Graduation, weekend before this last, was one of those moments. Magnified by 10. Grace graduated classic Grace style. In sharing in this post, The Little Drummer that Graduated Yesterday, about my daughter with autism's many antics during the ceremony, I inadvertenly left out a few. Like:

At one point during the ceremony, she wasn't having anything more to do with that scratchy cap on her head. She ripped that mother off–rescued, once again, by her dear teacher. Then she proceeded to scratch. And scratch. And scratch her head. That sucker itched….Like every other hat she's ever put on her head or her helmet when she rides at SaddleUP Therapeutic Horseback Riding.

And then there was the moment when she lined up to follow her classmates's march across the stage. Dang, those protective undergarments sure do like to form wedgies. No problem. Grace reached down beneath both cheeks and gave 'em a good yank. Oy.

Last post here, "On the Journey with Grace," I wrote about how I missed the ceremony trying to capture it on digital. I wasn't totally absent. Just removed. Somewhat out-of-body and surreal. I didn't obsess over it, but I did think time to time as I snapped photos at the start of the day what she must of looked like to any folks seeing her there, her funny, totally uninhibited, totally inappropriate behaviors. Of course, most there were watching their child, grandchild, cousin, etc., not mine. But, really, some had to notice the kid who could not keep on her hat, who rushed to the back of the seating area to break out into a wild dance during a clip of funky music played. And there was the wedgie. And then, the infamous beach ball. 

There were a couple of times early on, before the ceremony, when I caught a couple or two staring in our direction gaped mouth, part quizzical, part dumbfounded at what they might be observing. On that day, my spontaneous reaction was to grin at them really BIG, all teeth barred, lip corners upturned in an exaggerated smile and an equally exaggerated fast wave. I think they got the point. (Quit staring, people!) (They did.)

All those antics, all the things my daughter did, though she wasn't supposed to–the total lack of awareness of protocol and propriety? Chuck that. "Oh, to be so free," as my friend Ken put it. 

And so, day after the ceremony, looking back and reading the comments on Facebook beneath my post about her unique take on graduation, I was reminded that you can either laugh or you can cry on this wild ride called the autism life journey. Mortified versus crying is more like it, really. I know many parents who are mortified by their children's antics, at least early on. Even when they get this age. And, yeah, sometimes, I am, too, like when they involve a total stranger–such as quickly grabbing a stray hair off the blouse of an-unknown-to-us-woman as she stands next to us at the deli counter. And, of course, the hair more than once just happens to be atop a protruding portion of the stranger-woman's chest. Oy. Quickly, I explain: "I'm sorry.She had autism.She doesn't understand!" I say as my face flushes hot and burns and I hold my breath awaiting their response. Usually  it is gracious. But not always.

So, yeah, graduation was a culmination of soon-to-be 19 years of inappropriate behavior. And I say? Sometimes you have just got to laugh. There is humor in this strange, awkward existence called autism. And if I forgot to be light and see the purity, the innocence and the ridiculousness and the downright funny in this socially backward life, then I might cry. And be perpetually mortified.

Nope. Not me. I chose laughter long ago. I signed up for the insider's parent-elbow-in-the-rib-cage-belly-bouncing-head-down-hand-over-mouth-suppressed-chuckle-when-needed-club.  We're not laughing at our children as in making fun in a mean-spirited way. We're simply surrendering to something, too often,  beyond our control.

C'mon: Laugh with me….As they say, it's: "the best medicine." The one that "cures what ails you…."

Photo, above: The infamous beach ball incident. 🙂