Escape (part 2)

The world of developmental disabilities is not a new one for me. After I graduated college with my degree in social work, I quickly got a job working in a residence for adults with autism and mental retardation. While the work was tough (low pay, crappy hours...the typical "pay your dues" kind of job), I fell in love with the clients I worked with. They were funny and fascinating people. I also met many of my close friends at that job and we would hang out frequently outside of work. A running joke amongst us was that no matter where we would go on our days off, we would always encounter "clients". Probably because that was our life and we were more likely to notice certain behaviors that others might not. The funniest and most unexpected place we ran into this phenomenon was on vacation in Ireland. A bunch of us were staying in a hostel and shortly after checking in a bus of about 10 young adults with Down's syndrome arrived. We laughed and jokingly said, "There's just no escaping them".

Fifteen years later, I must admit that I don't notice adults with disabilities as much, but it seems that I encounter ASD kids everywhere I go. Again, I'm sure it's just that I'm hypersensitive to the signs. On the other hand, maybe it's because the rate of autism keeps increasing at an alarming rate...but I digress.

So, as you may recall, yesterday I found myself at the mall shopping for the perfect dress to wear to my cousin-in-law's wedding. Of course, what good is the perfect dress without the perfect pair of strappy sandals?

I was on the hunt and was ultimately lured into the shoe store with the "Big Blowout Sale" sign in the window. In I went, and started my search.

As I was looking amongst the peep-toe kitten heels and the funky wedges that I love, but could never pull off, I heard an odd yet easily recognizable exchange.

"Mommy, I want to go to the toy store. I want to go to the toy store Mommy."

"Okay, honey. Dad just needs to pick out his shoes then we'll go to the toy store."

30 seconds later.

"Mommy, I want to go to the toy store. I want to go to the toy store Mommy."

I knew before I even spotted the child that he was one of ours. The scripted phrasing, the intonation, the talking at instead of talking to. It all sounded strangely...familiar.

As I rounded the corner of the shoe rack, I spied a young boy around the age of 12, rocking furiously back and forth. His mother was sitting next to him trying to look inconspicuous.

I smiled at them as I walked up to the cash register with the sandals I had picked out.
Once at the register, the boy's father stood behind me in line. The store was nearly empty and it was quiet...except for the boy. He had now started "yelping", somewhat loudly.

So much for inconspicuous.

I looked up at the cahier who looked visibly uncomfortable. Like she knew something wasn't right but wasn't sure what was going on or even what to say.

"I’m sorry", the father said, "my son has autism".

I thought about that statement.

I'm sorry

Like it's not enough to have a child with autism, but to feel the need to apologize for him. His son wasn't being anymore annoying than someone talking loudly on their cell phone, but I don't see them apologizing (sorry... pet peeve).

There was an awkward silence as the cashier finished ringing me out. The cashier looked uncomfortable and the father looked embarrassed.

"My son is on the spectrum too".

The words came out of my mouth before I even knew I was saying them. There was just no way I could stand there and not say something. No way I could not extend my secret handshake and let him know I was a fellow member of the club. No way could I not give him the gift of recognition.

He smiled.

"How old is he?" he asked.

"He'll be 4 in a couple of weeks."

"Aww, that's a cute age".

Then he looked like he wanted to say something else, but stopped short.

The cashier handed me my bag.

"Have a great day", I said as I grabbed my purchase and headed towards the door.

Just as I was about to head out, he yelled,

"Hey...Don’t ever give up."

I stopped and turned to face him. He looked tired. Looking at his son, it was obvious that he was much more affected than Justin will ever be. I'm sure he and his wife have been there and back again.

And yet, here he was giving me the gift of hope.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat, and said,

"Not ever."

And, with that, my strappy sandals and I headed home.