lunch table

(perspective of Davis, Grade 2)

I like squishy squeezy places.  I told my teacher that I like it under the lunch table.  The cafeteria in the school basement is very loud.  It's echoey.  Like a hollow crazy place.  Kids move around a lot, even sitting in one spot.  Bryan, who usually sits beside me is very jumpy and he bumps into me and bangs against my arm with his arm.  I've been thinking that under the table might feel better, and maybe even be quieter.  I climbed under there today and crawled near the end against the wall.  I had enough room to eat my almond butter sandwich.  My brain didn't feel so screamy and my legs weren't trying to run away.
 Mrs. Dundas asked me to come out.  I didn't hear her at first, so she got my brother to come over and tell me to come out. He asked me why I was under there.  I told him "Because I like it", and he said okay and walked away.  Mrs. Dundas told me that she had asked me four times to come out and she was going to get the Principal.  I really hadn't heard her say it four times.  But even if she says it four squared, I am not coming out until all the kids are gone.
 When the Principal came she asked me come out, and said I wasn't going to get in trouble.  I wanted to make sure, so I told her I was afraid Mrs. Dundas would yell at me and she must be hard of hearing because her loud voice could really echo, so I would rather stay under the table.  Mrs. Dundas went to get a drink of water.  The bell rang for kids to go outside and the room got quieter after the tables wobbled from their knees hitting them as they got up to go,  and then I came out.  The Principal told me that the little kids might copy me and that it is not safe to be under the table. I don't mind showing the younger kids how to crouch without getting kicked.
 When Mom came to pick me up today I heard my teacher tell her that I went under the table and refused to come out for anyone except the Principal and that shows I was being defiant.  I've heard that word before at school, usually with another word too:  deliberately defiant.
 My teacher reminded my Mom about "the incident in October".  I had to apologize to the whole class for that.  I am still not sure why.  It was silent reading time.  I went to the back of the classroom by the couch to pick another book.  The books we have in this Grade 2 classroom are very boring and I can read them super fast.  The space between the couch and the wall looked like a great place to read silently.  I kind of climbed and fell down in there at the same time, and I was right, it did feel good.  Then I heard the other kids moving around and the teacher started talking and nobody noticed I wasn't at my desk.  I wondered how long it would take for anyone to find me.  I still think that was an interesting question.  I have an Ironman Timex water resistant watch, with a timer and a button on the side to light up the screen.  Which was useful because everyone left and turned the lights off.  It was so quiet and peaceful and comfortable.  I had never felt so good at school before.
I was kind of hoping they wouldn't find me, but then 30 minutes went by and nobody had come back to the class, so I thought maybe school was over, but it was only 1:15, so that couldn't be it.  After 32 minutes I heard the door open and then Ainsley's loud annoying voice that scrapes along my brain.  She makes me so mad.  She sings all the time too and no one ever tells her to shut up.  Mark, the boy who sits beside me asked the teacher where I was.  She said "Wasn't he with you all in your computer class?"   " No" said Bryan.  Mrs. Dundas told the class to wait a minute and we were all quiet. I didn't know why she was leaving the classroom.  The computer teacher, Mr. Admor, argued with her that it wasn't his job to keep track of me and she should have been aware that I wasn't there when she dropped her class off at his computer lab upstairs.
Mrs. Dundas gave Mark the red card from her desk that we give to the Principal in case of emergencies, and she told him to take it to the office right away.  Everyone else had to sit at their desks and work on their spelling.  I was already finished mine, and was still feeling pretty good and cozy.  One of the school Aides came to watch the class while my teacher left the room.  I was getting a bit bored, but my watch was working well.
When a shadow stood over me I looked up.  It was the Aide, with my teacher and the Principal standing behind her, all in a line.  Mrs. Dundas said I made everyone search the school grounds and all the classrooms and washrooms. I didn't make them do that. Mrs. Dundas told me to get out of there right now and did I know what a scare I had caused everyone, including some of the kids who were crying.  It was only Emily and William, who cry at everything.  The Principal said that's not a very nice thing to say and that I missed the point.  The Aide said "What do you think of what you've done?"  I guess my answer was not what they wanted to hear because Mrs. Dundas grabbed the elbow of the Principal and said "See what I mean, no remorse." She took out a piece of paper and wrote down my answer so she could send in a report and tell my Mom.  I only said that I thought I should be congratulated because 43 minutes is the longest I've ever hid without being found.  She asked if I felt bad, and of course I said no because it was cozy and quiet and I read my book and my watch can be programmed to save important data like this.

Literally

(fictional interpretation of one sibling relationship)

I’m writing this in my journal.  Not the one I decorated at the "Siblings of Kids with Aspergers Bookbinding Craft Group" my Mom took me to so I could write stuff like how much I love my brother and understand how hard things are for him sometimes.  That's true.  But so is this. 

Sometimes I hate him.  I hate how my older brother Kevin checks the weather report every morning on the TV, radio, internet and newspaper.  Not because he wants to be prepared for rain by bringing an umbrella, but because he needs to be sure that our all-season tires will be “sufficiently safe” for Mom to get to the clinic where she works so that she can make money to give him allowance every week so he can reach his goal of $170 plus tax for this laser projection keyboard he desperately can barely live without.  My Mom reminds him every morning that he has a list of chores to do every day, but he can earn extra money by sweeping the floor or unloading the dishwasher.  He just stares at her like she's bonkers and she stares at him without reaching for her wallet.  He still makes money from his website that lists battery usage guidelines for hundreds of different cel phones, but it goes into his college fund.

He also cries about stupid stuff, which I think is disturbing.  Like, if we don’t have Hellman’s mayonnaise- NON-LITE, because then he can’t eat his ham sandwich, which is all he ever eats. Obviously only full-fat mayonnaise can coat the bread with enough fat content to prevent dreaded seepage of totally needed ketchup.  I don’t really know the whole list of ham sandwich hazards because I never stay in the kitchen long enough.  Plus I don’t care.  Sometimes it just feels good when I open the fridge and see that we only have a little mayo left in the jar, and I use it.  I do that when I'm really mad at him and the timing is right.   Oh ya, he’ll also eat apples if the peel is off and there are no bruises on it; with a fork so his fingers don’t get sticky!  Who does that?

Yesterday he didn’t answer me when I asked him if he liked my new skirt.  I really want to look good for Friday because I'm going to my friend Jesse’s house and she has a brother who is cuter than cute.  I mean, there's no word for how good looking he is.  He's the same age as Kevin, so I thought maybe Kevin would be a good test for how 14-year-old boys think and if they like brown skirts with pink lace along the bottom, but not too much because that would be babyish.  Kevin didn’t even look at my skirt; he told me that some boring computer thing called Lion OSX has a new version coming out July 20th. 

My brother is the definition of Ass-Burger.  I told him that once when he got totally upset when I accidentally stepped on his Nintendo 3DS charger.  I got into a lot of trouble for saying that, but it was worth it.  He never shuts up about video games!  Minecraft this.... Mario Galaxy that....  Lego Star Wars blah blah.  And he only wears practically the same clothes every day because they are the only ones that don’t scratch his skin.  He won’t let my Mom or Dad touch him lightly, like pat his back, but he's always asking us to squeeze him as hard as we can.  How does that make sense?

I guess he’s not so bad.  We have a secret system at school.  I slip him a fortune cookie at recess from my friend Amber (she's Chinese and doesn't like the fortune cookies her Grandma puts in her lunch everyday) because he collects the ones that tell him he's lucky today.  Odd for someone who tells me my horoscope isn't scientifically relevant.  He heard on the show 'Age of Persuasion' on CBC radio that people have a neurological dopamine response to the word "lucky" so he's saving them up to give to Dad for Father's Day even though Kevin is sure that luck is a  false construct based on a lack of logical reasoning.  You can see why he’s confusing.  I have to ignore him at school because he doesn’t have any friends.

I'm also doing really well in English.  I love to write and I have a flare for the dramatic my teacher says.  My brother has the imagination of a knat.  If I hadn’t helped him write his poetry for English he would have failed his assignment for sure.

Bill Gates                                                                                                                                                 
With Windows 8

Picked the dates

It’s going to be late

I can’t wait to get Windows 8

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       
He was going to hand that in! Mom said it was a good rhyme, and informative poetry is refreshing.  I know he's way smarter than that because he is on the gifted list at school.  He uses such big words, but he freezes if he has to write a story or poem,   I think I get good grades in English because I hear him talk.   He didn't say thanks, but he cleaned my computer screen after we'd finished with his homework.  He told me that the number of oily fingerprints on my screen was consistent with a statistically relevant portion of the population who are unaware that they touch their computers as much as they actually do.  He has a special cloth for that, so he rushed to his room to get it.  Dad says that's Kevin's way of saying he cares about me. 

I’m in my room right now because Mom told me I need a break for a while, which is fine because I’d rather be in here than stay in the kitchen with him.  He told me my hair looks messy, like I just woke up.  I did it special today!  I told him to take a hike, keep your shirt on, and make hay while the sun shines.  It was all I could think of.   Kevin started up about how he can’t go for a hike because we don’t live near a mountain and he can’t get to one because he doesn't have a drivers license.  He asked me why he would take his shirt off, the temperature is a bit low in the house, and he started to stutter about the hay thing.   This is an awesome way to confuse my brother and stay out of serious trouble myself by pretending to forget he takes everything literally.  I left before I could hear the same lecture about how Kevin says stuff he thinks is true and he's still learning that some things hurt people’s feelings.  He told a girl in my class that she should go to Weight Watchers and cut down on junk food, and she's my friend!  Ya, she’s fat but anybody knows that’s rude to say right to her face.  I do think it’s funny when he tells the Principal that she has bad breath.  No matter how many times my parents tell him that it’s not polite to say, he still does it.  He says it’s the truth and that he's being helpful, plus she could get some mint gum from the vending machine, but if she forgets or can’t afford it he could get some for her as a present.  He’s so embarrassing.

My parents are always telling me to watch out for Kevin.  He's older than me, he's a boy, and barely notices me.  They don't get it. They take me to a friend’s house but then say I'm lucky because I make friends so easily.  Why do I have to feel lucky because Kevin can’t do something and I can?  And by the way, the word lucky doesn't cause a spike in my brain happy chemicals.  It's not like he even wants to hang out with me.  And we don’t do much as a family, like we can’t all go to the beach because Kevin will freak out that the water is sticky and the sand feels like glass on his bare feet, but he also won’t wear shoes because the sand gets in his shoes and that's just as bad.  And I don’t think the ocean stinks, it smells great.  It’s so relaxing.

Mom says it’s okay for me to feel mad at Kevin.  She listens to what I say, most of the time.  But… she doesn’t see that he's so selfish.  I guess I’m mad too because Kevin makes her so happy.  She smiled for days when he learned to ride his bike, when he was 9!  I learned when I was 4.   I’ve never seen her try so hard to hold back tears as when Kevin stood up and sang a bit of a song for music appreciation day in front of the whole school. When I do something good, she just smiles and hugs me and puts her hands on my cheeks and stares into my eyes.  I don't see any tears. My brother doesn't notice when people are happy or sad, won't let anyone hug him and no one could ever touch his face or look into his eyes without him having a major meltdown, or he would just walk away.  And not see that I smile too.

No Such Thing as Santa

"There is no such thing as Santa!" our four-year-old son yelled, fists clenched, his little freckled face pink with insistent frustration.

My husband, Ian, bent to Ben's eye level, trying but unable to make eye-contact.

"There is a Santa Clause, and the exciting part is that he's coming tonight to put presents under the tree!" Ian smiled with encouragement.  He was wearing wilting felt reindeer antlers that jingled as he nodded his head.

"A big fat man can't fly through the sky and squish down smokey chimneys with a huge sack of toys!!"  Ben glared into his Dad's eyes, challenging him with an impressive yet disturbing intensity.

"He uses magic, Christmas magic."

Ben took a moment to judge the sanity, and intelligence level of his Dad, who held his ground, rubbing the soft fur of a red stocking with his thumb.

"Magic is a lie," Ben said evenly, confidently.

"It's fun," replied Ian, becoming aware of shaky ground.  "When I was a boy, I snuggled under the covers with my dog on the couch, hoping that I might be the luckiest kid, and actually meet Santa while he ate the cookies and milk I'd left for him."
 Ian looked over at me, welcoming my input at this point.  I smiled and raised my glass of eggnog in a silent toast to his noble attempts to draw his son into a magical world of talking snowmen, flying reindeer and tiny peppermint scented cottages dotting the sparkly landscape of the Northern toy capital of the world.

"All your life you were a liar?" Ben's eyes grew large.

My laugh bubbled my eggnog, causing me to drool on my shirt.  

I remember that winter evening because in an odd way it was a turning point.  I saw in our son's eyes a question that went beyond that moment, to reveal an unbending commitment to facts and logic; a boy lost and floundering in a world that made no sense.  A struggle over the existence of Santa Clause nudged us closer to a future awareness of Aspergers, a deeper understanding of our son, and a grateful thrill for a different kind of magic - a sense of humour. Ben's definition of a lie basically exposes every holiday as a sham, and his parents and siblings as compulsive liars.  Halloween has been a gong show; wearing a costume to pretend to be something else is definitely a lie, no matter what the sugary pay-off. Valentines Day cards are cheesy sentimental lies being stuffed into construction paper boxes of classmates you don't really love, and rarely even like.  The Easter Bunny is just a bizarre farce, and if we mention the Tooth Fairy one more time we may as well admit to our own premature dementia.

Later that snowy Christmas Eve, after we'd soothed tears by finally admitting that we'd bought his presents, I held his little hand and whispered "I love you".  He cuddled under his blankets, nodded and drifted off, recognizing the only truth that ever matters.