Take me out to the ball game

Me: Sam I have a surprise for you.

Sam: What is it?

Me: You are going to see the Red Sox play on Friday night.

Sam: Yes. Red Sox.  

Me: Do you know what the Red Sox play?

Sam: Yes.

Me: Tell me. What do they play?

Sam: Basketball.

Me: Oh Sammy. 

And this brings me back to a similar conversation from a different loosing season:

It was the final game of the season. The Sox were out of the race for the pennant, so the game meant nothing. But it meant everything to us. Sam had recently discovered baseball and on this beautiful fall day he was about to experience his first Sox game ever.

On the drive out to Boston, we reviewed the plan: "Sammy, where are we going?" "Boston!" he responded. "What will we see?" I asked. "Red Sox!" he answered. "What do they play?"  I asked. Sam quickly replied, "Basketball!"

"He has your sports acumen," Tony replied. 

"I know my baseball. Don't get all technical on us." I defended. "Maybe it explains why they didn't win the pennant this year. Sammy, another ball. It begins with b..." With that Sam correctly identified, "Baseball. Baseball bat. Hit the ball. Run." 

Sam loves baseball. Don't let his word retrieval cloud that fact. It was time to find out if Sam would still love the game after experiencing the sudden crowd eruptions, tightly cramped seats, unfamiliar sights and smells of Fenway. We entered to a packed stadium. It was the Sox against the Yankees after all. Sam looked around with an apprehension that slowly turned to delight as a ball player headed up to bat. At the crack of the ball the crowd roared. Instead of his usual startle reflex, his face lit up as he yelled an elongated, "Yeeeeaaaah!" in imitation  of the folks to our left.

From there everything got better and better: He loved the food vendors (peanuts and Fenway  franks in particular). He watched the "wave" make its way around to him, joining in  flawlessly. He sang "Take me out to the ball game with gusto and beamed through Sweet Caroline. He stretched like Gumby at the seventh inning. Finally he cheered enthusiastically when the Sox won. He was the near perfect fan. 

His only stumble?  "Booing the Yankees." He tried to imitate this from a nearby guy. Sam interpreted his “boo” as a “moo” and much to the delight of the folks sitting next to us, he produced a sound that would have made Elsie the Cow proud. We can work on that.

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The door to a heart

Working on the latest creation.

Sam chooses a thick pastel and examines it carefully. Is it the right color? Sometimes yes. Sometimes no and a different color is selected in its place. He confidently places his first, rich splash of color. The color is so intense  it almost startles the white paper. He leans back and smiles, pleased. It is good.

I watch him repeat this process many times over in the next hour or so. Working with unusual focus, he still manages to erupt into laughter or song. Sometimes even a quick dance before returning to the project at hand. I see before me the soul of an artist. 

Sam and I have made a practice of drawing together in the last month. I’ve come to treasure those nights. Sometimes I suggest a subject or set up a still life. Other times Sam creates from his imagination. Still other days Sam defaults to windows, doors, houses and roofs. I wonder about his fascination with these subjects, but he isn’t one to explain.  

With the help of Sam, I hope to find my soul as well. There was a time when I was more prolific, but life got in the way. I didn’t know then a day would turn into a week and just as quickly a year. You don’t know those things. 

These nights are happy times, doing what we both enjoy together – even collaborating despite our differing styles. I am confined by the structurally correct while Sam creates with abandon. I envy the way he confidently approaches an empty sheet; his freedom from technically accurate colors and shapes. I love the energy and passion of his work. I wish I had Sam’s assurance as I struggle to shake off the cobwebs of my former ability.

Today I throw a different twist and request, “Draw love.” For this assignment Sam draws a big heart. To that he adds lines and colors and shapes. What do they mean? I accept I will likely never know. I watch something emerge in the lower left corner. “What is it?” I ask. That answer, I know. “Is a door,” he confirms. Of course, one of his signature doors. After working on this drawing for a few days he finally he pronounces, "Is done" and hands it to me. 

Oil pastel: Door to Sam's Heart.

Tell me about the drawing I ask. Sam points first to the door, then to the heart: "Is door. Is Sam's heart. Door to Sam's heart." I pause, wondering if I heard him correctly. And then I put my curiosity away. Sometimes it is best to accept a gift, no questions asked. Today I am satisfied knowing I have an open door to Sam's heart. Sometimes it is as simple as that.

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It’s publically private

After an almost perfectly wonderful afternoon on the soccer field with Sam yesterday afternoon I posted the following on my Blending with Autism page:

Beautiful weather for the first day of soccer. Sam played well and earned respect when he was (I quote) “hit in a sensitive area and took it.” Then he asked his coach to “kiss it.” Yup. Needless to say that request was politely denied. Thanks to Dante for being such a good sport.

This isn’t the first time Sam has made a request of this nature. Just ask Kelsey. After Sam landed on his butt one day, he pointed to his bottom and demanded of Kelsey, “Kiss it.” When she read yesterday’s post she quickly responded: “I think this beats out the time he asked me to kiss his butt.”

Yes Kelsey, I agree. You've been trumped. But only by a little.

At the beach I got a “kiss it” request too. Absentmindedly I asked, “Where?” For my inattention, I was rewarded with a visual not for the faint of heart. Sam yanked down the front of his wet bathing suit, pointing to an area clearly chaffed. Needless to say, no kiss was provided and his suit was quickly yanked up. I like to think of these as teachable moments. My lesson? No absentminded responses. Particularly not in public.

My friend Erica pointed out anytime you begin a sentence with, “Well the first time Sam asked me to kiss his privates...” it implies you’ve gotten this request on multiple occasions. Gulp. Guilty as charged. Message received loud and clear. We are over due in explaining to Sam a kiss won’t cure what ails you.

It’s kind of like saying good-bye to Santa Claus, though.

Part of me loves that Sam still believes I can fix everything with a simple kiss. A part of me will miss the innocence.  But I can’t have him wandering around thirty years from now asking a stranger to kiss his privates either. He will likely get slugged. Or worse.

So here we go with another transition. For that reason you may have heard and will hear Sam mumbling “no private; no public.” It has been a big topic in recent months. In the interest of simplicity we’ve boiled it down to:

Private = bedroom or bathroom.

Public = everywhere else.

Once he gets that down, we can use it as a springboard for a host of topics surrounding propriety. We hope. 

To Dante, Kelsey and and anyone I've missed, sorry about that. I appreciate your patience during this learning curve. We'll continue to work on it. You are the best.

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The miracle of ET

I witnessed a miracle last night. Really I think I did. To many it wouldn’t look like much or even worthy of notice. But to me it is right up there with parting the Red Sea.

Sam kept himself busy last night by bouncing off the walls, punctuating every five minutes with his monotone “What’ the plan?” I’ve become good at tuning out the clutter. I didn’t immediately notice when the room grew quieter.

When I did notice, I was simply grateful for the peace. It had been a long day. I was happy to see Sam content on the sofa multitasking with his iPad while watching TV. I didn’t really think he was focusing on the TV much though. ET was on, a movie unfamiliar to Sam.

But he sat and he sat. I began to wonder was he watching?  No, he can’t be. The movie had too much dialog and Sam doesn’t process dialog. In a situation like this he has the attention span of a flea. He must be tired. But each time I glanced over he seemed completely engaged.  

I finally I broke the quiet by asking, "What are you watching?" "ET." Sam responded. “Who is ET?” I asked. Sam replied simply, “Extra-extra-extra-tal.” For a kid who has difficulty learning any word, his attempt at the word “extraterrestrial” was pretty amazing.

At bedtime I asked about his night. Sam responded, “Watch TV. Watch ET.” “Do you know ET?” I asked.  “ET is Extra-extra-extra-tal,” answered Sam. I probed further: “Where is ET from?” Sam responded, “Is from outer space.”  Finally I asked, “Tell me about ET?” Sam responded, “ET phone home. ET go home.”

Wow. He got it. Some of you won’t get the whole goose bumps moment of this. You won’t understand the magnitude of Sam following the storyline of a novel movie and understanding the essence of it.  

But some of you will know and you will understand. I want to throw a party. I want to celebrate. I’m wondering what else Sam is hiding behind those dark eyes. And all of a sudden tomorrow holds so much more promise.

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