Back to the Future

   My husband Michael is actually the writer. In fact, up until this blog I haven't really written much of anything. I thought it would be awesome to have him do guest posts on the blog from time to time. We are a family and everything we have is combined, so why not this too? Enjoy!

Back to the Future

            The basketball shaped growth that pertruded from my wife’s midsection for eight months was the source of much speculation. Some of it was realistic. Some a bit more fantastical. Would he be happy? Would he be healthy? Would he enter this world gripping the pink mane of a unicorn? Probably not. Would he have that unspoken paternal bond with me that would serve as the model for all of his future male relationships? The type of relationship that I had always secretly wished that I’d had with my own father. One based less on flowery conversation (what?) and more on action and shared interests. That shared interest, of course, being a mutual love and respect for the greatest time traveling film ever made, Back to the Future.

            When I first hear the word ‘autism’, I was shocked and saddened. The world around me sounded muffled and distant. I thought that my beautiful little curly headed boy was broken. New questions entered my head. My fantasies of a son who would talk with me about movies, music, politics and girls were crushed. What if he never talks at all? What if he never kisses a girl? What if he never falls in love? What kind of special needs would he have? And what if I’m not a good enough father to fill those needs?

            That sadness, like all of the other enveloping pangs of emptiness I feel, transitioned slowly into anger. That anger has lingered. Not because I still think of my son as broken, but because I am, in general, angry. I’m angry because gas is over $3.50 a gallon. I’m angry because our healthcare system is still a joke. But mostly I’m angry because of all the people out there who still view my child as broken. Fuck me for thinking that and fuck you, too. He doesn’t need my sympathy and he sure as hell doesn’t need yours. So when you see him at the grocery store acting spazzy and you want to give us looks like he’s a bad kid or I’m a bad parent for letting him act ‘foolish’*, you better keep it to yourself because you might just get your feelings hurt.

            Autistic children, I surmise, are like all children. You never know how they’ll turn out. You never know what type of person they’ll become. The best thing I can wish for is that Lukas turns out to be a happy person and lives each day with gusto. It doesn’t matter whether or not he’s autistic. It doesn’t matter whether or not he’s a fan of Star Trek Voyager or Deep Space Nine. Both are fine programs. I don’t care whether or not he marvels at the athletic prowess of Bruce Lee, though his performance in Enter the Dragon makes it hard not to. And it doesn’t matter whether or not he enjoys sitting next to his daddy on the couch, sharing the same blanket and the same bowl of popcorn while watching Back to the Future. We can always watch something else.

*Refer to radio personality Michael Savage.