It's Saturday night and I am dancing at a wedding. Not
bad for someone who would rather get shots/see the dentist/clean the bathrooms
than dance.
You see, I'm the kind of person who would rather read a
book and disappear into a crowd. Or I might say something to a crowd, but only
after I have rehearsed it a thousand times (even then I might chicken out). Spontaneity
is not my thing.
But here I find myself actually dancing and enjoying it for the first time in my life. And I owe it to my sons N and S, who are
on the autistic spectrum. And although I
am their mother who is suppose to teach them, I find that they are often times
teaching me about life.
For those who don't know, my sons are twins and they are
eight years old. I thought I had the perfect pregnancy -- I carried them for 38
weeks until the doctor insisted that my labor be induced. I didn’t suffer any
difficult effects of pregnancy (just 80 lbs. hanging from my gut and barely able to stand). They didn’t even seem to suffer any effects from the induction
medicines and were born at healthy weights: exactly 6 lbs., 15 oz. and 7 lbs.,
1 oz. respectively. But about two years later they were diagnosed (I'll save
that story for another time). Since then, my whole life has revolved around
therapies, doctors, and above all, it seems-- trying to make them act more
neuro-typical (or as some unaware people would say, normal).
Both S and N are better dancers and swimmers than I am
because of autism.
We started them on swim lessons when they were barely
three, both for water safety reasons and for the therapeutic effects of water. N
loves to just sit underwater, where I think all the noises of the world
are drowned out and he has more control of his body. He sits cross-legged and just kinda watches things through his goggles.
We also started the boys with dancing because there was
some research (and a DVD) that promised a unique sensory integration
breakthrough program for young people with autism. They liked it perhaps the first three times, and then hated it. Then my sister (thanks Auntie K!) gave us Dance Dance Revolution (DDR)
for the Wii and they LOVED it. I don't know if it was the music, or being able to choose your dancers, or what, but they would spend hours dancing to techno with three Japanese Anime-looking characters. The routines on DDR are more like cheer sequences,
but hey, that's more rhythm than I ever had.
For better or worse, most autistic kids don't really give
a darn about what people think. This is one of autism's curses. Conversations
tend to be about themselves or fragmented talks about things that make perfect
sense in their own minds, even though the other person has no idea what they're
talking about. For my kids, they start quoting Annoying Orange or screaming bloody murder when they lose at cards. While I am mortified that everybody is staring and backing away, they just continue unaware.
But tonight, they want to dance with their mom on the
dance floor. I recognize their steps as they start doing their routines from
DDR to the music. They do their Saturday Night finger-pointing imitation and
Mr. Roboto moves. Not bad. S even tries to dip me. I see N's serious face, but
I know he is having fun. For two little boys who have gone through so much,
they are not held back by any fears here. I am so proud of them and admire
them. I can only respond by throwing my own fears away for the evening. This
time, it is my turn to try and be like them - dancing, living in the moment,
and being happy.
