Our Land – Different, Not Less

Today’s Our Land post is brought to you by one of my In Real Life friends. Getting to know her and her son Michael this past year has been such a joy. Such a relief. Being able to have play dates with people who not only get Tucker, but love him for who he is has been a true blessing. Having my friend share a story that spreads hope, empathy, and wonder on Finding Ninee is an honor. Here are her most excellent words.

Different, Not Less

My son Michael has autism. Although this reality is not a journey that most would sign up for, it is our journey- our life, and like most, it has its ups and downs.  For the most part, Michael is fun, happy, and sweet.  When I get home from work he says, “hi Mommy! … how are you?” and then runs away.  He knows I am going to grab a hug and kiss. I guess his retreat is a way of preparing for my intrusion or … making it fun for him- he likes a little chase.  On this particular Sunday morning I am about to describe, I had not realized we had entered the land of empathy and wonder.  That’s fine, one of the things I have learned along our way is that good things can show up out of the blue, and when they do, it is important to hold on to them.

So, Michael, my husband and I went to one of our favorite parks.  There was an older gentlemen playing catch with his grandson.  His pride in his grandson was palpable, slightly off putting, but endearing. His grandson, a six year old, blond haired, blue eyed little boy, was not only adorable, but he was catching some pretty hard thrown baseballs with relative ease and tossing them back side-armed as though he had been doing it for years. In all fairness, it was really impressive.  One of the things that has taken me some time, but a gift of sorts, is that I can see talent in others and appreciate it, genuinely appreciate it, and not always think of Michael and how it could relate to him.  This sounds normal and something that should be done all the time, and maybe it should, but sometimes it is hard … for me at least.

Anyway, I was not surprised when his grandfather came over and found a way to talk about his grandson and his remarkable athletic skills.  I smiled and sighed inwardly, wholeheartedly agreeing that his grandson, (lets call him Abe although that was not his name) had some skills.  I was also completely aware that Michael is on a different path.  Borrowing from Temple Grandin, “different … not less.”  Despite my internal dialogue, I was happy to admire his grandson with him.

Michael started calling him “grandpa” because Abe did. I commented offhandedly and somewhat apologetically that Michael tends to repeat things rather than use the clinical term- echolalia (not worth getting into, I say to myself). Abe’s grandpa ignored it and continued to talk about life, money, the housing market, and I drift over to Abe and Michael.

Abe wanted to show me what he could do on the monkey bars, the more attention I gave him the happier he seemed.  I had no problem obliging.  Michael seemed to want to interact so all three of us played on the equipment. Abe described the things he could do- flips, one-handed things etc. And Michael responded with his own version of English which sounds like actual words with the appropriate intonation but they are just not understandable. And to be fair, some of Michael’s words are understandable, more and more nowadays, but in general, it is hard to know what he is saying.  Partly because of this, he seems to have learned not to directly approach other kids, but I can tell he is interested. So, Abe talked about his accomplishments, I encouraged him and Michael had a few comments here and there.  Eventually, and I suspected/feared it might come, Abe said, “I cannot understand a word he is saying.”  I replied, as I have done a few times before, “yeah, Michael is still learning how to talk, sometimes he has a hard time with it.”

This next part is the point of my story, my friends. Especially friends in the land of empathy and wonder.

Abe said, “how old is he?” I said that he is almost four (knowing what this meant but not sure if Abe knew and sort of dreading what was to come). Abe said, “When I was 3 and ¾ (because the ¾ is important at that age), I had trouble talking too, I could only say mom, dad, and leaf. So, my mom took me to talking classes.” I said, “oh, wow, did it help?” He said, “Yeah, it did, I learned to say a whole bunch of words like: yellow, tree, baseball, jump, etc. And now, I am 6 years old, and I talk like this, no problem.”  “Yeah,” he added, “the talking classes really helped, maybe they can help him.” I said, “wow, thanks, for telling me.”  From that point I was sort of in a daze, focusing on holding on to the kindness, so I do not remember exactly what happened next, but I do know that Abe continued to play with Michael.

He was not afraid or confused by his trouble.  He did not shun or avoid him as I have seen many other kids do.  Abe simply accepted him and even offered me some support. I thought wow, what a cool kid.  Not to diminish his baseball skills because they were impressive but heck, in a couple seconds he did a lot more than throw a ball far and straight. He reminded me that I am not alone, that Michael is not alone.  There are things like “talking classes” and 6 year old kids like Abe.

 

Thank you to my IRL friend for sharing her beautiful story about six year-old Abe. I’m honored.