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The Mystery of Autism and a Key to Unlock It
If I could take a class to unravel the mystery, I would
He recognizes me. His eyes meet mine, a smile flickers, then vanishes as his eyes slide away from my gaze. A young man with a name badge that says Ronnie leads him to the car.
“He had a great day,” Ronnie says. He tightens the strap around my grandson’s car seat after coaxing him into the car. “He said ‘cherry.’”
I puzzle over this. What good is it to learn how to say cherry when you don’t say Mom or Dad or I’m hungry? Besides, he only eats bananas, Cheerios and pizza.
“We were having him identify smells,” Ronnie explains, as if sensing my cynicism. “When I held the jar with cherries to his nose, he said cherry.”
“Oh, right, that’s great.” I try to sound enthusiastic.
Ronnie, always cheerful, says, “Tell his mom he had a great day!”
I have left a few things strategically placed in the back seat of the car where my grandson can reach them: a bag of Cheerios, a glittery necklace I don’t wear anymore, a picture book and a soft foam ball. Everything must be soft or light weight, because there’s a good chance he’ll hurl anything within reach. I don’t want to be clunked in the back of the head with a golf ball or risk having a toy…
