Tag Archives: inappropriate comments

When Talking Is a Problem

For my recent trip involving air travel, Nigel accompanied me to the airport before I left. He flew for the first time three years ago, and he loved it. I had brought ear plugs for him, and he didn’t even use them. He was far too excited and motivated to have mechanical noises bother him that time. He loves to learn about other countries, reads National Geographic every month, and longs for the day when I “sell lots of books” so that I can take him to see Stonehenge and the Acropolis, among other places.

And so, he loves to be in airports, which he doesn’t get to do very often. Being an extrovert, he wants to interact with people. I could not have guessed however, that upon entering the airport he would have made a beeline for the guard at the entrance to the security check area. I had my bags and was giving instructions to my mother, who watched the boys that weekend, and I didn’t notice that Nigel had taken off until I scanned the area and saw him leaning in to the guard and saying something. Like a rabbit caught in the headlights, I froze. The guard had an odd look on her face.

Nigel walked back over to me. “I told her to keep up the good work because we don’t want another 9/11,” he said, satisfied with himself.

How could he have known? How could he have possibly known that what he’d said was unacceptable talk in an airport? How could I have thought ahead to tell him not to say things like that? I spend at least half my time anticipating inappropriate things that Nigel could say and then explaining to him that it’s not okay to say them. Saying inappropriate things can be a huge problem for the verbal autist, even a liability. It can hurt people’s feelings and actually get him in trouble, especially since he rarely makes eye contact and often speaks in monotone. I try to circumvent these potential problems by thinking ahead and coaching him, really trying to understand his way of thinking, anticipating what he might say, and helping him to avoid saying the wrong thing.  

I mentally wrung my hands, hoping that we wouldn’t have a security squad swooping down on us at any second. And my heart ached for my poor son who was just trying to make conversation, who absolutely did not mean any harm.

“Oh, honey,” I began, “I know you thought you were trying to encourage the guard, but it’s not okay to talk about 9/11 in airports. It alarms the security guards because they think of it as a threat or a joke, even though I know you didn’t mean it that way.”

A dejected look washed over his face. “I thought I was doing something good. I was telling her she was doing a good job.”

“I know, sweetheart. But they might not see it that way, and it could get you in trouble to talk about 9/11 in airports. So try not to do it anymore.” I looked around, wondering if the guards had their eyes on him. I had to keep him close to me, this boy who is taller than I am. Maybe somehow, if they saw a mother sticking close to her teenage son, they would know. They would see his “difference,” as he calls it.

“I didn’t know,” he said, looking down.

“I know. I wish I had thought to tell you, but I’m telling you now. I know it’s hard to understand, but you just can’t talk about 9/11 in airports, even for good reasons.”

“Okay,” he said quietly, seeming to understand, or maybe just accepting it without understanding.

Oh, my son. He tries so hard.

Party Time

Parties are a bit of a conundrum for the extroverted autistic individual. Of course, I am not extroverted and I am not autistic, so this analysis is based on my (slightly biased) observations as the mother of such. Being extroverted, Nigel craves the fun social interaction of a party, especially when the party-goers include family and friends who know him and love him. But being autistic, he often needs relief from the very social interaction he so craves. And as a verbal autistic, he often finds that the topics he chooses to discuss can cause confusion or amusement (at his expense). Sometimes he unwittingly says something downright inappropriate or resorts to movie echolalia. It’s tough needing to work so hard at something that’s supposed to be fun.

I watch him at a party at our house. Nigel’s working the room, showing each person one by one his self-designed Lego mini-figure of JFK, discussing his theories on the assassination, and even thinking to ask those over the age of 45 if they remembered the day that it happened. He is trying to make connections with people the only way he knows how – talking about his interests and asking for others’ opinions. He would do this all night if he could. But after a while, the din of a party will get to him, and he removes himself for a moment to take a break. If he doesn’t, he will become over-stimulated and could have a meltdown. It’s happened before. He knows this about himself, but sometimes I need to remind him. This time, he does it on his own. And then he’s right back out in the thick of things. Back for more.

I, meanwhile, hang back as much as possible at a party. This is especially difficult to do when it is being held at my house. So, I have devised a method of getting as much ready as possible before the guests arrive, making sure all the refreshments are accessible, and then I sit at the far end of my kitchen counter, visible if anyone needs me for anything and near enough to throw out a comment or two should the spirit move me, but removed a bit from the action. Unlike my son, who is making the rounds with his homemade spear from 10,000 BC and a Peruvian Chullo hat on his head that my father brought back for him as a souvenir from a recent trip. Later, guests will be wowed by his Terminator sunglasses, floating pumice rock, and knowledge of space exploration history. He is in his element, and I am impressed and proud.

And then Nigel gets a little carried away, a little cocky, perhaps. Maybe he’s thinking, “I’m working this party good. Who says I need a social skills class? I’ve got it under control.” He notices Mom sitting a little close to her boyfriend (who was just introduced to all the relatives tonight). Close enough to tease her about it. And then something flies out of his mouth in his loud voice. Something that brings the party to a grinding halt.

Nigel:  Mom, you’re sitting too close to his crotch.

Me: Nigel!

Nigel: That’s okay, because I want to have a baby brother. I want you to have another baby.

Me (about ready to pass out, not sure if I have the strength or wit to manage damage control): Shh! Quiet!

Note to self: Time for a little talk about FILTERS!

Time for Crunches

The following helpful comment was made shortly before Nigel left for LA. I was standing by the foot of my bed folding laundry when he walked in the room and spoke in his characteristically flat tone.

Nigel (pointing to my abdominal region): Looks like you’re working on another one.

Me (insulted): No, I’m not ‘working on another one.’ My belly is protruding because I’m bending over, not because I’m pregnant!

In retrospect, I should have used this opportunity to point out to Nigel that it’s inappropriate to make comments like that!  Another topic for “Social Awareness 101,” my new homeschooling subject this fall . . .