Life Begins (3 page)

For all of the arguments for
special needs, there is also an historical case to be made that
autistics can meet the same challenges as normal people and even
excel in everyday life. I don’t oppose offering services to help
autistic people in areas where they have difficulties, but I do
oppose treating them as less than a person.

When you treat somebody like they
have some debilitating disease, they pick up the message that they
are lesser. I never had that, and my parents never treated me like
I was special needs. They treated me like I was special to them. I
was wanted, loved, and cared for.

Even though I was believed to be
normal, I had my quirks. I didn’t do anything until I was ready to
do it. I didn’t walk until I decided to do it. My parents tried to
teach me to walk. I made my legs go limp and wouldn’t help them in
the teaching process. I had a walker, but the actual walking
without the use of mechanical assistance wasn’t going to happen
until I decided to do it. So one day, I decided to pull myself up
with the help of my grandmother’s skirt. I then took a few steps on
my own. Unlike most children, I didn’t wobble or teeter. I walked
perfectly, as the story goes.

Autistic people often come off as
stubborn. We aren’t. We are also not non-cooperative nor exactly
cooperative. We do not understand the world around us and feel more
comfortable moving at our own pace.

Autistics often come across as
arrogant. We aren’t, though. We see the world differently and
understand it differently. We do not fully understand people. They
are like some sort of strange species to us. The only thing we are
certain of is ourselves. It is the only thing one can fully know in
a confusing world of lights and sounds.

I don’t remember much of my
childhood. I have heard the stories my parents have told me. I know
I used to lose myself listening to records. I have seen the home
movies of me rocking back and forth to 45s. The stories go that I
wouldn’t even respond to my name during these times.

As a writer, I usually write to
music. I find it helps me to feel the emotion I am trying to
convey. It is not uncommon for me to listen to the same song
repeatedly for hours on end. Before the age of CDs, I would set up
the old record player to replay a single over and over again as I
worked things out in my mind.

There are times when the world
gets too noisy for me. I have to shut myself off from it and center
myself in the silence. I cannot explain it to a normal person, but
I like the sound of silence and being away from the world for a
little bit like I am some sort of old hermit.

My parents accepted I was a little
different, but to be honest, my differences were somewhat
hereditary. I was like my great-grandfather and my uncle. I never
knew my great-grandfather, and I didn’t spend much time with my
uncle because he lived far away. It is kind of scary to think you
can have hereditary behavior from relatives you never really knew.
It’s not a learned behavior, but somehow it has gotten passed
down.

I don’t know what my father
thought of me. Looking back at his teachings, I see he was
tailoring his parenting to me. Instead of trying to get the child
to conform to the parent, my father met me where I was and used
what I would understand to help to make me into the person he
wanted me to be.

What I remember about my childhood
was a great deal of freedom and responsibility. Sunday mornings I
was allowed to wake up at 5:30 in the morning and watch The Muppet
Show by myself. I would then go back to bed and wake back up a few
hours later to get ready for church. I was doing this before I even
started school. It was not considered sneaking out of bed or doing
something forbidden. They helped me to set my alarm
clock.

I don’t know why my parents let me
do this. Maybe they saw no harm in it. Looking back on it, I
realize now that even before I went to school, I learned how to
tell time and the value of being able to get up for something.
These are skills people need in life when they have a job or other
responsibilities they have to get up for.

Since we didn’t have cable, I had
to turn the antenna from the northeastern direction to the
southwestern direction. I was learning geographical relationships
between my town and the bigger cities in the state as well as
things like north, south, east, and west.

My father used my interests to
help to teach me life skills and to give me an education. In
exchange, I was given a certain amount of freedom to explore and
discover the world around me without a fear of getting in
trouble.

I have always had a hard time
sleeping. I would lie in bed for a couple of hours and not fall
asleep. After the local news would end, my parents would watch
Leave It to Beaver. I would either watch it with them, or watch it
from the hallway. They knew I was doing it and knew that I had to
get up in the morning to go to school. They never acted like this
was something I shouldn’t be doing. Maybe they were sharing a part
of their own childhood with me or giving me an example of child
that could get in trouble in every episode and still come to his
parents for help.

As I look back at all of the
lessons that my father taught me, I realize that he taught me
through stories, riddles, challenging my thinking, and using things
that I enjoyed doing.

I was special to my parents
because I was a difficult pregnancy, but that didn’t mean the rest
of the world should think that I am special or treat me special.
There is a value to caring about another person, especially when we
put them ahead of ourselves and our problem. Life will present you
with problems. You can lament this fact, or you can accept them as
the particular circumstances you have been given in life and look
for ways to overcome them.

There have been many times since
my father’s death I have missed going to him for advice. It took me
until I was an adult to realize that he imparted me with not only
all of the wisdom I would ever need, but he gave me the
philosophies and skills to solve all of the problems I would ever
have.

The best teachers are those that
change your life without you ever noticing they were educating you.
My father was this kind of man.

Chapter Two

As Cruel as School
Children

My childhood was a happy one. My pre-school
days were spent with Christine. We played together every day. It
was then that I started to love her. I admit that it was a childish
love, but it was fun. I remember playing house a lot in those early
days. It was always her choice. I didn't care. All I wanted was to
spend time with her.

~~~

Jack and I had two very different
childhoods. I think we were both jealous of each other and wanted
what the other one had. I was what some have called a "little
princess" and got whatever material desires I wanted. My father saw
me as an extension of himself. For me to project wealth was to
project wealth on him. Since that was the image that he wanted, I
had the best clothing and toys.

Jack's father didn't care about
giving Jack the best toys. He seemed to be grooming him into a
grown-up. Instead of toys, Jack's father would rather spend time
with him.

I remember a time when Jack wanted
a toy. His father told him that he didn't need it. Jack then threw
a fit. His father then looked at him and talked to him as if he
were an adult. He told him quite plainly that the toy would break
and would only bring him a temporary happiness. But Jack had
learned a few lessons by watching me handle my parents, so he
continued the tantrum. His father led him out of the store. I was
sure that Jack was going to get the beating of his life.

The next time I saw him, I asked
him what his dad did to him. He told me that after he had been
taken out of the store, his father took him to a homeless shelter.
He showed him children that didn't have any toys, food, or a home.
They relied on the kindness of others for everything that they
had.

I think it was probably one of the
most traumatic things to have ever happened to Jack. It's an
example of what I loved so much about his father. By that
Christmas, Jack had been so deeply scarred that he was too scared
to ask for anything. Santa Claus brought him the toy that he threw
the tantrum over. That was his father.

Our parents were the best of
friends and of the same financial status, but they had two very
different views. My parents always gave me the best things. Jack's
always gave him what was best for him. I don't think Jack ever knew
how truly lucky he was.

I would have traded all of my toys
just to see my parents look at me liked his looked at him. When
Jack was learning to read, there was a look of proudness that I
have never seen on my parents' faces. Mine just seemed annoyed that
I couldn't read any better than a first grader.

Jack can kid me about being "a
little princess," but he was a little prince. He ruled that house.
I don't think there was ever a child who was more loved. Everything
that his parents did revolved around him. They didn't give him
everything that he wanted, but they gave him what was best for him.
My parents were always in a popularity contest. Jack's didn't care
if they were popular.

There is a reason that we played
house so much when we were kids. It was an escape for me. My
Barbies were still beautiful people that didn't have any problems.
Playing house let me escape to an everyday life where life could be
different. Jack was a doting husband. I worked and came home to him
every day. I knew that when I grew up that I didn't want to be
caged up in the house waiting for a man to come home so I could
start my day. I was going to live and come home to the
man.

And for the record, I did let Jack
choose. He just usually wanted to play doctor. It's not that I
minded. There was a reason that I was never late from work when we
were playing house.

~~~

The odd thing about being a child is that you
play like you are grown up. There then comes a day when you wish
you could return to those days when you didn't really understand
what it was like to be a grown up. Christine was my
childhood.

I don't remember anything else but her. It was
a love that was pure and honest. Everything just seemed to
work.

I don’t know why it would work, though. We
were playing like we thought couples should act. We didn’t fight.
The kisses were fake and meaningless. It was more fake than a
sitcom. Seriously, the house could catch on fire and we would get
bombed by some warlord all within two hours of playing and never
have any problems. That is they joy of being a child. You don’t
sweat the big stuff. Now if you fall down, that is a problem. But
you getting bombed by a warlord is nothing. I wonder what show I
was watching back then.

My childhood ended by the time that I got into
kindergarten. Our perfect love couldn't endure the temptation of
other men. I mean, Christine couldn't handle the temptation of
other men. I didn't turn gay in kindergarten. I haven't turned gay
after kindergarten for that matter.

Anyway, once we got to kindergarten, Christine
started to change. We went from playing what we saw on T.V. as the
perfect love to what was happening on the soap operas. I was still
in love with her, but she was cold and distant. She told me that
now that we were at school, she didn't want to play the same as we
used to after school. So I gave her some space.

I was fine with that. I had become friends
with Arthur and Leopold by that time. It was nice to have some guy
friends. They taught me a great many things. If it hadn't been for
them, I wouldn't have known that girls have cooties. You know, I
would give anything to know that cooties is the worst I could get
from a girl now.

It was a moral dilemma for me. I didn't know
what cooties were, but I knew that I didn't want them. On the other
hand, I was still attracted to Christine. She was the picture of
perfection. There's nothing like a flat-chested, knobby knee-ed
girl to make a boy of six fall in love. I didn't even know why I
wanted her, but I wanted her. But I was going to be a man about it
and deny myself the pleasure of her company.

And then one day, she forgot her milk money. I
was there laughing and having a good time with Arthur and Leopold.
And there sat Christine by herself crying.

I don't know how it happened, but somehow I
ended up next to her. I also accidentally bought her a milk. We
ended up talking and laughing over our milks. I made her laugh so
hard that milk came out of her nose. I gave her my napkin, and she
cleaned herself up.

As she handed me back the napkin, we caught
each other's eyes. I then told her that I loved her. She looked
back at me and told me that was nice. By this time, her girl
friends had gathered around us. She got up to join them. They then
got into a circle and started to laugh at me as they walked
away.

Arthur and Leopold came over to me. No words
were spoken for about five minutes. Arthur then started to say how
stupid girls were. We made a pact that no girl would ever come
between us again. Who needs women anyway?

It's amazing how early we learn our roles.
Maybe we are spending our entire lives playing roles and hoping
that we can get the part just right long enough to get through
life.