Autism & Redirection

In many ways, I don't have my finger on the cultural pulse.

I've never seen an episode of the Kardashians.  I have no idea why Facebook is convulsing in a furtive, unsatisfactory orgasm over a Matthew Perry/Keanu Reeves bitch-scuffle.  I am more concerned about my obstinate nasal hair than some tedious Kanye-flavoured antisemitism.  

We're aggressively directed by social media to pay attention to crap better suited to an overflow sewer drain.   

Shit really ought to stay where it belongs.

If I believed in conspiracy theories, I'd wonder what fuckery the powers-that-be are distracting us from. I really don't want to spend my precious time on this earth sleep-walking through other people's lives.

Luckily for me I have the perfect antidote, wrapped in 6ft 3ins of irresistible autism.

Finian grounds me with unfailing consistency.  I meet him in a world populated by Enchantimals and flying ponies; there is no room in our universe for entitled starlets or manipulative media moguls.  

We just don't care about them.  

It's that simple.  The liberation from this is nothing short of wonderful.

Finian's autism, in some ways, is my saving grace.

I'm not blind to how hard autism is.  But I gladly accept the hard stuff when it comes with the gift of discernment.

We see, and love, the good stuff.  The goofy cartoons in Bulgarian, cuddles on a Sunday morning, a circle of precious people in my life I wouldn't have known without him, evenings at home with the fire lit, stormy walks in the forest.

If my face drifts towards the anaesthesia of social media, he quickly redirects me to earth.

What a gift.

Autism & POV

It seems that love blinds me, and ngl,  I'm shook.

My ridiculous capacity for unconditional love has some unfortunate side effects, mostly relating to my eyesight.

So this is what happened.

I was getting my covid booster today and took Finian with me (because I quite like it when he doesn't set himself on fire, or eat glass, or play with traffic yada, yada, yada).

I bumped into a nursing colleague I hadn't seen in 20 years.  It was a really lovely surprise. We chatted for a few minutes while I kept an eye on Finian, who was bouncing from chair to chair with enthusiastic springiness.  While singing Bob the Builder in Hungarian.  Y'know, normal stuff.

Paddy very kindly offered to sit with Finian while I went in to get my shot, because his autism might make it hard for him to cope.

And I was shook.  

"Wait, what???  People can SEE that my insanely handsome son is autistic?  But HOW???  He's perfect and lovely and drop-dead gorgeous, so is Paddy somehow psychic as well as kind?"

I focussed hard and attempted to see Finian though an objective lens.  I was forced to admit the possibility that I struggle to see past the perfect, lovely, drop-dead gorgeous thing.  

I had to concede that he displayed some tells.  His effervescent fizziness was one thing.  His volume and flappiness was another.   I s'pose a young man loudly and lustily scripting My Little Pony in Polish was another indication.

So I briefly saw what other people see, and accepted the very kind offer of help.

Paddy sat with Finian and got a short, but intense, education about retro cartoons.  I got my shot without drama, and we all went home happy.

I then readjusted my vision to it's default position of seeing Finian as one of the most beautiful creatures in the world.  Being objective sucks ass, and I have way too much love to give for that buzz-kill.

"I respect your wrong opinion"