A couple of weeks ago, my husband put one of those extra sturdy metal dividers in my Jeep. I think it says , “Kennel Guard” on the bottom, a double-layer grid that in my rearview mirror, really looks like a cage. It’s made to keep one of those big, unruly dogs in the back seat to keep you safe while you’re driving. Except, I don’t have a dog. What I do have is an angry , autistic sixteen-year-old who is so addicted to YouTube that having it has made him as violent as not having it. Before we got to the point we are now, deep in the throes of what can only be called withdrawal , he was only allowed YouTube when he earned it as a reward, three times a day, five minutes at a time, at the exact same times every day —after completing his morning routine, after successfully sitting at the table for dinner, and after bath. It had been that way for about a decade. There have been times when we have slipped, of course—doctors’ appointments, hours-long infusions for his medica
Welcome to Our World For the first time, my teenage son with autism and I are ahead of everyone else. We have already developed a skill that the rest of the world is having trouble acquiring. Who would have thought coronavirus would be so…novel? Long before stay at home orders, before shelter in place became a thing, we were killing it. Why? Because we have been socially distant for fourteen years. When we go out in public, it is nearly effortless to stay six feet from everyone else. In fact, our fellow humans make it easy. They stay at least six feet from us . Picture us in line at Starbucks, Thomas making a sound I can only describe as barking, a sound so loud my ears ring, and just like that, our perimeter is vacant. Thomas’s hands reach out to grope strangers who have moved against the wall in the Mobile Pick-Up area. It’s as if our fellow patrons read our personal autism rule book. Rule #456: do not reinforce a negative behavior. As a bonus, we are simultaneously worki