in sandFor many years, Blue Eyes and I have wondered when the right time to have the autism talk would come. The word autism has been said in Joseph’s presence hundreds of times, and yet he has never seemed to pick up on it or ask what it is.

We asked our RDI Consultant,”When should we have the autism talk?” His answer was, “When it would be helpful.”

So through the years we’ve checked in with each other to see if it would be helpful. The answer has always been no, so we’ve let it ride. Lately it became not so much a when, but an if. Maybe Joseph would never need to know his label! Maybe he would never ask.

I mean, he participates in sports with special kids. He goes to a summer program with special kids. He is the only one in his class with an aide. If he wanted to figure out that he was a special kid, it wouldn’t be hard.

My expectation of the autism talk, if it ever happened, was that Joseph would come to Blue Eyes and/or me, sit down with us and ask why he was different. We’d talk about autism and how it makes your mind think a little differently than other kids. He would ask his questions, we would discuss it all together, and the subject would be an active, dynamic one for the rest of our lives.

But that’s not the way it happened.

Two days ago, Joseph and I were getting Bowen treatments. Our Bowen (alternative healthcare) practitioner treats special needs kids for free, bless his heart, so Joseph and I were lying side-by-side in a treatment room. The way Bowen works is that the therapist makes several small adjustments and then leaves the room for a while — repeated many times over an hour or so. So Joseph and I are lying there, feeling very relaxed, and Joseph is chatting away quietly.

He gets on one of his favorite subjects: the kids who were in his summer program. He lists the ones who have Downs Syndrome. Then he asks, “Mark doesn’t have Downs Syndrome, does he?”

We’ve discussed this before, and I give him the same answer as before: “No, Mark has something called autism. You can have  a lot of autism or a little autism, and Mark has a fair bit of autism. That’s why he doesn’t talk.”

There is a short, restful silence.

Then Joseph says, “I have a little bit of autism.”

Whoa! I didn’t see that one coming. For a minute, the world stops. He knows? He knows? Wow — he knows!

After a moment I say, “Yes, you do. That’s why you’re so creative, and why you love your music so much.” Then I say, “How did you figure that out?”

Joseph changes the subject, going on to something else. I follow his lead and join in.

That’s it. That was our autism talk.

So far, at least.

Whew! That was a lot of years coming.

We’re not going to bring it up again until Joseph does, but there is a comfort in having it out there, in knowing that he knows.  It’s been an unmentioned elephant in the room, so it’s nice to have spoken it out.

From all appearances, it is not a big deal to Joseph at present. It’s just part of who he is.

And so it is. Part of the bright, funny, creative, frustrating, incredibly annoying, loving, amazing person he is.

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