Do I, or don’t I?
Do I tell them?
Or do I just wait for the inevitable phone call, or note home?
One of the many things I struggle with when it comes to Spiff is whether or not to tell you about his Autism. And by you I mean anyone. Teachers, Camp Staff, Friends, Guests – anyone.
Part of me wants you to figure it out by yourself. But if I do that, I run the risk of you thinking he was raised in a barn. Or rude. Or an idiot. And I can’t have that.
I don’t know why, but I can’t. HE could care less. But I seem to care. a LOT.
I guess it is a control issue.
So that’s why I tell you. That’s why, when I drop him off for camp, I loop around and park and go meet you and ask to speak to you for a few minutes. It’s why I tell you that he is Autistic, yet high-functioning, and that he will do fine in your class if you just remember to redirect him and try to keep his attention. It’s why I remind you to please be patient with him; and why when you begin to pale at the thought of having him in your class, I reassure you that ‘Honestly! It’s going to be GREAT!’.
It’s also why, as I put the van into drive and pull away, I chastise myself for doing it again. For making that mountain out of a molehill. For showing you his weaknesses before he can even show you his strengths. For trying to make his life easier.
And I can’t help but wonder if I’m helping him or hurting him. I also wonder if it matters.
I might also cry. But only my steering wheel knows the truth.