Big Daddy Autism

I have a killer chest and head cold. Yup. Right now I am oozing and coughing germs all over my screen and key board.  Regular readers know that, basically, all my internal organs are in a state of fairly rapid entropy for a 46 year old guy. However, I rarely get a cold. Got one now.

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I’m fairly certain you can’t catch it over the interwebs.  But just to be sure, I would hit the Purell pretty hard after reading this post. I’m hoping to feel better soon since I’ve been ingesting gallons of our old family secret cold and cough remedy – Heroin and Robo DM Cocktails. I find that Black Tar Smack works best if the cough is in your upper chest. Go for the China White if it’s deep down.

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This is the first time I have been ambling around the house in about 24 hours and haven’t seen much of the kids. Popped my head to tell Lil Sis I love her and then went to do the same with Griffin. He was excited to see me and we embarked on this lovely conversation;

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Griffin:  “Hey Daddy!! Why are you wearing a bathrobe?”

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Me:  “Um, I’m sick. Been in bed for a solid day.”

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Griffin: “Oh no! Are you feeling better?”

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Me (Beaming from the apparent empathy): “I am Griff. I’m feeling a little better. Thank you so much for asking!”

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Griffin:  “Okay. Enjoy your cold!”

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At this point he turned back to his computer to watch a You Tube video of some tornado destroying a trailer park in the Midwest circa 1950. Me? I’m just sitting here “enjoying” my cold.

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PS: No. My bathrobe is not a “shorty-robe.” That’s just disgusting.

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I hate small talk. Absolutely despise it.  Don’t get me wrong; I love to pontificate, orate, toot my own horn, brag, whine, complain, and preach.  However, those meaningless conversations about nothing that we all find ourselves in from time to time drive me batty. I’m just a jerk that way. Plain and simple. Antisocial pig. Proud of it.

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But, in a bit of cosmic karma, Griffin loves nothing more than a good long conversation about the weather. For him, I bend my small talk embargo.

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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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In some ways, Griffin acts like Lindsay Lohan.  He doesn’t; (allegedly) run random people over with exotic sports cars, do drugs, steal things, or regularly go to jail.  But a recent conversation with him reminded me how a selfish starlet may treat a faceless, nameless extra on a movie set.

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For years we’ve had an aquatic turtle named Johnny.  Johnny’s tank is right next to the water cooler which Griffin visits about 90 times a day.  He rarely if ever acknowledges Johnny’s existence but he does know that he is one of our pets. Albeit, in Griffin’s mind, a very insignificant one in the pet hierarchy.

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Mrs. Big Daddy and Lil Sis were at our community pool recently and found a tiny baby pond turtle similar in breed to Johnny.  Lil Sis rescued the baby and named him Boris. Johnny loves Boris and protects him from the fish we have in his tank. It’s really quite sweet to see Johnny’s paternal (maternal?) instincts come out.  So the family has been watching the tank a lot. Hoping Boris survives and admiring Johnny.

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On one of Griffin’s trips to the water cooler he started quizzing me about a heat wave in Texas in the 1930s. I wasn’t that interested and asked him about Boris. I showed him the baby and told him its name was Boris.  I repeated it a few times because I could tell I was not getting full on attention from the boy. Part of him was still in rural, depression era Texas.

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As he was getting bored / annoyed and ready to return to his room, I quizzed him to see if I had even a little slice of his attention;

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Me:  Did you see the new pet, Griff?  What is it?

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Griffin: Turtle.

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Me:  Is it a big turtle or a little turtle?

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Griffin: (Getting impatient) Little!

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Me:  What is the little turtle’s name?

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Griffin: Seth? Jordan? I don’t know!

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He then ran into his room and we have not spoken of the turtles since. He might not remember our new pet’s name, but at least he didn’t assault him with a cell phone or beat up a paparazzi photographer.

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