On the Outside

I have had a few longer than usual weeks this month.  I had shoulder surgery a couple of weeks ago and when your main method of transportation is a wheelchair - being without your right arm means staying put.  This is not something that comes easily to me.  My kids and I like to be busy.  Enforced nesting has made us grumpy.  It's not pretty.

So, the doctor cleared me for driving and we decided (whooped for joy more like) to venture forth.  We met some friends for lunch.  Not anywhere fancy.  It wasn't a girls' lunch.  It was two moms getting out of the house with our kids.  When our original plans for a picnic in the park were rained out we opted for a nearby fast food place.  We were thrilled and so were they.

My friend's little boy has autism.  This means that "thrilled" can quickly spill over in to "overwhelmed."  Any sensory onslaught can be too much.  And then he melts down.  As the restaurant filled up and the noise level grew beyond that of his friends and siblings, he simply slipped into a puddle of overdone 7 year old and began holding his hands over his ears and wailing.  As my darling friend turned white faced and teary-eyed, the clucking from onlookers began.  I encouraged her to take him out to the car and sent my teenager to follow with their food.  The rest of the kids stayed with me.  As the murmur of voices died down with their exit, I heard one woman say to her companion, "All that child needs is a good wallop."

And I almost lost my temper.  I almost doled out a lecture right there in the middle of a McDonalds in West Yorkshire.  But, here's the thing.  It's easy to judge.  Just as easily as this woman was deciding my friend's "normal" appearing son was a great big boy who didn't know how to behave - I almost believed she was just an unkind old so-and-so.

But, how do I know?  Maybe she has arthritis and all this cold, wet weather makes her joints ache constantly.  Or her marriage is shaky.  Perhaps she lost someone recently.  Or she is simply having a rotten day.  Just like Kevin doesn't have a shirt that says "I'm Autistic, please be kind."  She doesn't have one either.  How do any of us know what is hidden beneath the facade we offer to the world?

So, I try to remember that.  As I get older and grumpier it gets harder.  But I still try.  Because I would much rather give someone the benefit of the doubt.  Every single time.

When my friend's 9 year old looked to me as the "wallop" comment settled into the silence, I just took his hand and tried to help with "Autism is hard isn't it?  It's hardest on Kevin and mummy."

And then my 10 year old settled it once and for all in his own inimitable way:  "Yeah. 'Cause his fries are gonna get cold before he eats 'em.  Can we buy him some new ones?"  Because when you're 10 and your friend has a moment - you need to be sure you're there for him with his favorite fried snack to hand.  (Or when you're 40 - her favorite Riesling in the fridge...)

So, my enforced jail time ended with gratitude.  That my littlest man is kind.  That my 13 year old doesn't mind pushing me around until I come out of this darn sling.  And that my faith in humankind was renewed when the would be walloper put her hand out as we went past and said these words: "I'm sorry love.  I leapt from the cliff of conclusion and landed smack on me face."