope.

I am autism.

I am wily.

I am complicated. 

I am misunderstood.

I can be me.

If you let me.

Let me be me. 

I am important, you see.

This boy, he will probably never run for office.

It’s unlikely he’ll write public policy. 

He may never drive a car. 

He might not change the world through fundraising or charity or politics.

This is okay.

A fire burns within him. It is strong, and wild. 

The truth is, he doesn’t have autism to change the world.

He has autism so he can change your mind about what is possible.

I want to change your mind.  

This is why I exist. 

I am autism.

I am perfect yellow wonder against a cerulean sky.

I am good, the way rain is good.

Mostly, I am an echo in the deep, dark night.

Jack-a-boo, I love you.