Whitterer on Autism

My daughter bounces out of Middle School orientation to greet us, beaming. She walks a few steps ahead with her little brother whilst I guide the spinner. I am extremely grateful for the extra wide path as he circles and lurches between bushes filled with bugs and cement pavers full of cracks. He has another year to familiarize himself with the new territory, vicariously, before he joins his sister at the very same school. He is silent and busy and not making much progress as the other two dawdle, waiting for me to get a grip. “Hey look at that!” she points.
“What is it being?”
“Litter!”
“Dere is being litter out of dah Middle School. Dey are not nature lovers?”
“Gross. Dya know that’s called a cigarette butt?”
“Butt!”
“Yeah!”
“You mean……Middle School is dah litter and dah Nature hater and dah rude!”
“It’s not really rude when it’s a cigarette butt……is it Mom?”
“Hmm I suppose not. I’m not sure really, we’d need to ask an American.”
Surely better than dog end or fag end?
“But we is being dah Americans Mom!”
“He’s right ya know.”
“Hmm indeed.” I hold one by the shoulders as I watch the other one ping, just as if he’s been touched by a cattle prod as he sparks into action, “I know!” he bellows in robot mode, “Ban dah butt! Ban dah butt! Ban dah butt!” We watch him, arms up, full bounce as he chants his new cheer. His sister looks at him, from him, to me, from me to him, rolls her eyes as a drift of Middle Schoolers pass by and giggle. It’s a knowing look, wise beyond her years, half resignation half beam.

And don’t forget to add your name to the “book giveaway” and spare a thought for “Nonna.”