He is trying. He is trying so hard. I swear I can almost see him searching through the files in his brain. "Nope, not the animal file. Nah, don't need the people file. Certainly not talking to Mom about anything in the Minecraft file. Uggh, I'm just trying to find the school file! I know it's in here somewhere!"

These files of his seem to be scattered in no particular order which makes retrieving the information found within the files an arduous task. More often than not, he gives up, but, on this day, he kept searching. As the words scrambled and cluttered on his tongue, I reminded him to take his time and that I wasn't going anywhere. Ryan finally found the school file and shared what happened in school with me. Then, exasperated by his efforts, he looked out the window and sighed, "I'm not very good with words". 

I very quickly assured him that I think he is AWEsome with words. I reminded him how amazing his brain is and how quickly his amazing brain can find just the right words from just the right movie, television show, or Youtube video and make those words fit just the right conversation. I told Ryan that although my brain files seem to be more orderly and "words" seem to come more easily for me, my brain can barely remember what I ate for breakfast that morning let alone a just right, perfect script for a conversation.

We each our good with words, in our own unique way.

Ryan didn't look convinced. I wanted him to understand that even though he may have heard those words somewhere else, they are still HIS words and part of HIS communication and that he is indeed "good with words". So, I gave him some perfectly AWEsome examples.

Hey buddy, remember when.... 

We were driving around Grammy and Pappy's town looking at all the old Victorian Era mansions and I was "oohing and ahhhing" over the size and in your best Shrek voice you said, "Sure it's big enough, but, look at the location" and we all laughed until we cried (you included). Your words were so good that Mommy almost wrecked the car into one of those Victorian mansion's fences which wouldn't have decreased the value of the mansion since according to you (and Shrek) it's all about location, location, location. 

He smiled. A little.

How about the time we were eating dinner and I asked you if you liked the cake I made for dessert and in your near perfect Cousin Eddie (Christmas Vacation) impersonation, you shouted, "This is goooo-oood", again finding just the right words at just the right time.

He smiled again. Bigger.

What about the time at the beach we couldn't decide where to eat dinner and we wondered what you were hungry for and suddenly Jim Carrey's Fire Marshall Bill appeared in the car with a "He's cooking fishsticks" and we knew just what you wanted to eat. Those were good words that made us all giggle. 

He laughed. Quietly.

My favorite was when we saw a rainbow and Emma said, "water plus sun equals a rainbow" and you piped in "Rainbows are a result of refraction of moisture and light in the air" and you sounded just like your favorite cartoon character at the time, Gumball. Those words were so good Emma and I had no words (that never happens).

He laughed. Louder.

And I know you were too little to remember this, but, once when we were snuggling in your bed, you wrapped your arms around me, and your words were so good that they went straight from my ears to my heart, "I wish you were a human that could live a thousand years." They were your words and they were beautiful. You are good with words Ryan.

He grew silent. Again.

Worried, that I had not proved my point, I continued with more and more examples of times that he was good with words and how those words, those scripts, were his way of communicating and that my words are no better, no more effective, than his.

Ryan perked up. He sat up higher in his seat. Then suddenly it seemed as though his brain files had order. Ryan gave me this script and that script. He used this voice and that voice. He smiled. He laughed. He believed.

As we approached the house, knowing the ride and this conversation were quickly coming to an end, Ryan never said, "Thanks Mom, you are right, in my own way, I am good with words", but, he didn't need to because his smile and his Fire Marshall Bill voice as he opened the door and yelled, "let me tell you something" said it all. 

As I watched the announcements for the 2014 Emmy Award Nominations, I jumped off the couch like Tom Cruise and gave a "woohoo" when I heard Uzo Aduba's name (which I have no idea how to pronounce) as a nominee in the category for Outstanding Guest Actress in a comedy. Uzo Aduba plays Suzanne "Crazy Eyes" Warren in Netflix's Orange is the New Black series and she is crazy....and AWEsome!  

After I calmed down and realized how pathetic I was, I couldn't help, but, daydream just a little....ok, fine, a lot...about perhaps one day, when I'm old and gray...ok, fine, older and grayer...sitting on my couch and woohoo'ing after hearing Ryan's name announced as a potential Emmy Winner. Chances are it would not be in the comedy category, since, although Ryan is freaking hysterical, he rarely tries to be or rarely gets his own humor. Now that I think about it, that might actually make him funnier and more believable, thus more Emmy worthy.

It's not like I think an Emmy is eminent for Ryan because he has extensive acting experience (His only theatrical production was the role of Hippo in a second grade play...he was an outstanding Hippo) or because he has expressed interest in the theater (besides sitting in a movie theater seat watching the latest kid friendly movie with a bucket of popcorn), but, for a boy who can memorize just about anything, who can imitate any sound he hears and who can sing his heart out, a future actor seems like a good fit. Which most assuredly will lead to an Emmy nod.

Like any good actor or actress, Ryan can memorize lines. In fact, he has spent his entire life doing just that...using lines he hears elsewhere to communicate. Very rarely does Ryan use his own words, his own script, or his own lines when communicating. There is very little ad libbing and improvisation going on with this future Emmy Nominee. If it's not in the script, it's not in the show.

Most of Ryan's language is comprised of lines from television shows, movies, video games, or from the lips of yours truly. Even when my boy plays with the dog, it is my lines, my silly voice, my puppy love songs, my facial expressions, and my body language. However, since Ryan is so AWEsome, and because a 45 (what?) year old woman singing to a 90 pound lab looks a little like Crazy Eyes, it sounds and looks so much better when Ryan does it. Even though it may be unintentional, my boy totally upstages me and I am left back stage, alone, during the curtain call.

One of the telltale signs of autism is deficits in verbal and nonverbal communication, so it seems illogical that I would think Ryan has a future on the stage where language, verbal and nonverbal communication are essential. The thing is, an actor or actress is playing a role. They are not chitchatting with friends, trying to understand the social nuances of peers, or figuring out the appropriate response to a vague, hard to understand question, unless of course the role calls for that, and if the role did call for such situations, there would be a script telling the actor what to say and how to say it. Ryan would nail it.

During Ryan's first ever evaluation, I remember telling the folks from Early Intervention that Ryan rarely used his own language, almost everything he said was language he had heard elsewhere. This was the first time I heard the word "scripting". Ryan "scripts" lines, he has heard elsewhere, but, ironically is able to use them in just the right manner in a conversation. 

Whether it's Jim Carrey as The Grinch or Mike Myers as Fat Bastard (Ryan calls him "Fat B" because he isn't allowed to swear until he is 16...I swear I have no idea where that rule came from), Ryan has comedic impersonations down to a science, yet, over the years as Denial and Clueless sat next to me in the "audience" listening to Ryan's scripting, I was not laughing, applauding or enjoying the show, instead, I was wringing my hands and worrying. 

I would say things like, "Fat B" is freaking hysterical, but, I think Ryan is even funnier. Can I hear Ryan talk now?". To which "Fat B" would respond, in a near perfect impersonation, "Maybe. It did sound a little wet there at the end." Did I mention Fat B loves potty talk? Too bad Ryan is not a Ryan Gosling fan, he'd have all the girls at school swooning. 

At Ryan's most recent evaluation, his "scripting" and language deficits were at the top of my concerns and it turns out, I was right (sometimes I hate being right...not very often, but, sometimes). Ryan greeted the doctor and her staff in the most amazing British accent which had them all smiling, After the evaluation, the lovely doctor, in a very nice, professional manner basically told me that with as many kids as she sees, Ryan's language is poorer than most kids who walk through her door. Ryan's scripting, his verbal and non-verbal communication might just have peaked at the age of 12 and chances are, it's a good as it's gonna get. I felt like I was going to throw up. 

I believe this wonderful psychologist was typecast perfectly for her role. To deliver such powerful lines, in a very kind and compassionate way to this worried freaked out mom, could have easily won her an Emmy. This kind doc was doing her job and she had memorized her lines and played her role beautifully, but, Denial and I still wanted to exit stage right and silently hope the curtain fell on her head.

The doc had her lines down, but, sadly, I did not. There was no script for this worried mom. Being told that my beautiful leading man will always struggle with communication, as his critically acclaimed (let me have my moment please) supporting actress, I didn't know what to say or how to act. In that moment, all of the lines I had memorized over the years vanished, and I sat in that office with a serious case of stage fright.  

Even though I have spent hours trying to understand autism, and even though, I have always been told that autism is a "life long disability", with Denial wiping my tears and repairing my makeup, I recognized that this supporting actress, this director, this stage mom had always hoped that the antagonist, Autism would exit stage left and never, ever be cast in a performance of Ryan's again. 

I smiled through my tears and thanked the lovely doctor. I knew this kind psychologist was not the antagonist in this scene, nope, that role belonged to autism, and it always had. Talk about being typecast. And even though I felt like I had read and heard this script before, with a different cast, in a different scene, it still felt raw, new, and horribly painful.

I came home and cried and sulked just like poor Susan Lucci, who needed 19 Emmy nominations before finally winning the coveted award. In my heart, I believed that Ryan could still make progress, that he could find different scripts, different directors, different supporting cast and different settings that will enable him to do a lot more ad libbing and improvising. Just like directors have the ability to bring out performances in their actors and actresses that lead to Emmy Awards, with proper direction, Ryan may outperform any actor who has stood on the stage before him. 

Ryan is the protagonist of his production, as well as the executive producer and although he may steal lines from other cast mates, as well as upstage them with his charming AWEsomeness, I believe Ryan will never let the antagonist, Autism, steal the show. Ryan will continue to act out his scenes, and I will do my best to direct him to a happy ending. There will be production problems, creative differences, long intermissions and quite possibly the occasional strike, but, no one, not even Autism, can predict Ryan's upcoming scenes. No one can say how Ryan's story will unfold or how it will end, but, between the two of us, we can make a beautiful production that we will continue to share with others so they can see, that the protagonist can overcome whatever obstacles the antagonist puts in their way and that good guys do not always finish last.

This is not a dress rehearsal, this is the real, sold out show. I refuse to let anyone predict the script...not doctors, not therapists, not experts, not even Autism. Whether Ryan's performance is held before a live audience or in the comfort of friends and family, I promise you, that during the last scene, when the final lines of the script are spoken, and the audience demands a curtain call, I will quietly exit stage right, and watch my star receive his much deserved standing ovation. And quite possibly that Emmy.