My sister and Grace shaggin' Carolina style as our cousin and friends jammed after Thanksgiving dinner.
They'd approach us at the old health food store. Myself and my infant who too quickly became a toddler perched in the seat of our grocery cart. Amused, they'd point at the ceiling where muzak that I'd previously been unaware was playing and then they'd look back at me in amazement. This is a town over-stuffed with musicians. And they'd seek us out between the organic tomatoes and home grown watermelon in the old Sunshine Grocery and Bellevue's old Produce Place (back before the days before giants of corporate purveyors of whole food came to town and bought up our hippie mom and pops). These musicians would tell me that my baby was singing on pitch to the Muzak. This was one to three years before my child would be diagnosed with autism and I'd learn that musical ability sometimes came as a package deal.
In music therapy we'd learn that she had perfect pitch and perfect rhythm. We introduced every instrument to her, but she preferred, simply, her voice. Grace, my daughter, with autism, is echolalic in the sense
that she stims and amuses her self with sing-song combinations of words.
Usually they make no sense. To us neurotypicals, at least. But if you listen closely, sometimes she is saying
something and if you guess it right she’s delighted. If you guess it wrong, she
deadpans you. She talks very rapidly, unusual for autism, and sometimes
it’s so high pitched and melodic it is hard to detect that she is actually
communicating something.
Turn on any type of music and Grace rocks out.
She especially loves rap. My little rapper. Of course, she tends to rock to rap most as we are sitting at a red light next to some jacked up car that has it's speakers cranked to deafening decibels and the passengers being a motley sort whose attention I do not want to seek. But, attention? From the musicians at the old hippie health food stores to the sideways glances in the aisles of Walgreen's as Grace rocks on to the piped-in melodies, attention is what we get. Attention is also just another peculiar part of the autism package.
Everywhere I turn, the effects of this disease rears its ugly head. Such kindness in your words.
Well, there’s kindness in my words (thank you) bc I do not consider autism a disease, but rather a disorder. It is not contagious. It’s genetic and yes you are hearing about it more and more because something in the environment is tripping on the switch to those genes. We live in a toxic world. So, what do you do? Live your life PISSED all the time? Or…look for the Joy. The Hope. The Blessings. Answer. For me: the latter.
This is lovely, Leisa – the movement in teh photo, and the kindness in your words. We always have a choice of how to respond, how to live with whatever IT is. I have celiac, and I refuse to call it a disease, although I did at first. Introducing myself to the server at a restaurant, trying to communicate my medically-restricted dietary needs, the word that stood out was “disease”, causing the serve to take a small step back nearly every time.
This is not a disease though, as you describe, it is a genetic disorder, a switch that has been thrown in the body, a package deal, with unexpected benefits to go along with the hassle, pain, and difficulty.
Thank you for your message and your kind words. You and Grace are blessed to have each other.
Beautiful Jet, we have a saying in the autism community…people either “get it” or not. You definitely Get where I’m coming from and what I’m trying to say here and overall. Obviously you know firsthand. Bless you. This is one of those special comments that brings tears to the surface.
When I see this photo of Grace and your sweet sister, it makes me cry. Not from sadness, but from the shear joy, the absolute love, the amazing strength and faith. I’m so blessed to have Grace in my life. She is perfectly named. I love you all.
Gregory, it is special that you know both of these people. Few people in Nashville know both my sister and Grace. Thank you for blessing me with your perspective from outside of our family.
Beautiful post from a beautiful Mom.
Thank you, Charlotte!