That's "Asperger's," please

We've always been pretty open around here about our various oddities. Our SIFOs are an open book, and in that spirit, we've also been open with TH about Asperger's. I've tried to keep it "age appropriate," just as I try to keep my answers to questions about sex, sexuality, or sex differences honest but age appropriate (Example: Question: Why do boys have penises? Answer: They have longer urethras. Of course, you may have to then explain what a urethra is. Answer? The tube where your pee comes out. See? Age appropriate).

One reason I've been compelled to talk to TH about his "different ability" (as our school counselor carefully calls it, and I kind of like it) is that TH has asked me why he is "so different from everyone else." He knows he's different, and not in that "no one understands me because I'm so interesting or such a fascinating individual" kind of way. It's more of a "I don't understand anyone because they're all so normal" kind of way. It's hard for him to articulate, but it's clear to me from what he says that he knows that when other kids do things and say things, he, TH, often just doesn't get it.

And he's been thinking about Asperger's a lot lately. One thing that was instantly on his mind from the first time he heard the word was that it contains the word "ass." He finds this disturbing because he feels like he's saying "ass" every time he says "Asperger's," and it worries him to be saying a bad "woord." It's hard to describe how TH says the word "word," but it's closest to "woord," kind of Dutch-ish. He also says "museum" as "mu-zay-oohm" in the good old Latin way, but that's probably a whole 'nother post.

His questions have been coming periodically, maybe once every couple of days. One was on a recent walk in the bitter (20F is bitter around here) cold. He'd spent most of the walk pointing out every microscopic piece of trash he could discover, the most fascinating being the two beer bottles we saw. He was convinced that teenagers had left those in someone's yard because to TH, teenagers are the epitome of all things dumb and thoughtless. We were whiling away time during Little's OT appointment in a different part of town on this walk, and TH was also convinced that were his father to live in that neighborhood, the place would be spotless. That's likely true.

At any rate, we walked through the fairly trashy streets in the bitter cold, TH chatting volubly about trash and marveling at the variety, when suddenly, he asked, "Mama, do any other kids at my school have Asperger's?" As a matter of fact, there may be a few, but I'm not sure. I do know, however, after attending the first Family Action Network meeting in our district that there are several in the district itself, so I said as much. He absorbed that, and unable to stop with that information, I continued. "And there are also Websites just for Aspies and schools for Aspies and camps and..." I was waxing enthusiastic when he interrupted me. "What's an Aspie?" "Someone who has Asperger's," I explained. "I don't like that," he said. "I don't like how that sounds. I'm just going to say, 'Asperger's.'" Since he's the one burdened with the label, I promised not to call him "Aspie."

This weekend, we visited a family of friends, one of whom has a daughter with Asperger's. She and TH are and always have been like a shared mind separated at birth. We, the parents, have marveled at how similar they are, at the way they seemed instantly to understand each other, to be able to communicate with one another when they couldn't do that with anyone else. We noted this long before they were each respectively diagnosed with Asperger's. It remains the same. They still mind meld, each the Aspie (sorry, TH) Whisperer for the other. On this visit, we presented her with some books as a Christmas gift. She was in the middle of a Wii SuperMario extravaganza, and Aspie like, made it clear that she wasn't thrilled about the gifts or really about being interrupted. TH was heartbroken. He was so excited to give her the books, one of which was Diary of a Wimpy Kid, his current and constant non-Mario obsession.

She got in trouble and had to apologize, then she shut down. TH was so concerned that he started writing her notes and taping them on his own books, presenting them at her bedroom door as peace offerings. She'd take them in, scribble a note back (e.g., "I already have this"), and toss it out the door. His concern and anxiety were deep. He shadowed her, peeked at her, and finally got her out of her slump over a gingerbread house, which they took onto the porch and gleefully dismantled. Throughout the trip, she sought to be next to him and he sought out her, even though it was really just parallel play between a 7 year old and an 8 year old. Which, now that I think about it, is kind of how TH's 40-year-old parents spend their time, as well.

He knows that this little girl who's even more obsessed with Mario than he is--she "plays" the game in her head at school when teachers think she is mentally checked out--he knows that she's "like him." He's never comfortable around non-cousin girls, at all. But he is entirely comfortable around her and exhibits more empathy for her than he does for any other person except me. It's set me to wonderin' if maybe empathy isn't as much about feeling what others feel in general but more about feeling what others who are like us feel. Perhaps it isn't that autistic people lack empathy (I've never thought that anyway) but that they have a smaller pool of people with whom to empathize. But that, too, is another post.

To end this post, I leave you with a pun that TH and I made up at the zoo yesterday (where he got to indulge in another current obsession: rattlesnakes. At least we live in the right place for that). We were walking along, talking again about Asperger's, and he bumped into me. He does that a lot. "What if I were an asteroid, Mama, and I ran into you!" he posited. (This reminds me of an ancient "yo mama" joke: "Yo' mama is so big that there are little yo' mamas orbiting around her!" In Waco, "yo' mama" jokes were all the rage when I was a child). "Hey," I asked my little asteroid. "What do you call an asteroid who has Asperger's?" He thought and then, with his usual ability to read my mind, he said, "An 'asperoid!'" And we laughed our asses off, although we would never, ever say that we had done so using that woord.