Sunday, December 1st, 2024

“Hello, shorty. What are you doing?”

Come to our home on any given day; at any given time, and you’re likely to hear some version of this memorable scene from the 2000 horror spoof, Scary Movie.

That’s because we’re a freaky little family of neurodivergent nuts with a strong penchant toward fixation and echolalia.

And it seems my affection for all things creepy and my husband’s perpetual quest for movie knowledge have coalesced into the monster that is our first child.

Halloween is a favorite holiday, and this year was the year of obsessing over horror movie villains; much to the chagrin of my mother-in-law who thinks nearly everything is a sure sign her grandchildren are on the inevitable path to becoming a sociopath.

Despite those concerns and the fact that Halloween has been over for a little more than a month now; here we are, still shocking and frightening innocent people in the drive thru at Dunkin Donuts.

Most weekdays begin with funny animal videos and a hasty breakfast before the drive to school. My 3rd grader has recently decided school is boring and he shouldn’t have to go; so, I’ve employed free use of the YouTube music app on my phone as an acceptable bribe. While we used to enjoy a variety of music on the short drive, now it’s the soundtrack to John Carpenter’s Halloween, and ONLY Halloween. Every dang day. It’s become so much a part of our routine that his little brother now asks for it on the drive home after we’ve dropped Big Brother off at the school doors. Everyone must listen in reverent silence or be shrieked at relentlessly all eight miles back to our house.

After school, as soon as shower and snack are over, it’s time for a YouTube bender. I’ve seen so many shorts, clips, and feature film length videos on Halloween, Scream, Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the 13th, and Killer Klowns from Outer Space that they’ve become a part of my internal and external monologues. I mean, I was sending a card to my bestie the other day and something got me off on a tangent and now she has a glitter-crusted butterfly card, filled corner to corner with a hand-written transcript of the afore mentioned “WHAAAZZUUPP” scene instead of the sweet, friendly, house-warming platitudes I had intended to send.

It makes me happy though, to see how excited and happy my kids are watching…and re-watching…and re-watching…those clips. The stimming is a sure sign of joy.

As a child, I was forced to repress stims and tics to…well, basically just survive. The 90’s and early 2000’s were definitely not a very understanding or accepting era for autistic people and their methods of coping with that environment.

It is so satisfying to know I can be for my kids what I needed at their age. Things are a little better now, but we’ve still had the occasional poor suggestion from therapists and teachers that say we need to train our sweet boys out of this; the same way they terrified my parents into coaching my stimming behavior out of me. Okay, so your child is no longer flapping the hands or flipping the fingers or whatever it is that is SOOO embarrassing and distressing for the general public. But what about the child? This behavior serves a purpose and if you squash it in one form, it WILL come out in another, often more damaging than the original. I say, if the stim isn’t hurting anyone, let it be.

We had a well-meaning counselor try to teach our oldest son to clap his hands when happy, instead of jumping and flapping his arms…like that’s gonna draw any less attention or help him fit in better with peers. He is different, and that is okay. He has friends that include him and accept him as he is, for who he is, and I am going to do whatever I can to protect his autonomy and provide all the support that I so desperately needed during my early years in hell–I mean, school.

Until next time:

“What you doin’, Son,?”

“Nothin’. Chillin’. Killin’…”

“True, true.”