I don’t usually expose a lot of Dan’s traits in writing. It’s his story. I just happen to be his mom. Lucky and blessed to be his mom, rather. He’s been “quirky” since early on. Noises bothered him, different textures annoyed him, obsessive thoughts consumed him (and us.) I knew he was on the autistic spectrum before I really even knew much about “the spectrum.” 

It’s taken years for me to really grasp that it’s not the Plague. It’s a different operating system for the brain. 

Vacations have always been a bit stressful. No, A LOT stressful. He had to know exactly where we were going. Constantly worried about where the gauge was on the fuel indicator. “Those are driver worries, not passenger worries” I’d tell him. Not that it would help. “Do you know where we are going? What if we get lost? Do you have a map? Please don’t tell me you’ve never been here before.” These weren’t fleeting thoughts, they were gut-wrenching, fear-driven concerns.

Dogs. Terrified of dogs. We couldn’t walk past a dog. Not even a gentle dog on a leash. Dan would immediately tense up, color disappear from his face.

I’d be on edge walking through busy areas and touristy downtown streets. I couldn’t be out of his sight. He’d worried that I was going to disappear. Or he would be so lost in his own world that he wouldn’t notice stop signs or cross walks. Yeah, the stuff mom nightmares are made of.

He’s gone through many phases. We adapt, we play along. We constantly try to point out what’s “appropriate” behavior and what’s not. All while trying to embrace his uniqueness and trying not to suck the fun and personality out of this unique guy. He likes to tap people on the head. Why? I have no clue. He likes to sit under tables. Why? Again, if I only had the answers. He thinks it would be really great to dump pop or water on your head. As my husband and I try to make sure he can function in society, we tell him that’s not typical adult behavior, and he IS technically an adult. I’ve resorted to telling him he has to respect people’s personal space. If he asks and they don’t mind an occasional head tap, so be it. (He hasn’t found anyone that has agreed to having a cold beverage dumped on their head, though. At least not YET.) And last, but not to least, every conversation you might possibly find yourself engaged in with him, will start or end with facts about the Titanic. Those facts may even be sprinkled throughout the entire dialogue.

Our traveling companion is often my mom. Every summer she, Dan and I go away for a few days. He loves rock hunting so we often venture off to some of Michigan’s plentiful rocky beaches. We each go our own way along the shoreline, quietly sifting through nature’s treasures, each of us picking those that meet our own personal definition of special or unique.

We relax at the hotel pool, a family from Turkey occupying the same small poolside section as us. The 18 year old Turkish boy strikes up a conversation with Dan, telling him he’s going to attend U of M this fall. Dan looks at him and asks if he likes to sit under tables. “No, I don’t think I ever have but I bet I know why you do.” Dan asks, “you do?” “Yeah, I think I do. I know the world is sometimes overwhelming, I bet it feels good to be under a table sometimes, maybe safe and like you have your own space?” I’m absolutely delighted with the insightfulness of the young man. “Yeah, I guess” answers Dan, as he scurries over to the boy’s dad to inquire about his age. “You look about the age of my dad, he’s 62.” The gentleman tells him he’s pretty close, as he is 64.” We have had many a talk about not asking people’s age, weight or annual income. He can never seem to find that filter when he needs it.

We head to the coffee shop where a man, likely around 25, is sitting outside at a table. His laptop in place as he intently works on some project. Dan politely approaches him (something he is finally getting more comfortable doing.) I sit back and observe, he’s got this, right? He can socialize without me intervening. “Hey, what are you working on?” I’m proud, that’s acceptable, after all. The guy starts explaining his task at hand. Dan grins (uh-oh, I thought….it’s coming.) “Can I throw a rock at your computer??” Silence. The guy eeks out a grin. “Ya, sure.” Dan exclaims, “Really?? Such glee in his voice. “But you’ll have to buy me a new one.” Dan says, “oh, man!!” They both laugh. Dan returns to his seat to finish his cookie and Mango smoothie. He only likes smoothies with Mango, you know. Bananas have a weird texture.

Off to the harbor, it’s a beautiful hot, sunny day. We walk along the docks, marveling at the fortune docked at that marina. We spot a huge yacht. I can see Dan’s wheels spinning. He can’t get over there fast enough to get a closer look. The owner is on the deck. “I like your boat. Do you live on that thing?” “Sometimes! Every summer we take it to Nova Scotia.” His response is smug, he isn’t really giving Dan eye contact as he hoses off the deck. “How much did that thing cost??” “I don’t remember.” “What?? You don’t remember?? What kind of answer is that, you’re not gonna forget how much you paid for something like that.” My face is red. The man responds, “well, we don’t talk about that.” Fair enough, I thought. After all, life is a good teacher. Dan asks enough of these questions to the wrong people, it will sink in, right??

We continue to venture around, we wander downtown, where dozens of people seem to have a dog on a leash with them. I notice for the first time that Dan isn’t panicking. He is acting as if they aren’t even there. He is comfortable. He is walking several paces ahead of us. He doesn’t seem to notice or care that I’m not right on his heels. And we he got to the corner, he stopped. These things are huge. These are milestones that most kids reach a decade or more sooner. My heart is smiling.

In the car, his headphones are on covering his ears as they always do. Drowning out the outside world, he retreats to the music and thoughts that entertain him. With every stop we make, he interacts in some small way with someone. I observe from the sidelines. He struggles to resist asking restaurant waiters if he can toss the salt shaker into the nearby water and stuff like that. Thank goodness we encountered many people that took his odd requests lightly and even joked back with him a bit.

On our long trip home, he educated my mom and I on so many things. He sounded like a college professor telling us about the planets, different countries, leaders, kings and queens, plagues that have existed once up a time. He is a sponge for facts. We are in a awe. My mom questions him as to why, with all of his intelligence, does he chooses to ask people if he can dump something on their head. “I don’t know, it’s more fun.” We stop at a small rural gas station, he hurries in before us. We enter just in time to hear him ask the young attendant how old she is (19) and why she is there by herself so late at night. Then he asks if he can go behind the counter. She says, “no…nobody but our workers can come back here.” He grins, “well, I wouldn’t hurt anybody. I don’t even own a jack knife.” We all busted in to laughter. She said, “well that’s good.” She lit up and enjoyed his humor.

We finished the rest of our journey home, Dan as calm and content as I have seen him. “I have so much energy locked up, I feel I could run home,” he tells me. His trampoline is the first thing he seeks out when we open the door. I tell him what a great trip it was. “Do you think I am weird?” Puzzled by that question, I ask him why he would ask me that. “Because I ask people unusual things and I sometimes sit under tables.” “Nah, unique, interesting, peculiar maybe.” He smirks. He’s good with that. So am I.