My dad was one of 8 kids raised rural in the Rocky Mountains. I remember my grandma telling me stories about him growing up, fond and still just mildly perplexed over memories of her strange little boy--the way she had to bake him a separate miniature pizza from his older siblings just so she could put the cheese on afterwards because he refused to eat melted cheese; the way he wouldn't take anything but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to school for lunch his entire life even long after they had the money to eat better and his friends all grew up into more complex tastes; the way he was so dedicated to his after-school schedule that one day when his big sister was late to pick him up, this 6-year-old kid simply forged straight up the side of the mountain back to their home because it was The Time For Going Home and everyone thought he was lost for two frantic hours until he walked in the front door and quietly asked about dinner with no idea anything was off.
After I realised I was autistic and started exploring what that really meant, I thought back on my life growing up with my dad, understanding him in ways nobody else understood us--even my mom--and about stories like that from his youth, and realised how obviously autistic he is, too. But my grandma loved him and put in the extra care, on top of seven other kids to keep track of, to know what he liked and accommodate his needs.
His family just made room for him. His friends just made room for him. So he could still fit. They didn't know about autism but there was just a little my-dad-shaped space in a bunch of people's lives and that was fine.
And I think about how many people are just like that, and always have been when small communities are left to their own devices. Not all of them, not ever all when it comes to people, but so many. Whether it's someone with thoughts too big for their age who must have been gifted by the divine, or someone so impressively good at one thing that they become a local community resource, or just someone who is extremely serious about unmelted cheese. They still belonged.
We were a little strange or a lot strange, but we were still someone's. And as such we have so often been beloved. Humans, on the whole, take care of what's theirs, or at least try their best; if what's theirs is a bit different then they figure out how to accommodate that in practical ways. It's just not that hard. Whether they ever cared about what autism was or not, or why we are the way we are, we have been loved. That isn't a new concept, and the proposal that it is is horrifying and telling.
The only good reason for an autistic kid to get lost in the woods is because they are very committed to dinnertime. And everyone who loves them panics until they come home safe. Anyone who did otherwise would have been considered inhuman long before the modern day.
annaxmalina
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