This is autism too

Our culture overflows with autism stereotypes. Auties are these people with amazing mathematical abilities but who are for the most part emotionally blank (well, except for when it comes to the occassional feeling of fear). Just think Rainman or that kid in Mercury Rising. Brilliant, yes, but neither ever smiled. Even representations of high-functioning Aspies are narrow and stereotypical. There's Jerry on Boston Legal--you know, the guy who barks and does weird things with his hands but never smiles. Then there was Grey's Anatomy's attempt at bringing Asperger's to the small screen. As Dr. Virginia Dixon, Mary McDonnell embodied just about every autism stereotype for three episodes. And, of course, she never smiled.

I remember going to see The Black Balloon a few months ago with some friends and being in awe as I watched it. There was someone with autism. And there was someone who laughed and smiled and enjoyed life (and yes, he had his share of "autistic" behaviors too). It was the first time I'd ever seen a representation of autism on the screen and saw even the slightest traces of Nick.

Our culture seems to enjoy focusing on the dark, "freakish" aspects of autism, highlighting the car accident so that Americans will slow down to stare. Lord, you only need to take a look at that Autism Everyday film that Rochelle pointed out (and that I got so flippin' angry about). Trantrums and freakish behavior--yep, that's how autism is rhetorically constructed.

Granted, yes, people on the spectrum may have tantrums and may do things that are not socially acceptable. But, along with that, there is the beauty and awe . . . the awetism.

Yesterday we celebrated the 4th with a little backyard barbeque. As the burgers were grilling, Nick climbed up on this little ladder we have in the yard . . . it was once a pool ladder, and Noah was so taken by it that I spent $5 on it at a neighbor's yard sale. Nick stood on the top and looked up at the sky. He laughed and laughed and laughed at the clouds and the trees. His joy is the purest, truest joy I've ever seen . . . so beautiful. How often do the rest of us stop to look at the beauty of the sky? How often do we drink in that joy so deeply that we bubble with laugher for several minutes? Not enough . . . not even close to enough.

When darkness came we went to watch the fireworks with friends. Nick watched the light show, reaching for the sky and saying "oh-fie-y, oh-fie-y." And then we braved the traffic, joining the host of others trying to cram their cars onto the freeway. Most of us respond to traffic jams less than positively . . . but Nick's beautiful laughter returned as we sat in the line of cars. He was looking at the trees on the side of the road. "Twee, twee," he'd say between giggles.

So beautiful that my eyes fill with tears thinking about it now. That's awetism.