We called it Dave time.  From early on, we knew if we didn’t schedule enough time for him to go somewhere we would be late.  If he woke up later for school we would be late.  If we started too late to get to an event, we would be late.  There was an order of things that needed to be done before he could go anywhere.  We didn’t think anything of it – it was like his way of messing around and so like in any parent/child relationship, we found ourselves getting on his case to just “move faster”. It never seemed to work.

Shyness in public places was also a thing and there were many times his brothers, especially his younger brother, would walk him through things as simple as ordering from a counter or asking a question.  An introverted person myself, I just assumed he was like me and so no red flags popped up.  After all, my younger brother did things for me when I was younger, so no big deal.

The boy christened every place we every lived with blood, always falling down or running into something.  His gait was different, with an exaggerated bounce.  We assumed it was because he was growing and  just awkward because of that.  Where he wasn’t awkward was with his art.  What fascinated me the most was watching him draw something from the center of the piece outward.  You couldn’t tell what it was at first but then it would suddenly come to life.  He was a perfectionist in the smallest details, frustrated if he couldn’t get it just right, crumpling up his art or school papers because it wasn’t just the way he wanted things.

Organization was non-existent.  He couldn’t find things, couldn’t remember where he put things and yet he could share with us the most minute details about some obscure battle in Europe centuries ago or the background of an artist or a passage from the Bible.  He devoured books at a rate that blew me out of the water, three to four at a time, different genres, authors, subjects.  He remembered everything that he read and was able to connect the dots between subjects.  And yet he couldn’t remember what time he needed to get up in the morning for school.

In middle school, we frequently got calls or letters from the guidance counselor, concerned that he was depressed because she would find him all alone in a corner reading instead of interacting with peers.  We would shake our heads about it when he would come home and tell us that his counselor was concerned.  What was to take seriously?  This guy had a wicked sense of humor, laughed all the time at home and with his dad and brothers could recite entire Monty Python scripts.  He was fine.  When we decided to apply for the Arts and Humanities school in the district it ended up being the best decision we ever made.  It was small, he had the same teachers for years and he was able to work through his art.  He graduated from high school and we were off to college.

Then came the crash and burn.  He had his own apartment where he spent hours alone and depressed.  We found out later that in his large lecture classes he would try to find a quiet corner to hide because he was overwhelmed by the people.  When he tried to take a test, because EVERYTHING was connected, he was told that there was  too MUCH detail and that he just needed to answer the question.  He struggled and failed.  Twice more he tried to live away from us and again he struggled.  He couldn’t hold a job, because he was always late and couldn’t seem to keep track of time.  He would spend too much time with a customer instead of just pushing people through because details mattered.  He stopped taking care of himself and we finally had to bring him home.

Then a revelation.  I had to read an article about Aspergers for my teaching.  As I read about the physical, mental and emotional traits displayed by children with Aspergers, on the autism spectrum, the light bulb went off.  This was Dave.  By this time, he was in his 20’s.  In school he had been tested for everything under the sun, but autism was never checked out.  He COULD make eye contact and his IQ was too high so it was never considered.  Now we understand that autism is a spectrum and each case is as individual as the child.  So now I had an adult child who I thought might be Aspergers.

To make a long story short, after introducing the idea, having someone else suggest this might be the issue and having new tests run, it was verified that yes indeed, Aspergers was the case.  It explained his social anxiety, his physical awkwardness, his lack of time management.  And as he has gotten older, with the expectations of society, he knows that he’s not like others his age, and depression and anxiety are real issues.

He’s not alone.  There are so many others like him in our world today.  People of extraordinary intelligence, with great focus who just don’t fit into the structures put into place within our higher education and workforce.  It’s hard to understand someone who can’t keep track of time, especially if there are a lot of changes.  It’s frustrating for teachers and employers.  And parents.  I understand.  But as a parent, I’m just wanting someone to understand that this young man is amazing and has ridiculous potential if someone would just give him a chance to show them in his own way.  Like all struggles, this one helps me to understand what other parents feel for their autistic students and has given my insight as to their potential and how to work with them.

Three percent of the people in this country have autism. Who around you might that be and how are you in a position to help them become a welcome member of our society – just the way they are?