Last week, I posted a link to A.F. Lutz’s Psychology Today piece that, in part, touches on the absurdity of severely autistic people like Ben and her son Jonah being expected to make major decisions about their lives.
Of course, if you read (without an agenda) Lutz’s pieces about Jonah, or mine about Ben, or have spent ninety seconds with either of them, then you know that major decisions must be made by the significant others in their lives. And significant others like us would give anything for our Bens and Jonahs to be able to make decisions about big stuff, like where and with whom they live.
But as my late mom used to say when I was a kid:
Wish in one hand, spit in the other, and see which one fills up faster.
Then again, there are many choices Ben can — and loves — to make, and we love watching him contemplate his decisions — even if we often have no idea how he reaches them.
Books, for example.
One of Ben’s favorite shopping destinations is Target, because it carries a range of gourmet cuisines like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Rice Crispy Treats, AND lots of books. If they played Sam Bush songs (or God help us, Raffi) over the public address system, it would be a Benny trifecta.
And as you can see, Ben is a very careful decider.
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Ben wasn’t looking to buy any more copies of Clifford the Big Red Dog, but he sure as heck wasn’t about to let them sit quietly on the shelf. So boring. And, those wrap-around covers?!? So unnecessary. Ben to the rescue. Covers removed, cast to the floor. Books follow. Ben’s job here is done.
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“Ben, what book do you want?” This was his choice. And no, not one. All. When you’re a fan, you’re a fan. Hey, technically, it is “a book,” just four copies.
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The Final Decision:
MOO it is.
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Another decision Ben is free to make is the audio and visual ambience of his room. What might be the soundtrack in hell for you and me is Benny’s bliss: Three videos, playing three different songs, all at once, via his computer, his TV, and his iPad. That’s Ben’s version of background music. And what better aural conditions could there possibly be for sorting games with brightly colored bowls? But why oh why does he like it this way, you might respond? But to that we say: Do Not Ask Why. Ask, Why Not?
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Given a choice, Ben still prefers his juice from tiny boxes. Then again, he doesn’t exactly do it like a [bearded] toddler (Ben don’t need no stinkin’ straw). He’s more like the guy chugging a beer and crushing the can as he goes. Macho Ben!
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“Drive fast” is usually Ben’s unequivocal choice when we ask, “Hey buddy, what do you want to do now?” Which means we spend hours gazing at scenery. Like this view of emergent corn stalks near Hiram, a real Midwestern scene at that.
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I always offer to hold Ben’s book when we go into a bathroom, but I guess I don’t look trustworthy because he always declines my offer and instead chooses a surface close by that is preferable, it seems, to my grubby mits.
Like a diaper changing table.
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Another favorite Ben choice is the Cleveland Art Museum, a big place that Ben usually manages to fast-walk through in under a half-hour, always surprising the parking attendants because we make it under the “free” threshold of 30 minutes. Ben’s a thrifty museum-goer.
The Cleveland Art Museum’s huge atrium is glorious, capped by an immense skylight that Ben often glances up at when we enter the vast space. This time, he did a double-take (but didn’t slow down). When I looked up, it took me a moment to spot the guy that caught his eye. So now I’m guessing Ben’s wondering if there’s a way for him to get up there.
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Ben is picky in the extreme when it comes to choosing his food, and we are always telling servers that they can just hand him his choice immediately. They usually think this means after they’ve bagged it or wrung it up or whatever. No no no, we mean IMMEDIATELY — no wrapper, no bag, no plate, no fork, nothing between display case and Ben’s eager hands.
My favorite bakery is On The Rise, for the simple reason that they have absolutely nothing that Ben can grab — it’s all enclosed in display cases or behind glass, and there’s nothing by the cash register. He managed to break into a plastic case on the counter at McDonald’s where they keep the muffins. Yeah, Houdini ain’t got nothin’ on him.
And here, Ben is displaying extraordinary self-control — he isn’t climbing over the display case.
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The Play Place is Ben’s favorite destination in our Cleveland apartment building, full of toys and, more importantly for bookworm Ben, lots and lots of reading-and-looking material to choose from. And though the books are meant to stay in that room, Ben treats the Play Place as his own lending (aka permanent loan) library. Hey, for the rent they charge, a kids book disappearing every couple of weeks — well, I ain’t losing any sleep. I know Ben sure isn’t either. I’m just glad there’s no librarian levying late fees.
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So farewell for now from Ben in his favorite spot in the world, even when waiting at a stoplight, without a cookie!
