Like I mentioned previously, Tim is a beautiful boy. He's a child that strangers will stop and comment on..."How handsome!", "What a beautiful boy!" to us and then to Tim; "How old are you?", "What grade are you in?".
When this happens, I stand there and imperceptibly tighten my grip on Tim's wrist or back of his shirt, tiredly cringing on the inside, waiting for what happens next...
Tim ignores them, rocking back and forth.
Sooner or later...usually within a second or two... they notice that Tim's wide-eyed expression of wonder is more distant and slack jawed than it should be...and its not fleeting either. They furtively glance at me with a puzzled, concerned expression; their smile draining away.
It's usually about this time that Tim snaps out of his reverie, suddenly lurches toward them, jabs a finger inches away from their face and shouts, "WHAT KINDA CAR YOU DRIVE?" (Remember the "imperceptibly tightened grip"...that's what prevents the hapless stranger from getting poked in the eye by Tim's finger.)
"He'smoderatelyautistic and lovescars... 'rememberseverycar he sees." I rattle this off for the billionth time with a quiet voice and a faint smile. I silently wonder for the billionth time what is my true motivation for saying ...or not saying...anything at all.
Once they get over having a 5'4" kid suddenly lunge right into their face, the strangers are always kind. Some will simply give its color; "A blue one.", they'll say. Others will give the make or model. Most times, what ever they tell him, Tim will answer back with the rest of the information. If they say, "A blue one". Tim will say "Toyota Corolla"...or what ever "the blue car" in the parking lot was. If they say "Toyota". Tim will answer back, "Corolla. A blue Corolla."
Like any kid, he absolutely loves it if he's right and he usually is with cars. He just shows it a little differently from most kids his age: he waves his fingers in front of his chin, alternately laughing hysterically, growling loudly and pulling against my grip like a very happy 110 pound pit bull.
The stranger is always amazed. It is, after all, pretty amazing. This is a "Tim Trick" and its his best. I'm proud of him for this one. I doubt he'll be getting into Harvard on just that; but hey, how many Harvard-boys can instantly memorize the color, make and model of every car in a parking lot, huh? Huh?
OK. I know, it's cool but really not too practical. I don't give a damn. I'm quietly proud of him when he pulls this Tim trick off the way any father would be proud of his son who just made a goal at peewee soccer.
I smile and say, "Come on Tim! Time to go!" and walk off with Tim. He's growling and lurching along on my right while shouting, "WHAT KINDA CAR YOU DRIVE? ITS A BLUE ONE!"...then doubling over with another fit of fingers-in front-of chin wagging and riotous laughing. This repeats again and again while we walk to the car. He's obviously happy about this.
I take stock in the knowledge that Tim's trick is not as totally useless as it may seem: the stranger has seen just how physically beautiful and mentally shattering autism can be.
Links to Information on Autism
The Autism Ribbon
