A New Scarlet Letter

If you’ve read any of my previous autism blogs, you know that fact checking isn’t my strength.  So far I've wrongly stated that the quarterbacks were brothers in the recent Superbowl instead of the coaches and I also credited the Violet Femmes for a Cracker song.

This week I thought I’d butcher the Scarlet Letter which I have never read but will make reference to anyway.  It has to do with my longtime desire to slap a Scarlet A for Autism on my son Henry’s hoodie.  In my version, it is a warning of possible behavior and not as a punishment to the letter bearer.  

One of the good and bad things about autism is that there is no physical markers.   Most likely you would not know Henry has autism by looking at him but a minute into the conversation you’d probably pick up on it.   

When Henry was diagnosed, I understood his tantrums were more than the terrible two’s.   This world was a sensory assault on his body.  It was my job to desensitize him to the noises, lights and constant sensory invasion.  Every visit outside our house including the grocery store, Target, the public library, and even a friend’s house usually elicited a meltdown.   The catch-22 was I had to expose him to these environments to improve his sensory challenges.  My goal was to make him last a little longer on each outing.  However, it seemed counter-intuitive to other parents that I was rewarding my young son while he was acting out.  I would praise him for making it as far as he did but others felt it necessary to make comments purposely within earshot about “how spoiled children are today” or “the need for limitations and boundaries”  That’s when I decided Henry needed a Scarlet A for those blinded to his diagnosis by their own superiority.

Although the tantrums have stopped, Henry’s out of the ordinary behavior persists and so do the looks.  When Henry is attempting a task in public he is singularly focused on accomplishing it.  In his desire to check out a book or buy a bottle of gatorade, he forgets to wait in line, adjust voice volume or say please or thank you.  I try to run interference but it is not always possible.  To me it is obvious that he is wearing an invisible Scarlet A until I see the glares he gets from others.  Luckily, his autism makes him oblivious to the negative stares and remarks.

I have asked my family to assume that someone is on the spectrum when their public behavior does not fall within the parameters of Miss Manners no matter the age of the perpetrator.  I think this is good advice for anyone.  I am not saying that rudeness is acceptable however in an age where autism is so prevalent, our definition of tolerance needs to be expanded.