Fishing with Autism

One Saturday a few summer back, my brother David, took me and my two perfect children fishing under a bridge on Shelter Island. David is one of those rare men who actually likes children - he really thinks they're fun. Just as our familes taught us to fish, we now pass this important knowledge down to the next generation. As I told my daughter, "Feed a man a fish and he'll come around everyday. Teach a man to fish and you can get rid of him when your friends visit."

Within five minutes of arriving at the fishing spot, we had the soda and beer in the water, poles baited, and I was dragging my lawn chair into knee deep water. The bait in my pocket would wiggle a little and give me a cheap thrill. I unfolded my chair, sat down and commensed "serious fishing".

My exhusband was a "Catch and Release" Fly Fisherman. He spent more time fiddling with his fly (and that's whole other column) than he ever spent fishing. More over the concept of catching fish and letting it go is as foreign to my family as a liberal thought to Sen. Jesse Helms.

My family are Catch and Filet Fisherman. Under the docks all over Shelter Island, the fish have put up posters of my family's legs at local Sand Bars with the caption, "Warning from the Sturgeon General; Clams scram when you see these legs. Don't let your Flounder founder. Make your Scallop gallup. Get your Striper hyper. Make your Mussel hussle. Otherwise your Bass is grass, you'll be Crab on a slab, Snail in a pail, a Snapper in the crapper, Eel on a reel, Pike on a spike, a dorsal morsal, in other woirds, You're splatter on a platter.....".

My son, Jacob, has autism. He was eight at the time and this was his first time fishing so we were all prepared for anything. His auditory comprehension was very poor, but his visual comprehension was and is, amazing. We call him, "One Take Jake". After ten minutes of fruitless verbal instruction on casting, Uncle David just showed him just once. Jake took the pole and cast a perfect line up and over in a beautiful arc and did it over and over. Yup, over and over. Obviously the lesson about leaving the line in the water until a fish bites is for another day.....

My then eleven year old daughter sunned herself and together we gave directions to tourists who stopped on the bridge and called down to us. Now, I get lost when I turn around in a phone booth. Asking me for directions is like asking Stevie Wonder to drive...... the people we directed are probably still lost.

When my son was through casting, he went to the bottom of the bridge to talk to the hermit crabs. He was reciting word for word the lecture on the 'Life of Crustaceans' he had memorized from a CD-ROM. We all listened because we know from experience that if you interrupt him, he'll start over and over until he completes the sequence. There is a way to stop him, but we left the duct tape in the car.

Suddenly the lecture stopped, there was a splash and then the words, "I got ya". I looked over to find my son and brother gone. As fast as a beached orca can move, I made my way to the base of the bridge just as David was emerging from the swift moving current with a boney eight year old wrapped around his head. He lost his thongs in the process of swimming to get Jake. We gave Jake a new nickname, "Swifty", 'cause now you see him, now you don't...

We left shortly after that heart stopping experience. I gave David my new orange thongs that I had just gotten from K-Mart for four dollars. I know I was going overboard with my generousity. But what the hell, he saved my son's life. I always tell my son he's my "special boy". Once he told my friend , "My mother got me from the hostipul because I was on special."

Erection? Don't leave home without it....

In the course of caring for my autistic son, I lost a career in hospital administration, lost friendships, lost my husband. I have to say in all fairness, we were having problems before our son was diagnosed, but Jacobs demand's on my time put the final nail in the coffin. I don't think he's ever forgiven me for giving him an imperfect son. When I informed him of Jake's diagnosis, his very first response was, "What did you do?" He was irritated that the CVS (Corianic Villi Sampling) test at four months wasn't able to identify the autism early enough to abort. I admit I would have seriously considered abortion if the test had shown autism. But I remember I could already feel him moving, so I hope I would not have made the choice to abort the blue eyed boy who is the greatest joy of my life today.

Much is being made today about the mercury in innoculations being the cause of the dramatic rise in autism. I hope the mercury is the cause so I'll know it wasn't something I did that harmed him en utero, and I pray to God the mercury isn't the cause becasue then it means I held him down for the shots that robbed him of speech for so long and still rob him of normalcy today.

I realize I can't be blamed intellectually for following medical practices, but it doesn't free me emotionally. How could it? If it turns out to be the mercury, then I just have to live with it, like all the other parents. It's like being the driver of a car that gets hit by a truck and leaves your child disabled. Of course you're not to blame, but the guilt won't leave.

So how can he be a joy to me? This kid who has chipped my teeth by throwing his head back into my face and even broke off one tooth entirely?

Well, autistic children are forever innocent. They see the world without prejudice, without assumptions, without malice. They get into situations that can make you can laugh or cry, so you might as well laugh.

One day Jake and I were grocery shopping. He was about ten. I was choosing coffee and he was a little further down choosing which hot chocolate with mini-marshmellows he was willing to try. Suddenly a woman brushed past me and shot me a look. The look was one I have become very familiar with, it said, "Is that your son? Do you know what he's doing?"

Turning to face Jake, I saw that he was standing in the aisle with his sweat pants and briefs fully extended at the waist band. He was staring down into his pants totally fascinated with something.....

"Mom, look at this," He said in his characteristic monotone.

Fearing the worst, but being a dutiful mother, I peered in...... he had an erection. Then he said, "Watch this." And he made it bounce....

"That's very nice Jake," I said, "but you know ... that's kind of a private activity for a boy. It's okay to play with your peety in private, but not in a store. Okay?"

Being ever obediant he responded, "Okay Mom. But you don't understand because you don't have a peety, all you have is a fluffy and it doesn't do any tricks...."

I laughed so hard, I thought my pants would never dry....if he only knew the all tricks this fluffy has done!

So, there you have it folks, my existentialist angst has been solved ... I don't have a peety, I just have a fluffy and it doesn't do any tricks. The mystery of life has been solved, even in the autistic world, it all comes down to peety's and fluffy's... and just for the record, Fluffy's Rule!