Beautiful Boy

If I had been paying closer attention, I might have noticed the sound of the gravel under my feet as I stepped out of my car on that fall San Diego morning, but the sun was so pleasing on my face, and the air so perfectly infused with sweet ocean and foliage, I simply walked blissfully toward the preschool where I was to pick up my three year old from his morning class.  If I had been paying closer attention, I might have noticed the smell of tar soaked railroad ties, or the gleaming white iron tracks that marked my path toward the door of a seemingly innocuous preschool classroom.  There was a train awaiting me in there, and I never saw it coming.

A stone faced preschool director informed me that we needed to talk.  She took me aside, never a good sign, saying something like, “There is something wrong.”…Something wrong, something wrong?, SOMETHING WRONG!, with my beautiful boy? But how?, he is so obviously exceptional; spoke early, first word nine months, full blown sentences 18 mos., reciting poetry with effortless memorization at three.  She begins to describe his behavior in the classroom; no eye contact, never speaks, doesn’t play with other children, lays down in the corner and stares at the wall when things get loud and overwhelming.  And here it is, the first time I hear the word Autism associated with my child.  “I think he may have PDD, or Asperger’s,” she says, “It’s a form of Autism.”

Nauseating reality shifts my mental equilibrium.  I am spiraling downward as my mind begins to recount a slide show of moments, each revealing the obvious. This cold, unsmiling, messenger has spoken truth.  Denial, 1^st time mom, whatever the reason, only now could I pull the pieces together to form a clear picture.  The spinning, poor eye contact, and repetitive behaviors, like a specters bony finger pointing to a sign that reads “Autism.”  “You should get him tested,” the director suggests.  I have no memory of what I said to her in response.

I walked back to my car, hand in hand with my beautiful boy.  A lifetime has but a handful of moments in which one remembers so distinctly the shift in trajectory that an event casts. This was one of those moments. I walked into the classroom one person, with certain goals, beliefs, and dreams, and walked out an altogether different one.  No longer did the sun shine so blissfully on my face, for now my eyes were fixed on the gravel under our feet, and the seemingly endless steel track that was laid out before us.