Big Daddy Autism

I’m feeling a little nostalgic at the moment and want to take you all back to the mid-90s. After the age of the mullet, but before the diagnosis, therapies and mourning over dreams that would never be realized.  After Nirvana but before the elevator videos, Wilford Brimley, and bizarre stims became our world. This story, although clearly about him, actually predates Griffin’s traumatic birth.  If anything, the following bolsters my theory that there is something other worldly about the boy.

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In late ‘96, Mrs. Big Daddy and I decided it was time to start our family.  Actually, it was mainly Mrs. Big Daddy who decided it was time.  In hindsight, I guess I just wasn’t paying close attention when she told me she was tossing the birth control and that we were ready for a baby. We had only been married a few months but we earnestly thought we were prepared.  After all, we were somewhat successfully raising a difficult cat with multiple personalities and, we reasoned, having a kid couldn’t be all that different. (Cue ominous music.)

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It was during this time that Mrs. Big Daddy’s Grandfather became terminally ill.  This meant we needed to take several five hour road trips from our home to a tiny city called Holiday, Florida in late ‘96 and early ‘97. Ironically, Holiday is not known for its bustling tourism and hotel options were limited. On each of our visits we always checked into the same Best Western on Route 19.

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The theme of this particular motel was “Tahiti.”  I think.  There were Tiki Huts with fake grass roofs by the pool and plastic South Pacific artifacts all over the motel grounds.  The rooms themselves were standard $39.99 per night motel fare.  The cheap 1970s Brady Bunch Kitsch was kind of fun in a way.  Most importantly, the price was right. Big Daddy was not yet rolling in book royalties back then.

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Without going into graphic detail, for some reason cheap motels help Big Daddy’s baby making skills. (Take a breath. It’s not that disgusting. I was actually quite the looker in those days.) Anyhoo, being eager, newlywed parents to be, we made the most of trips to the Tahitian Best Western that winter.

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On one of our trips we noticed something odd when exiting our room one morning.  There was a three foot tall faux wooden figure in the garden area right outside our room.  The statue was made to appear as though it was carved out of a log standing on its side.  It had a flat head, long face and extremely stout body.  (No, I was not staring in a reflection pond.) The plaque underneath the statue described our tacky friend as a Tahitian Fertility God.  We were speechless.  We didn’t notice the plastic gnome / deity on previous stays and did not see him upon check-in the previous night.

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My first thought was that this idol must be a horrifying sight for any high school senior who takes his date to this motel on prom night.  My second thought was that this freaky little guy was facing the door to OUR room last night! I gulped, Mrs. Big Daddy took a picture, I made a lame joke, and we went to visit Grandpa in the hospital.

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As you probably already guessed, several weeks later the pregnancy test came back positive and Griffin was on his way into the world.  Sometimes I think the gods must be smiling at what they have created.  The picture of the God of Fertility is taped onto the first page of Griffin’s Baby Book.

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They say that having a child no more makes one a competent parent then having a car makes one a good driver.  At least with a car you need to pass a road test and get auto insurance.  With a kid like Griffin, we should have been required to get a pilot’s license and a pair of parachutes.  Air traffic controllers giving us guidance from the tower would have been helpful too.   Instead we had to fly solo directly into the eye of the storm.

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Griffin’s elevator obsession is odd, but, thanks to the internet, I am confident he is not alone. Hundreds of people video themselves riding elevators and thousands (like Griffin) follow them on You Tube like 1 Direction fans.  Captain Elevator, Diesel Ducey, and others religiously post their elevator adventures and kids around the world watch repeatedly. Over and over again. Repeatedly. Over and over and over and over and over again.

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While I knew there were a bunch of kids (and adults?) on-line who shared Griffin’s “hobby”, I had long wished there was one nearby so Griff could have a friend who shared his interest. Maybe even have a play-date where they surf the web looking for videos of the elevator in the Engineering Building at University of Texas – Austin Campus.

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Little did we know that such a potential friend exists in our own neighborhood.  During a conversation out back where the parents of the special needs kids used to congregate to wait for early release, Mrs. Big Daddy discovered that a boy, we’ll call him Kevin, who had been in Griffin’s grade and many of his therapies for years, was also a huge elevator aficionado. He liked many of the same You Tube posters and enjoyed riding real elevators with his family on the weekends. Bingo!

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Mrs. Big Daddy and Kevin’s dad conspired, on the spot, to tell the boys the news and watch as they broke into an avid Captain Elevator conversation much like “typical” boys would carry on if they found out they each loved Ironman or Thor. As soon as the boys emerged from school, the respective parents shared the exciting news and nudged the boys together.

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Neither boy could care less. I don’t think Kevin said a word and Griffin looked off into the parking lot as he gave a half-hearted, “Hi.” After about ten minutes of the boys standing next to each other without so much as acknowledging the other’s existence, the experiment was aborted.  We tried several more times over the next few weeks. Nothing.

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When Griffin got home after the first interaction, he went straight to his room to check if Captain Elevator had posted any new videos. I suppose, less than three miles away, Kevin did much the same.

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At 15, Griffin is finally developmentally to the point where he understands (sometimes) that there are consequences to his actions.  This basically means we can finally act like “real” parents and threaten him with stuff (like losing computer privileges) in response to temper tantrums or other inappropriate behavior.  We do not hold him to unrealistic standards and would never ground him for things he cannot control due to his autism.  However, there are some behaviors for which he has coping tools, strategies, and knows how to control. If he doesn’t use his tools, there are consequences.

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I’m certain that his “consequences” differ widely from most NT 15 year olds. Below is a partial list of his consequences, starting from least severe to harshest;

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*As noted above, losing computer privileges for a period of time. This one usually backfires, because when he can’t use the computer, he joins us and bombards us with questions about the weather and traffic lights. Like a prisoner being water-boarded, we quickly give in and he is back on the computer within minutes.

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*No watching the Weather Channel for a period of time.  He hates this one.  He needs to be informed, 24/7 of weather conditions all over the world. This is relatively effective some times.

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*Cancellation of his weekly elevator safari. Most weekends Mrs. Big Daddy takes him to a variety of shopping malls so he can see traffic lights and ride a few elevators.  This one works 90 – 95% of the time.  Only drawback – Mrs. BD actually likes an excuse to go to the mall each weekend.

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These are most of the regular and most used tools in our repertoire. But, like the end of WWII, sometimes you need to take out the big one.  No matter what time of year it is, if the conventional weaponry proves ineffective, we always have our game changer in our back pockets. Call it our Fat Boy, if you like.

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Santa Claus.

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Yup.  Even at 15, Griffin believes whole heartedly in Santa. Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny as well.  We use this to our advantage.  All I have to do is pick up the phone and say, “I’m calling Santa” and the boy almost always snaps to attention.  Griffin doesn’t really like gifts, but he is dreadfully afraid of being on the naughty list. Strange, since his dad never once made the “nice” list.

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Irrespective, I’m planning on using the Santa Claus Card as long as I can. Even when Griffin is older than Saint Nick himself.

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Big Daddy has flirted quite frequently with death.  Fortunately, much like all my flirting in high school and college, I have come away completely unsuccessful every time. Griffin has been fortunate that the only death of someone close to him was his great-grandmother several years back.  We told him she went to heaven. He thought we said New Haven.  On a daily basis, he checked the weather in Connecticut for years before we straightened that one out.

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Griffin is now 15 and he kinda sort of understands the concept of death. It comes up in conversation occasionally.  Basically, he will ask if he will die if he engages in certain activities like jogging or playing with his iTouch after 9:00 PM.  A few months back he expressed concern about who would take him to ride elevators after his mommy died. I volunteered, but he matter-of-factly told me I would already be dead a long long time before mommy. Cold. But true. I hope.

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We diffused that situation by having his sister agree to take him to the mall after we pass. Not much of a sacrifice by Lil Sis since her favorite place on earth is the mall.  We also eased his obsession with his own death by assuring him he will live to age 93.  Seemed arbitrary to me, but he bought it.  Until last week.

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Monday morning we received a phone call from Ms. N (his liaison / aide / lifesaver/ guardian angel / bodyguard) at school. Ms. N informed us that Griffin was refusing to go to science class today and was being quite insistent about it. When she says “quite insistent” it usually means throwing a temper tantrum that would make the Incredible Hulk jealous.

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Turns out, the reason Griff did not want to go to science class was because the teacher was doing an experiment where he would be mixing baking soda and vinegar to see what kind of reaction occurs.  Griffin was convinced that witnessing this experiment would cause certain and immediate death to him. From the way he was carrying on, it was as though he was being forced to bear witness to the denotation of an atomic bomb at close range with only a pair of cheap sunglasses to protect him.

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He knows if we have to come to school to pick him up early for tantrums or similar behaviors there are consequences.  We told Ms. N to remind him of that.  The rest of the school day passed and we didn’t receive another call from Ms. N.  Either he got over his fear and went to science class or he used one of his permitted passes to go to the resource center – a quiet room where he can chill and listen to music.  Either way, he made it through the day.

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At the end of the day, when he came bopping out of school with his usual ear to ear smile, I asked how he did in science.  He replied, as if nothing had happened earlier;

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“Great!! I did not die!!”

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I beamed with pride at my brave (but clearly delusional) boy.

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I was driving with Griffin the other day when he asked me about the word “itchy.” He knows what it means and has used it in sentences for years. But we had a nice conversation about things that make you itchy.  He even came up with “sweaters make you itchy.”  Even though the topic was trivial, it was so nice to have an actual real life conversation with him. Most of them are limited to one or two exchanges before he loses interest or turns to his go-to topics of choice – traffic lights, weather or elevator videos.

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But this time, instead fading into giggling or questions about the great drought of 1998, the conversation took a macabre twist.  He asked me if poison makes you itchy.  To which I replied.

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“Um, no poison does not make you itchy. It makes you dead.”

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Griffin thought about this for a moment and seemed to ask a follow up question to make sure he understood me.

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Griffin:  “What happens if someone puts poison in their mouth? Do they die? What is poison”

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Me:  “Poisons are things like gasoline and cleaning supplies and stuff.  And YESSSSS you should never put poison in your mouth! Why are you asking?

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Griffin:  My teacher swallowed a fly.  Are flies poison? She did not die.”

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Me:  “Flies are not poison. Just yucky.”

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Griffin:  “I am allergic to poison.”

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Me:  “Um, er …..”

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Griffin:  “And power lines.  I am definitely allergic to power lines.”

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No need for an allergist.  Just need to avoid poison and power lines. And milk products for Lil Sis.  I think we can handle this parenting gig.

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