The Boy Across the Street
Tuesday, November 11, 2008 13:03Crossposted to Trusera
In line with the kind of aspie, non-social mom I am, my son has been playing with a boy that is moving in across the street for about a week and I’ve never met him. Quite honestly, I’m more afraid for the kids he plays with than for him. He comes home happy, not angry or hurt - and that’s enough for me. I saw the mom across the street the other day. I didn’t approach her. It’s enough that we are in close proximity and I can scope her out from there. She’s a real normal, nice mom.
Today though, bright and early, at 11AM on the first night/day of uninterrupted sleep I’ve had in weeks, there was a knock on the door. And then another one. And then the doorbell. And again. And no puny knock, mind you. It was a firm, “I know what I’m doing knocking on your door at this time of the morning and I have a purpose” knock. I stumbled from my bedroom to the door with Ethan close at my heels. “There’s someone at the door!” he exclaims. “Yes, Ethan. There is someone at the door.” I stand on tiptoes to look out the peep hole. No one. With all of the ringing of the bell and knocking of the door, there was no one.
Oh! Wait a second! It moved! The dark spot in the peripheral of the peep hole moved! It was alive! It must be a short person of the boy variety! “It’s a child.”, I mumbled to Ethan. I stood behind the door and opened it so that I, in my morning glory, could not be seen but Ethan was in plain sight. And from the other side of the door, there was a lilting sing song voice, asking Ethan to come out and play, that ran down into my very soul, singing without inflection. “This kid is an aspie!” I exclaimed to myself in my tired brain.
They chirped at each other in a language that only aspie children under 10 understand. Ethan asked if he could go out and play. “As long as you put shoes on.” I told him. “In the grassy area or the cul de sac, only.” “I know, mom.” And he was off.
I wandered slowly about my morningness. There was brushing of the teeth and clothing of the body and much growling and muttering. And then the dog… he had to pee. So I leashed him and wandered out into the bright… bright, BRIGHT sunlight, squinting behind my sunglasses. Ethan was across the street talking to The Mom of The Aspie Child Across The Street. When I came out, she noticed me and asked him if I was his mom before doing the big smile, huge wave from across the street thing.
She came over and we talked about the neighborhood a little and this and that, you know. And then I met The Aspie Child Across The Street. Pretty blue eyes surrounded by gorgeous brown skin stared directly over my left shoulder while we met. The Dad of The Aspie Child Across The Street walked as far as the end of the driveway, looked at what we were doing and turned and walked back in a way that suggested that it’s enough that we are in close proximity and he can scope me out from there. Ah. The genetic connection. I talked with The Mom of The Aspie Child Across The Street for a moment more before inviting the boys to walk with me while I walked the dog. Ethan rode on ahead on his bike and The Aspie Child Across The Street began. The deliberate posturing of his hands perfectly accented the run on one sided conversation from one subject to the next. He was dressed in a very soft, seamless sweatsuit and very soft ugg boots. It actually looked quite comfortable. But I bet he wears it even when it’s 80 degrees.
We walked around the grassy area and we ended with him singing me a song from Bible school about sharks eating people. Man, Bible school must have changed since I was last there. There was commentary during the song about who in his family was like the sharks in the song. And then I went home and left the boys to their bike, scooter and skateboard thing.
I didn’t say anything. When I heard the singsong voice from behind the door, I did not stick my head around the corner and go “Oh! You’re an aspie too!”. When his big blue eyes stared off into space while his mom and I talked, I didn’t turn to her and say “He is autistic too?” When The Genetic Connection walked down the driveway, I didn’t say “oooohhh… that’s where he gets it from.” I didn’t say anything.
I expect that one day it will come up casually in conversation. Maybe over tea and crumpets, I’ll casually laugh about my son’s meltdown and she’ll laugh about her son’s aversion to seams and we’ll just know.
