Cardboard Plastic Reality

Autism is a funny 'thing.'

I don't like that word . . . 'thing.' but in this case, it works. It works because as long as I have lived with Autism, as hard as I have tried to understand it, as much as I have tried to define it, for all my analyzing, researching, reading, learning and discovering . . . I still have no idea what Autism actually is. I don't believe that Autism is a disease. I cannot bring myself to commit to the idea that Autism is a disability, or a disorder, or anything else.

I'm certain I am not alone here in this world of not understanding. Twenty years of reading research papers, listening to podcasts, reading books and now, watching documentaries . . . and we are no closer as a world to understanding how Autism happens. The only piece of the puzzle that I know certainly and without question is that we are still afraid of it.

We are recycling the same arguments that had been presented, represented, tested and dismissed again. Maybe we missed something the first time. Autism is going to be our eternal cold case file - the mystery that we just cannot seem to crack. I believe this because every time we witness some remarkable breakthrough, we are astonished by how close we were to the answer and didn't see it. We were looking everywhere except directly where we stand.

Did you seen the Google Cardboard Plastic April Fool's Day advertisement? It was hilarious, tragic and likely no truer words were ever assigned to a marketing department. The concept is way too close to reality not to give pause. It's sad.

If you watch it you may wonder as I did, "This could be true on so many levels." I hope we haven't missed something so elemental on a far grander scale.

Yes, I understand that clinically, Autism is a disorder. But Autism isn't always a functional disorder. Sometimes, it seems to me as though, Autism is really a functional difference. Sometimes, we (the neuro-typical) are those with the largest deficit to understanding. This means that we are the ones with the disorder. We are the group who lack understanding and struggle to rationalize behavior. Have you ever thought how struggling with a disability feels to one who embodies that situation? I'm certain this there is frustration, but there is likely far more acceptance than we permit.

What if we did . . . permit differences.
What type of place would that be?

A girl can dream, can't she?

Thankful for our Disability

Thanksgiving is behind us and now we move, full speed ahead at what feels like a very reckless pace, toward the Christmas and New Year’s holidays. Time will effortlessly slip by and stress, some task (important or not so much) will be forgotten, meetings will be cancelled and time overbooked, technology will fail us at some point, a few truly great ideas will never make it to the planning process. We'll decorate and dress for the occasion in an effort to put forward the image that we would like others to perceive us as. All of this seems to happen every year. But let’s try to keep it in perspective. Let’s try to keep focused on what it is that keeps us coming back to the Thanksgiving table.

In the quiet moments of the holiday week, pictures rolled in of all the extended families and friends who were also celebrating the unique and individual greatness-es within their respective families. All so beautiful and so appreciated by those proud people close to them. Each fulfilling their place and being exactly who they are.

This year, I asked everyone around my Thanksgiving table what they were thankful for and received very similar answers. My family was thankful that I cooked. I was thankful for each of them. They do not understand how valuable they are to me. Even in those few minutes of communal time spent at the dinner table they are incredibly priceless to me.  As time continues to rush by, I’m certain that each new year will bring more reasons to stop . . . an be conscious of just how thankful I am – for all of them.

My family is far from perfect, but they are mine just the same. We are all flawed in our own way. We all came to my table with our different personalities, our daily frustrations, the temporarily suspended yet nagging demands of our work, our internal random thoughts, our unspoken reasons for wanting to stay or leave (football games that need to be watched, girlfriends that need to be called . . . ), the circumstances that distract us from those golden moments spent in the community of our family.

Yet, we are still extremely thankful – for all of it – for each of us – just as we are in those moments – each with our own unique abilities and dis-abilities.

The Merriam Webster Modern Dictionary defines ‘disability’ as:

dis·a·bil·i·ty

ˌdisəˈbilədē/

noun

1.    a physical or mental condition that limits a person's movements, senses, or activities.

This seems to fit just about everyone who was seated around my Thanksgiving table or our Thanksgiving bonfire in some way or another and also not a single one of us. We are all, none of us, perfect, unimpaired or without some condition that affects us in some way; visible, detectable or otherwise. Not everyone can be a squirrel. Some of us have to be queens, balloon carriers, champions, order keepers and cheerleaders. 

My family spent a wonderful (and sometimes stressful) three days together. At this stage, we are all adults by definition. At the same time, we are all independent, smart and strong-willed – and yet so different. We each have strengths, gifts, talents, flaws, and tasks that we are just not good at. My oldest son is great at keeping up with all our household electronics, but pure rubbish at cleaning anything. My husband is a pragmatic handyman, but not the greatest at multi-tasking. My youngest son is a great, practical problem-solver, whatever the issue, but he gets bogged down in the emotions around too many choices and options. My Mother is a creative force to be reckoned with, but her functional side is sporadic and gets lost easily. She’s starting to need more help with her daily activities. She needs someone around to keep her on track.

Me? I make it all look easy . . . taking care of everything, working and making certain that everyone has what they need when they need it. It seems second nature to me. I’ve been fulfilling this task in one family or another since I was a very young teenager. But the weight of my responsibility leaves little time to stop and think about what I need or what I’m thankful for. As my children grow and become their own families, I will inevitably have more time to enjoy the company of my husband. I will also have the new task of looking after an aging parent.

My life will continue to change. I will continue to be surrounded by my family of talented, unique and uniformly -abled and dis-abled members. They are perfectly normal and abnormal and I am incredibly thankful for all of them – each in his or her way for what they have brought to my table.

I am thankful for each of their personalities, each of their gifts. And I tend to luxuriate in each of their choices as to how to manage; to find opportunities to exploit their strengths and dismiss their imperfections as nothing more than they are – a unique and independent lack of expertise in some area. I choose this as opposed to choosing to label their dis-ability as a precise condition that causes additional and unspoken limitations placed or heaped on by outsiders who feel they understand or know someone fully based on a single adverb or noun. No. This is not where I will plant my flag.

Our abilities are so much more important than our inabilities. Our abilities allow us to be all we are in all our glory and to the best of our ‘ability.’ We cannot be afraid to be our best or allow others to fear their best selves because of a word or a societal label.

None of us, alone, are good at everything; know everything, are able to complete every task, or have the innate ability to achieve every single function we confront. Yet every one of us can be our best self if we are allowed and nurtured to do just that. Everyone is a mess of imperfections and inabilities. Why is it that we focus so heavily on them when additional labels are piled on that really only serve one purpose; to explain some facet to another who doesn’t know us yet. We all have dis-abilities galore. More dis-ability than ability when we really examine our entire selves. Disabilities are boring, fairly useless and don’t help any of us accomplish anything. But what if we embraced the differences in each of us? Giant rolling cupcakes might be a ton of fun! But they're definitely not normal.

Why would I ever concentrate on all the imperfections my family brings to my Thanksgiving table? There are so many among the lot of us. But it is the magnificent imperfections despite our individual shortcomings that collectively create our strengths, gifts and talents – now those are worth celebrating. Those are the pieces of each of us that enable real and true ability in all of us. Individually and collectively. Not only those of us with an extra label or two. That is what I am thankful for every day, but especially on Thanksgiving when the gifts are gathered, shining (and sometimes bickering as only a bunch of strong personalities in the same room can) in all their beautiful ability.

We all have problems .. . . so what. Tell someone something interesting about yourself instead. I promise it will be the beginning of something a little bit spectacular. And maybe there will be cupcakes. The tiny details of who each of us are is the best part.