Category: Social Communication Disorder

Movin' On Up

8/21/2014

Next Monday school begins and no one is more excited about that upcoming date than Ryan. He longs for the feel of a freshly sharpened wooden pencil (#2 Ticonderoga only please) held securely in his hand, as well as the soothing, steady hum of the fluorescent lights (please Mr. and Mrs. Custodian replace any blinking, flashing bulbs as well as any super loud buzzing bulbs) and the smell of the freshly waxed classroom floors drifting through the hallways that within hours, will be replaced with the stench of hundreds of teenagers wearing fall back to school clothes on an 80 degree summer day. The routine of routine is just around the corner for my soon to be seventh grader and he will breath a big, sigh of relief having survived another "boring" summer.

Yes, as my beautiful boy happily enters the hallowed middle school doorway, movin' on up as a seventh grader, Ryan will not look back to sixth grade days gone by.....ever. I want to apologize in advance to all his former sixth grade teachers, the 6R Team, but, just like George and Louise (aka, Weezy) moved to that "deeeeluxe apartment in the skyy-hii-hiii" after they finally "got a piece of the pie", their old neighbors in Queens, Archie and Edith Bunker, became a distant memory. Ryan will remember you all fondly, but, now that he has moved on up to the East Side, chances are he won't ever look back down. Yes, in this scenario you are The Bunkers and sorry, but, chances are also good that you won't make a guest appearance in a later episode.

Try not to take it personally, you wonderful teachers who so willingly and eagerly helped my boy feel at home each and every day, this sort of love 'em and leave 'em pattern has been going on for quite some time.

Sometimes I think this behavior is a result of autism's hold on Ryan's brain and he sees little benefit in a long term relationship with someone who has fulfilled their purpose. He needed you last year, you did your job so well last year, that he no longer needs you this year, so, sayonara, end of story.

However, sometimes I think this love 'em and leave 'em attitude has nothing to do with autism and Ryan's brain, but, more to do with his heart. As I have watched my boy love and leave so many, I believe this attitude has more to do with protecting his sensitive, beautiful heart, than his atypical social and communication skills. Good byes are hard, pretending he never knew you is easier.

Ryan cries at the end of every school year, rejoicing in his success at getting closer and closer to finding his piece of the pie, but, sad that it is once again, time to move on up. Ryan truly loves the folks who helped serve him his piece of the pie, but, it's easier to just toss his pie plate aside waiting for the next bigger piece of pie than it is to get caught up in remembering all the ingredients it took to make that pie. It's not that Ryan doesn't realize the sugar, the butter, and the milk is what made his pie so sweet, it's just that eating the pie and tossing the plate aside is a lot less stressful on his overtaxed brain and a lot less painful on his ultra sensitive heart.

It has happened year after year, Ryan will pass his former teachers in the hallway and they may occasionally get a grunt or a halfhearted trying not to smile smile, but, chances are much higher that Ryan may completely ignore them. Some of Ryan's most beloved teachers have come to me at the beginning of the next school year, gripping their heart with a look of confused bewilderment in their eyes, and before the first syllable starts to from on their trembling lips, before the next beat of their abandoned heart, I know exactly what they are going to say, "Ryan just ignored me....again."

As for you sooooooooo....last year teachers, still hanging out in the 6th grade hallway of Queens, sorry, but, you are no longer needed and you have quickly been replaced since my boy has moved on up. Ryan may occasionally allow his doorman to let you visit, but, chances are you won't get a key to his new place.

I know it's hard not to take his love 'em and leave 'em attitude personally, especially for a student who has so few friends, who often stands alone in the hallway or on the playground, who for 180 days trusted you, relied on you, needed you, above anyone else, to allow you to fade away as quickly as summer break, is difficult to understand, but, inevitably, it still happens. Ryan doesn't really mean to leave you behind in Queens, it's just that Ryan struggles to find a place for the past, while he puts all his effort into movin' on up, because for kids like Ryan, it takes "a whole lot of tryin' just to get up that hill".

Trust me, this summer more than ever, I have felt the love'em and leave 'em attitude as my almost teenage son has decided he no longer needs me to tuck him in at night, snuggle him or kiss him when "WE ARE IN PUBLIC". Just last year, before he moved on up, as a 6th grader in the Queens Borough hallway, I bragged about Ryan walking hand in hand into school with me, giving me a big "I love you" hug at the bus stop and not giving a hoot about what his fellow neighbors in Queens thought about his public displays of affection with dear old mom.

Cast from "All in the Family"

This summer, I have felt more like The Bunkers, staying behind watching my boy movin' on up. Standing in the shadow of Ryan's new high rise on the East Side, as he moves on up without me...just as he should...just as I want him to....just as I feared he never would. And yet, as much as I hoped this day would come, I can't help, but, feel a little like Archie Bunker, pretending I don't care even though watching Ryan movin' on up as he repeatedly pulls away from my snuggles and kisses, feels like getting hit by the 7 train traveling from Queens to Manhattan.

I know that part of growing up means moving up...without me...yet I know that I will always be a part of Ryan's life. And on the days where I feel more like Florence the housekeeper than good old mom, I will keep in my heart the days gone by when a little hand warmed mine as we walked down the street ("IN PUBLIC"), I will touch my cheek right where his sweet little lips use to hurriedly brush across as he ran to the bus ("IN PUBLIC") and I will remember the AWE in his voice as we watched popsicle sunsets on our front porch back in the good old days in Queens, before Ryan moved on up.

So, come Monday morning, I will happily watch Ryan run, bent over, wearing new, uncomfortable not yet broken in clothes, charging at the bus like a bull, holding my cold cheek where his kisses once left my cheek warm and smelling of toothpaste. No doubt, I will shed a tear...or two. Not for my own selfish needs of hugs and kisses, but, for this AWEsome boy who is becoming more and more independent....just as he should be....just as I want him to....just as I feared he never would.

As for you glorious 6R teachers, still hanging out in the Queens Borough Hallway, remember that alone, you may have been the 2 tbs of butter, the cup of sugar, or the 1/2 cup of milk, but, combined together, you, along with every other teacher Ryan has been blessed to have, all helped my son get that elusive piece of the pie.

So, if you catch a glimpse of my boy movin' on up, through the seventh grade hallways on the East Side, keep saying hello, keep trying to reach him because I promise you, you have made an everlasting mark, even if you are ignored, you have not been forgotten. And if you keep trying, I promise, one day, you may be given just a tiny little crumb of that pie you helped bake, in the form of a smile or a quick hello, which may not be as filling as it once was, but, I hope it will still be equally satisfying.

As for me, well, just like Archie Bunker watched his former neighbor George Jefferson move on up without him, I will grumble and complain about being left behind, but, inside I will be beaming with pride hoping that one day, my boy remembers who was always by his side helping put all the necessary ingredients together before he finally got a piece of the pie. And selfishly, like any mom who loves her son and never, ever wants him to move on up without her, I will constantly remind Ryan that "as long as we live, it's you and me baby, there ain't nothing wrong with that".

Click on the audio below and you will be Movin' On Up too. Bet the song is stuck in your head for the next 24 hours. You're welcome.

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The Idiocy of Idioms

4/17/2014

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One of my BFF's is Indian. She is gorgeous, fun, YOUNG and has more energy than anyone I have ever known. Come to think of it, why am I friends with her anyway? She grew up a military brat, but, spent most of her childhood in India speaking both Hindi and English...English with a British flair (Great Britain ruled India for decades, a little fact this dumb American never knew until she became besties with someone who actually lived outside of PA). Then my girlfriend met this AWEsome Indian doctor and found herself in the middle of Garrison, North Dakota for a few years only then to later wind up in South Central PA. It didn't take poor, lost "Dorothy" to realize she wasn't "in Delhi anymore".

The trade off for following a handsome, loving doctor to the middle of nowhere, left my poor Dorothy friend shoe shopping online, learning a new culture and learning all the weirdness that comes with adapting to the English language. The English language that was not taught in a classroom, or in her native India with a great deal of British influence, but, in the good old USA. Sure my girlfriend spoke English, she understood English and she could read English, but, until you are thrown into the English language with no rule books on the metaphors, idioms, inconsistent phonetics, and the slang haphazardly tossed about, my bestie "Dorothy" probably wanted to click her ruby slippers and bust out of Oz (most certainly out of cold, snowy North Dakota winters) and head back to Delhi, taking her fabulous husband in her basket with her.

For someone like me, who grew up speaking English and only English, I take for granted the ease of the English language, but, for some people, English isn't that easy. A study was conducted by a language processing company called Idibon to try and determine not which languages are "hard" to learn (Arabic is in the top five), but, which languages are "weird". The Idibon study looked into which languages used the greatest number of unusual features that are not used in many other languages. I am proud (?) to report that English ranked number 33 out of 239 languages in the "weirdness index". I can't decide if that is a good number or bad? I guess the fact that our language made the "weirdness list" should ease the minds of the non-native speakers. Now when they make grammatical, phonetical and pronunciation faux pas, they can acknowledge that they are not in fact weird, but, it is the English language who is to blame.

I've often wondered if Ryan's struggle with pragmatic speech (language used to communicate and socialize) makes him feel like he has entered a foreign country, where he is familiar with the language....he speaks it, reads it, interprets it, and for the most part, understands it, until the English language 'weirdness factor" comes into play. My boy, and many kids with an ASD, are so literal that figurative language, metaphors, slang, cliches, etc., get lost on them, which ironically makes them feel weird, even though we now have legitimate proof that it is the English language that is weird. And as far as Ryan is concerned, there is nothing weirder about our language than the use of idioms. So, if you ask Ryan a question and he doesn't respond right away, do not ask him, "if the cat's got his tongue" because I assure you, not only will he think you are "as dumb as a rock", but, you will most certainly be shown his tongue in an attempt to prove to you that the cat in fact did not take his tongue. You will then be told, in a voice full of shock and disdain that you could AWEnestly be so stupid, that since a cat has no hands, taking a human's tongue is next to impossible

The English language can be very difficult, "weird" and illogical not only for those who did not grow up speaking the language, but, for many kids with an Autism Spectrum Disorder who interpret all the words they hear in a very literal, very concrete, way. It's funny, because more often than not, I believe that the way Ryan sees and hears the world makes much more sense than the way I do. For instance, on what planet does it make sense that a heavy downpour should be equated to "raining cats and dogs"? Why not horses and cows? After all, if you are trying to talk about the large amount of WATER falling from the sky, aren't horses and cows bigger? Wouldn't that have a more dramatic effect and isn't that what we are trying to do? It makes perfect, logical sense to say, "it's raining heavily today" or "there is a lot of water coming from the clouds today" or more precisely, "I guess the water droplets in the clouds grew too heavy today and gravity forced raindrops to fall from the sky" since that is EXACTLY what is happening. Thank goodness there are no dogs and cats or horses and cows falling from the sky, what in the world would an umbrella cost in order to protect oneself from falling felines or bovines?

Just like my bestie from India, has slowly learned the various cliches, idioms, metaphors and slang abundant in our weird English language, she still sometimes gets confused and AWEnestly, it is so funny to hear her strong Indian accent saying something so weirdly English (Come on, she's gorgeous, fun, and young, she has to have something I can abuse her about). Just like a non-native English speaker, Ryan can learn and memorize idioms, metaphors and slang, but, having such "weirdness" become part of his English repertoire probably will not happen. Memorizing such English "weirdness" and sort of understanding idioms and metaphors, doesn't necessarily mean they make logical sense to Ryan, and my boy is all about being logical. Being logical, being literal, helps Ryan makes sense of a confusing world. As his mother, who knows him better than anyone, you would think by now I would understand this, but, sometimes I take for granted that some of my weird English phrases make absolutely no sense to him.

A perfect example happened on one of the 72 snow days we had this winter (it sure felt like 72 snow days). It was one of those days where it was icy and the roads were hazardous just in time for the morning commute and the weather men predicted a worse scenario than what actually occurred. By noon, the snow and ice had melted and the sun was shining. As Ryan and I headed out to the grocery store he said, "I can't believe we didn't have school today." "Tell me about it.", I replied. Without missing a beat Ryan said, "I just did tell you about it. Didn't you hear me? Maybe you are going deaf." Yes, literally, Ryan did just "tell me about it", but, figuratively, he wasn't going to "tell me about it" again. I smiled the entire way to the grocery store, but, still wondered how much weird English language Ryan misses in social conversations. It makes perfect sense that Ryan chooses to stay quiet, to avoid social settings when the words he is trying to understand are so freaking weird.

Ryan and his speech therapist worked on idioms once upon a time and during that time, I bought Ryan this Dictionary of Idioms book thinking Ryan could memorize them and not feel weird about our weird language. Thinking that if Ryan just read the book, memorized some of the more common idioms, he might not feel like his peers are speaking a foreign language. Ryan never cracked the cover because AWEnestly, he could care less about idioms. Idioms don't make sense, to a literal thinker. Idioms are illogical and so why would Ryan waste "a penny for his thoughts" on something so ridiculous. Ryan has learned to recognize some idioms, but, chances are, no matter how much I am rushing him in the morning, screaming for him to put his shoes on and brush his teeth, Ryan will never tell me to "hold my horses" because clearly I don't have any horses and even if I did, a horse would be much too big for me to "hold".

As Ryan's mom, I try to speak in a way Ryan understands, but, since idioms, metaphors, and slang have been a part of my repertoire for so long, it's "hard to teach an old dog new tricks". So on particularly tough days, days when autism has a stronger hold on my boy's brain and days when my 40 something hormones have a stronger hold on my brain, and I'm trying to get through to Ryan by telling him he's "making a mountain out of a mole hill" and that by yelling at me is only "adding fuel to the fire" and that if he keeps "getting under my skin", I'm going to "hit the roof" and he most assuredly is going to "be in the doghouse", would do nothing to resolve the situation. In fact, Ryan would look at me like I was speaking Hindi or some other language he does not understand. My dear old friend, Clueless would be sitting on the side of Ryan's bed "in stitches" at my stupidity.

If Ryan cared enough to interpret my idiotic idioms, he would assure me that he cannot make a mountain out of a molehill because he does not have heavy equipment machines at his disposal and even if he did, he is not allowed to operate them. Ryan would also point out to me that the gas cans are in the garage and that on the side of the gas cans it reads, "Danger Extremely flammable" so even if there were a fire in his bedroom, Ryan would never add fuel to the fire, instead he would flee the house and dial 911 as he has been instructed to do. Ryan would logically point out that he is entirely too big to "get under my skin" and that getting under anyone's skin would require cutting their skin and making them bleed and since Ryan is not a fan of blood, he would choose to stay outside of my skin rather than under it. After discussing the dangers of climbing on top of the roof in order to "hit the roof" Ryan would then remind me that dog houses are for dogs, not people, and that our dog doesn't even have a doghouse so obviously there is no way Ryan could be "in the doghouse". See, now who makes more sense, Ryan or me?

Concrete, literal thinkers have no time or room in their black and white brain for idioms and AWEnestly, who can blame them? When you stop and think about them literally, they make no more sense than someone speaking a foreign language you have never heard before. Clearly, the guy at Game Stop will not take my arm and my leg instead of cold hard cash for the latest Mario game even though I have assured Ryan, that the game "costs an arm and a leg". And although you may have reached your limit with all the crap that happened in one day, and you can't take one more bad thing happening, a piece of straw will not break a camel's back. Camel's are very strong animals, as are their backs, which is evidenced by people riding on camel's backs across the Sahara Desert. And even though you spend hundreds of dollars on your new dress, shoes, and accessories in order to look hawt at your upcoming class reunion for that old flame of yours, no matter how much your shoes cost or how many lines that Botox erased, that old boyfriend will not "eat his heart out", unless of course your high school boyfriend's name was Hannibal Lecter.

My bestie from India has been in this country for 12 years, ironically, Ryan has been in this world and this country (only) for 12 years too. My girlfriend and Ryan couldn't be more different socially. Her social circle and friends on Facebook are in the hundreds, Ryan's circle is in the single digits with no Facebook account, however, when it comes to understanding and interpreting the weirdness of the English language, they have both had their misunderstandings, confusions and funny moments. The English language may not be hard to learn, but, it can be weird in it's interpretations with all it's metaphors, slang, and idioms. Misunderstandings, misinterpretations and getting the wrong idea happens frequently which we now understand doesn't make the speaker "weird", just the language.

Just like Ryan may look at you creepily if you tell him your going to "lose your shirt" at the casino, you may look at my Indian British influenced girlfriend creepily if after a day of shopping with her, she asks you to pop your "dickie". Regardless of how much money you may lose at the casino, you will not walk out of the casino shirtless and my friend who wants you to pop your "dickie" (which may sound horribly forward, after only one shopping date), does not want you to pull your pants down, all she wants you to do is open the "trunk" of your car where her shopping treasures are located. The weirdness of language can lead to weird, but, funny moments, that leave you feeling like "a fish out of water" or make you want to "bite your tongue".

When I hear my friend speaking Hindi, which is "all Greek to me", I recognize that getting Ryan to speak in idioms or metaphors is like asking him to speak a foreign language and that I'm "barking up the wrong tree", so I have stopped "beating a dead horse" and put the Dictionary of Idioms away. Ryan may not memorize idioms, metaphors and slang, in order to enhance his pragmatic speech, but, as with so many things in the world of autism, I have learned, that there is "more than one way to skin a cat" so, even though Ryan may be a "tough nut to crack", I keep in mind that "Rome was not built in a day" and when it comes to helping my son succeed, I will never, ever "throw in the towel".

Sometimes his "bark is worse than his bite", especially when he is as "mad as a wet hen", but, "make no bones about it", my boy loves like no other.

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Small Talk is BIG

3/27/2014

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For those of you who know me personally, you know I have been blessed (or cursed, depends on how long you have to sit next to me) with the "gift of gab". It's very rare, that my mouth isn't open and moving. Even as I sleep, my mouth hangs wide open, as I mumble and chat with the folks who are brave enough to enter my dreams. This gift of gab is not new, I'm pretty sure I came out of the womb talking. Teachers in elementary school gave me the nickname, "Chatty Kathy" (I'm a K, not a C), just like the very scary, Chucky's twin sister, 1960's Chatty Cathy doll that could "chat" (and possibly kill you in your sleep) when you pulled a string on her back.

AWEnestly, look at that doll...is she pointing at me in a "I'm coming for you next?" kind of way (shudder)? That doll is so freaky and as a fourth grader had I known how offensive the nickname "Chatty Kathy" was, I would have put one of those creepy, possessed looking dolls under my teacher's bed with a toy knife in it's hand. Who needs a tack on teacher's chair, when a Chatty Cathy doll lies await under teacher's bed? Dan, who is not a small talker and who amazingly has not put a Chatty Cathy doll under our bed to scare me into silence, once told me that I could befriend and small talk with a fence post. As long as the fence post occasionally creaked to show some type of interest in what I was chatting about, I probably could befriend and chat with a fence post. A fence post isn't nearly as scary as Chatty Cathy.

Breaking Bad, Sony Pictures

Ok, fine, my dirty little secret it out. I'm terrified of creepy looking dolls, and I'm a chatter box blessed with the gift of gab who can engage in small talk all day long with my blah, blah, blah, Chatty Cathy mouth... often at tongue straining speed. If any kind of alcohol or medication is added to my gift of gab, it's highly recommended that anyone within 50 yards of me, grab some ear plugs and an interpreter in order to protect your hearing and decipher what the he** I am saying. Even during my college days, I never "experimented" with stimulants because I felt certain that between my already hyper, overstimulated personality and my gift of gab, someone would have surely tossed me over a balcony. I promise you, had I been given an opportunity to score some of Walter White's highly addictive blue meth from the series Breaking Bad, regardless of it's 99% purity, I still would have never become a meth head junkie. Walter would have shot or poisoned me within three minutes of my first meth buzz. I would have never stood a chance of becoming addicted.

Good thing we have no balconies at our home and it's probably in my best interest to never have my science loving, money loving Ryan ever meet up with Walter White because Ryan does not believe my gift of gab is a gift at all. In fact, to Ryan, most of the time I am just noise...noise that makes his "brain hurt". Ryan loves me to the sun and back, but, as far as my small talk gift of gab, well, quite frankly, Ryan would happily have me re-gift my gab and Dan would probably help Ryan wrap it. Re-gifting my gab is a much better scenario than having those two inquire with Walt how big of a barrel they need for me.

Ryan loves small talk about as much as Walter White loves the DEA. Autism, or Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) is a social communication disorder. Many people with an ASD, have difficulties with socialization and communication and Ryan is no exception. Small talk involves both communication skills and social skills and Ryan struggles with both. Ryan is also a perfectionist. If Ryan can't get something right, or if Ryan thinks he won't get something right, Ryan is not going to risk being wrong. So, whatever this "something" is, just ain't gonna happen. This is why, more often than not, Ryan remains silent in social settings.

Small talk is a way of social bonding, a way of trying to fit in or be accepted. Ryan spends very little time concerning himself with fitting in. That's not to say that Ryan does not care about fitting in, but, socializing, bonding, and fitting in exhaust Ryan. Socializing for Ryan means too many social cues that he misses, too many words with double meanings, too many facial expressions that are hard to read and too much body language that is hard to interpret. More times than not, Ryan decides that small talk and "fitting in" is all just way too hard and not worth the risk, so he frequently chooses to be alone. Small talk is also used as a way to start or end a conversation or to fill in that awkward silence in a conversation many of us find uncomfortable. Since conversing is difficult for Ryan, and since silence to him is not awkward, but, a welcome relief, it makes perfect sense that for Ryan, small talk is BIG.

Back when Denial and I were often engaging in small talk, Denial would tell me that if I just kept talking at, I mean to, Ryan, he would eventually respond. So, every day on our way home from daycare, I would barrage Ryan with questions about his day. Just trying to prompt him to say something. "What did you have for snack?"..."Did you take a nap?"..."Did you make any crafts?"...and my favorite, most terrifying question that always came last, "Who did you play with on the playground today?". All my questions would go unanswered as Ryan stared out the car window, wishing there was a balcony to toss me and Denial over. I kept thinking, every single day, if Ryan would just answer one question, if he would just connect with me on one thing, I would be so much happier. Just like my friend, Fence Post, I felt certain that all my chatter, all my small talk would eventually make Ryan creak. Funny, how in those moments when I was so worried and so scared and wondered, "Why doesn't he respond to me?", Ryan's happiness didn't come into my mind. Getting Ryan to small talk was for me, not him. All Ryan wanted after a long day of daycare, school, and expectations, was to finally be in a place where he was safe, loved, and free of the stress of what he was expected to say next.

When Ryan continually failed to engage in my small talk chatter, or in small talk with friends, Denial assured me that Ryan just didn't care about friends, so small talk wasn't even necessary. This "didn't care" conclusion that Denial enabled me to draw, lead to many quiet car rides home with only Spongebob playing in the DVD as company. For Denial to have me believe, or anyone believe, that Ryan doesn't care about the social bonding of small talk or making friends is unfair. Certainly, small talk may not be as desirable for Ryan as it is for his mother, Chatty Kathy, but, just because Ryan's small talk is minimal, doesn't mean he cares little about acceptance, it just means that for Ryan, it is easier, and safer, to stay silent. After all, with silence, there is no chance of social mishaps, there is no chance of misinterpreting what someone means, there is no chance of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, so, there is no chance of getting hurt. Whether he likes it or not, Ryan needs to learn what to say, and how to effectively communicate to survive in a world full of Chatty Kathy's. Coming from the heart of a Chatty Kathy mom, I hope that one day Ryan will not only know how to small talk, I hope that maybe one day he will actually want to chat with me.

Ryan has worked with Mrs. P, an amazing speech and language therapist, for five years, not because Ryan is non-verbal, not because he has poor articulation, but, mostly to help Ryan with his social speech, to help him engage in small talk. We all know that regardless of a designer Autism label, small talk is big when it comes to relationships with peers, teachers and colleagues. Ryan can do it, he can be taught to small talk, but, chances are, small talk for Ryan will always be BIG. Mrs. P has given Ryan the foundation he needs to small talk with his family, his friends, and his teachers, but, Mrs. P, no matter how wonderful she is, can't make Ryan want to do it. Autism may always have a hand ready to cover Ryan's mouth and keep him silent, but, maybe one day, Ryan will willingly and confidently push that hand aside. I have seen it happen...on rare occasions.

Needless to say, for a Chatty Kathy, someone who rambles on and on and on and on and on, having my son not engage in small talk with me, regardless of the reason, is still difficult. The AWEsome thing about my attempts at small talk with Ryan now is that Ryan has the communication skills to tell me, I'm "setting his brain on fire", or that I'm "speaking gibberish" or that he has "no possible idea" what the heck I am saying. Even Chatty Kathy knows when someone is nicely telling her to shut the he** up. I recognize that when Ryan gives me an inch, just a tiny hint of his willingness to engage in some small talk, I go for the mile, speaking gibberish at a high rate of speed that gets muddled up somewhere between Ryan's ears and his brain. In my hyper-crazed excitement to find Ryan, I wind up losing him again. Someone needs to tie a knot in this Chatty Kathy's pull string.

You can only imagine that on the rare occasions that autism releases it's hand from my boy's mouth, and he does decide to strike up some small talk with me, I feel like I am getting a glimpse inside his soul. I never, ever take these moments for granted and I try so hard to tape Chatty Kathy's mouth shut. A few weeks ago, while driving to pick Kyle up at baseball, Ryan said, "Are you aware that the mineral fluorite has the ability to glow in the dark?". I almost hit a pedestrian. First of all, Ryan STARTED the conversation, second of all, he asked it in the form of a question (never happens unless it's "Where's my lunch?") and finally, I had no idea what he said because for once his words sounded like "gibberish" to me. Fluorite? What in the name of Sam Hill was fluorite? I tried to wrack my brain with a smart mineralogist type of response. Turns out, my, dumb mother response of, "I had no idea!! What else can you tell me about fluorite." was all I needed for my brilliant son to chat for a good five minutes about minerals.

Thank God for minerals, rocks and an AWEsome science teacher. Those five minutes were a gift so beautiful and so amazing that my gift of gab only interrupted twice...and he called me on it both times by saying, "I wasn't finished yet.", and that's when I almost struck a light pole (Clearly Ryan's moments of small talk should not happen while I'm driving.). "I wasn't finished yet.", meant Ryan didn't give up, he didn't shut down because mom couldn't shut up, small talk got hard, but, Ryan stuck it out. Autism raised it's hand to cover Ryan's mouth and he crushed that hand with a big chunk of pyrite (aka Fool's Gold...I knew that one). Wow! It was without a doubt, the most amazing small talk, I have ever engaged in...and I'm still gushing over it.

As the van slowly pulled up to the curb at the high school, the magical moment ended, but, my heart continued to soar. Ryan crawled into the back seat, making room for Kyle, and turned on Spongebob. Our small talk had ended, but, it gave me a glimpse into my son's future. I pictured him surrounded with other sciencey like, smarty pants mineralogists in white lab coats discussing minerals (I realize mineralogists may wear polo shirts instead of lab coats, but, please let me have my moment) and Ryan not only engaging in the small talk, but, enjoying it. Surrounding himself with like minded people discussing something he is interested in, may be all Ryan needs to have small talk not be so BIG. I just hope that this group of white lab coat wearing mineralogists need a dumb, old Chatty Kathy to work in the lab cleaning up mineral dust and answering the phones, so I can continue to witness my AWEsome boy, finally being so comfortable with who he is, that small talk comes as easy as pulling a string.

Said Ryan never...yet.

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Movin' On Up

The Idiocy of Idioms

Small Talk is BIG

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