Autism & Mortification

Autism is singular in it's ability to make you get over yourself.

Pre- Autism, I have distant memories of possessing a certain amount of dignity and social grace (fine, I never had dignity or social grace..... but I definitely harboured pretensions of them).

Then an autistic kid barreled into my life with all the decorum of a drunk wildebeest.  He made short work of  any social climbing I was ever going to achieve.  I missed social occasions because I was unsure if I was covered in chocolate or human excrement.  My life's ambition became less about projecting a social image and more about peeling the wildling off the ceiling.  This did not enhance my public rating, and rattled my rather shallow self-concept.  Any delusions I had about being perceived as a calm, competent adult was removed with disarming efficiency by a beautifully untamed dynamo.

And thank God.

Dignity is over-rated.

For example.

Finian loves black people.  I mean, really loves them.  Not in a "omg they look so amazing" kind of way, but in a "I want to worship at their collective feet and die of awe at their sheer beauty" kind of way.  When we're in public, I scan crowds so we can avoid black people, which makes me feel weirdly guilty, like a far-right xenophobe.  When Finian was five, it was kinda cute when he bolted up to a randomer and gazed adoringly into their face.  Now that he's sixteen and mostly composed of elbows and acne, the cute factor is long gone.  Public safety trumps embarrassment, so avoidance is the best option.

When I tell him not to touch the black person, I'm not being racist.  I just don't want him to lick a stranger.

Finian's lack of modesty has often caused red faces, but never his own.  He doesn't see the big deal in casually displaying his family jewels.  Fortunately, he has learned to tolerate wearing clothes, which is no bad thing considering the Irish climate and public decency laws.  When he was younger, though, he was a big fan of nude trampolining.  Trying to apprehend a naked, bouncing boy is like trying to catch a buttered eel.  Any poise you ever imagined you possess will be dispatched with surgical precision.  

You should try it.  

Finian also taught me to make friends with the floor.  One of his signature shopping centre moves was to hit the tiles and terrify the public with his impression of a biblical demonic possession.  To be honest, I think even Jesus would have dodged into New Look to avoid him.  To calm him down and keep him safe, I needed to sit near him.  The  Marshes floor became very familiar with my bum cheeks.  It is literally grounding to spend time at eye-level with people's knees, while they give you and your screaming son a Very Wide berth. 

I never felt shame about these experiences.   I accepted the 'mortification' and found a kind of freedom in it.

Humility is a gift.

It has helped me be more authentic and accepting of difference, and has definitely allowed me to have more fun. 

I never imagined that one day I would be grateful that my son screamed in the face of social rules.  He continues to be my favourite teacher.

you know you want to