Anita, the singing cashier: My Ongoing Understanding of Neurotypicals

I didn't want to bother her. She and two others were standing, waiting at the entrances to their checkout lanes, but I'd already turned in the direction of her aisle, before I noticed she looked a little labored to be standing, and she'd done caught me with the dreaded.....eye contact.. I was stuck. 

   She turned to go the short way to her register to meet me, but someone was blocking her with one of those riding carts. "I'll just go this way," she said, and Anita (so her tag said) went hobbling.

I felt like such a terrible person, until I heard it, "Do, do, doo, do, ...Do, dado-do..." I don't know the tune, but she was, "Do, da,doo-ing" possibly the most pleasant bit of Scat singing I've heard. I was putting my things on the counter when she made it to the register, and I, smiling, said, "It was worth the trip, just for the song." People filed in behind me, and she smiled at my comment, and raised the volume and her smile, whereupon I began, my subtlest of jigs, mostly the shoulders and head...a little arm and hand hula action - nothing overboard. 

 Ah, she sang along, and it was beautiful, and I happily paid for the lettuce and cheese. I took the bags from the carousel, and put them in my cart saying, "I think I got them all." She answered playfully, white hair sparkling and lilt in her voice, "Let's give it the traditional twirl and see!" and she spun the carousel while I spun a hand in the air to flourish with a wave, and bid good evening with a shared giggle and thanks for the song...

Should you find yourself in the aisle of Anita, the singing cashier, I recommend dancing along. She knows her stuff! :)

tina jones

Fish Gummies and Hair Chewing: Ongoing Understanding of Neurotypicals

I'd like to thank the little girl with the face for making my shopping easier. It always goes well, until I have to stand in line....with...the people. Her mother had gotten everything. No, you didn't hear me. "EVERYTHING." She was about 3, I think. I never know, and she had obviously learned that smiling at people makes them smile back. She did it, and I looked away, because I just learned this last week, and I didn't want to practice. She wouldn't stop it, so finally, I caved and showed her my canines as politely as possible. Her eyes glittered. Wicked, how they do that, and at that moment, I smiled genuinely.

    I  learned peek-a-boo from my own daughter decades ago. Knowing that game pretty well, I gave it a shot, and she mimicked me, kicked her feet in the grocery seat where she was secured not too well and giggled. I asked if she was helping her mother, and she nodded, turned and got a can to assist her Mom in putting the groceries on the belt. She dropped it in the floor, so I retrieved it and handed it to her. She smiled more.

    She pushed her hair back, so I asked if hers often got in her face. She nodded, and I said, "Mine bugs me too sometimes." I smacked my hair back with both hands, and we spent several second smacking our hair. She stroked one side, and I told her I could make two tails, held my hair with both hands to demonstrate. I think she was impressed, but she insisted only one was the way to go, so I complied and did just the one side, not all of the hair, as she demonstrated, just part of it. She seemed to know what she was doing.

    She was barefoot, but I hadn't noticed when her mom asked where her shoes were, and went about emptying her cart anyway, little toes going everywhere, weaving happily in and out of the cart bars. I'm bendy, so it wasn't a concern, and I was surprised when another lady decided to alarm the child by telling her that her foot was stuck, and Mom might break it off when she tried to lift her from the cart, further, she should tell her mother, she was stuck.

     Of course she wasn't. The smile was gone, her lower lip began to swell, and her head turned down. I'd spotted some fish oil gummies (chewable candy supplements), and thought to hand them to the cranky lady, but I resisted. The little girl slid her foot out, easy as could be to comply, joy gone.
    The lady went on, having taken a dull adult position, to tell the child that she had children in college, as if that was going to have any meaning for the girl, and the little girl nodded solemnly, trying to interact as best she could to the stern voice. I told the lady, she was contemplating her words, at which point the lady (finally) laughed.

     The little girl smiled again, and we went back to demonstrating hair styling tips (which I followed as best I could), and how to properly entangle the toes in cart bars. I had to part her company when another aisle came open, though I was as always cut off by someone more adult that I am. <cough> and I didn't see her for a minute.

      Her mom paid and pushed the cart forward, and she peek-a-boo'd at me, while chewing her hair, so I chewed mine too, then she looked sad, and lifted her foot to show me her shoe was on, and she tried, but couldn't put her shoe'd foot through the small bars that had fit so well without them. I felt sad too.

      I hope the rest of your day didn't have to have shoes, little girl, and thanks for showing me that only part of the hair makes a fine ponytail on one side, and that it's pretty tasty really, if not just a good thing to do while waiting in a grocery line. I hope you smile more today. People need it more than they may know.

    With love, another (sometimes) little girl who doesn't like shoes either. Thank you! (and Sweetheart, feed those cranky sorts Fish Oil Gummies. Winks!)

tina jones

Ongoing Understanding of Neurotypicals: A Cure

I'd like to know what causes Neurtypicalism.
    I don't want to cure all of it, just the parts that make them uncomfortable. You know, like competiveness to the point of self injury like in football, wearing high heels or incurring debt just to fit in, or the following of groups they don't agree with just to be part of a social group, thus being untrue to themselves causing ulcers and any number of neurosis. Then there's the talking when one has nothing to say that sometimes causes them distress in having to chit chat. This can put off dinner to appease neighbors in order to keep neighborhood peace with people they may not even like when family they love is waiting, thus causing hungry people if not disgruntled families.
     If we could cure the need to fit in, then it ought to follow, they'd have less trouble with others who were different. Neurotypicals who'd sing in the shower, get giddy and jump about like cheerleaders by sheer natural joy, would have less problem with hand flappers like me who are doing the same thing, if quieter.
    No, it's probably better to look to myself for the problem. I have a problem with acceptance, perhaps. I need to just accept them like they are, even if they don't make sense, even if their joys and sadness are expressed differently, comfort when I can, encourage when I can, and realize that everyone has their own ways, even neurotypicals. I also realize this won't be heard as the love it's intended in, because not all are capabable of stepping into another's frame of mind. Love them anyway.
    As far as what causes Neurotypicalism, as far as I can see, it must be fear of rejection. What we autistics can do to help is embrace them, and accept them exactly as they are. Some day, they may be able to do the same. Some already have. There is hope.
tina jones

People are Funny! Ongoing Study of Neurotypicals (and their cars)

I love people! They are so funny!
I made a public appearance, meaning ofcourse I went to the store. It's my favorite place to study the species to which I, often in humor, belong. Ok, sort of, but only if I stretch it. hehe. People were very pleasant today, so all I'd have to report was that. Gratefully, the day was saved by a fellow driver.
 It's not new to me. I've been doing this for ages, and I've noted that no matter where I stop at a stop light, a driver in the next lane will pull an average distance of 2-6 feet infront of me, even it means going far over the line. Even if it means a Semi might be comming directly at them, and even it means a police car is nearby. I don't think they can help it, so I try not to get too close to the line to give them room to get ahead without endangering themselves. I think it has something to do with a curious competitive streak, I've heard about. I'll have to study that more.
   I had the advantage of being on the far left of two left turn lanes, and in the only one that continued. In other words, his lane merged into mine just after the turn. Seeing he wanted to go first, I looked over trying to get his attention to let him know it was ok. I didn't know that something might not be very pressing to him afterall, but he wouldn't look or didn't see me. With the hand that went up over his face from my side, I'm guessing he was hiding. Fun stuff!
  Ofcourse, I'd let him go first anyway, but he ran the red turn light just as adjacent lights turned yellow so he could get ahead. That might not have been necessary, had he not hidden, but it was his call.
   I sure hope he made it to the bathroom, his late appointment for a labotomy or whatever he had going on. I realize I gave up the right of way, but it's never worth fighting over, and it's far more entertaining to enjoy the show.
  What's curious to me, is from my experience, had we both approached a door, he'd have held it open for me. I always wonder which is real, but I'm sticking with the driver side of people being more authentic. It's certainly more entertaining.
tina

Table for One: Ongoing Understanding of Neurotypicals

They were most hospitable, a group of friendly women I'd met after moving to the Deep South, where I lived a few years. I'd been invited to go to a weekly scheduled lunch at a local restaurant with them. I wanted to be friendly. They were very kind, so I went.
  I arrived timely and spotted several of the women near the back of the restaurant. Approaching, approximately seven of them were gathered enjoying around a tall table built for two. Scooting over, they invited me to sit. As would be my usual, I made no big deal of it, and sat, smiling at them reassurringly at the next table at the back of the restaurant. Though made for two, they are ample for one, and quite comfortable. Besides, I don't care if it's Buddah, Jesus or Colonel Sanders. If a person is within my arm's reach uninvited, I'm uncomfortable.
    As minutes passed, and I'd ordered a diet soda and a salad with chicken, a few more ladies came in, and my table for one, now had three. These two, like myself, had declined the togetherness of the more social table, but we could hear what was being said, and participate if we liked just fine.
   There was the rumble of restaurant noises and the chatter from all over the room, but upon hearing of a missing person, I focused hard. One of the ladies at the next table was very concerned mentioning his name, and saying that they couldn't find him anywhere. "Oh, NO!"  I thought. "Not another one."
   Recently a man had gone camping in the woods there. He'd gotten lost, as rumor had it. many had. He did not find his way out for three days in 100 degree farenheight plus temperatures, and was badly shaken and dehydrated when he did. I feared people could die out there. My mind contrived images of someone dragged into the black water and being eaten in chunks by alligators.
   I thought, "Who is this man?, Is he from here?, Does he have family here? and How can I help?!!!"
   Another lady looked just as distraught saying she hadn't heard anything either. They all appeared sad to me, when one said, "Well, I bought mine at (store name here)."
   I thought the poor lady had lost it. What did that have to do with the missing man?!
   Another lady added that they used to carry, "It" at another store. I was lost. It wasn't until one lady said that she got her "Purse" at some store that I realized it.
    The man's name that they "Could not find," was infact the brand name of.....yes, a purse.
    I do not mean to belittle the importance of purse procuring, but I was annoyed. I had spent good energy focusing over the crowd for several minutes for a purse. I liked them. I just didn't understand the ways of the purse. Perhaps I never will. Really nice people they were, if a bit focused on their "comfort objects." So I like kneaded erasers. I suppose it's not all that different. (shrugging my shoulders)
    At that point, all sounds including the upset purse talk from the table for two with seven faded into an indiscernable rumble as usual. My salad arrived, and it was most gratifying.
  I learned from this experience that purses are important to many people, that tables for one suit three in a pinch, and that I need to order extra salad dressing
tina jones

Autism: Ongoing Understanding of Neurotypicals....the *regular* folk

"On the spectrum" of Autism, such a nebulous term. I lean more toward Austism than Aspergers in spots, yet I'm presentable enough at times to recieve the brunt of social expectation. "Expectation" is a word I wish had never been invented. "Neurotypical," despite it's basic meaning of a most common neurological wiring, is another word I don't like, because I find nothing typical among either those without Autistic traits or those with them. Each human being is an individual to be celebrated for their beingness.  
    I learned about autism 19 years ago when my son was diagnosed, and that's when I learned about me. I even learned about other people....a lot. It seems a whole lot of people never bumped their heads on the floor for comfort as a child, don't chew their tongues, don't have a kneaded eraser in their purse that they can play with for comfort, flick their fingernails against their palms in an "it's gonna be alright" way, and most of them do not have a hum in their voice, nor do they keep a respectful/comfortable three foot distance from people when speaking. Most of them have no problem with grabbing your arm when speaking to you (different boundaries). A whole lot of them (believe it or not) do not see details. They seem to enjoy or ingnore  noise sometimes (ie. crowd chatter), they love fluorescent lighting (Sadistic lights/sounds are pleasant to them.). Many of them, "Think outside the box" without ever looking to see what's actually IN the box, and only vaguely know what I'm talking about when I refer them to the feeling they get at "fingernails on a chalkboard."
     Many of them are burdened with having the socially correct hair cuts, clothing (whether it's comfortable or not) and latest sayings. Idioms, or not saying what they mean are common language, and they have to have a constant translator going in their minds at all times to understand what others (who don't say what they mean), really mean. (Remember that "Who's on First?" Abbott and Costello routine? It's like that for them as best I understand it. I must admire them for this, as I could never keep up with the codes.) They have talents too. many spontaneously know what to say in drivel conversations (small talk) and have textbook body language. A lot of people even have exaggerated body and face movements and a disturbing need to peer into my eyes and worse, many get upset if I don't do it back! Weirdos! (grins)
  If there is one thing I've learned, (and I do hope there's at least one) it's that there is no greater waste of my time and energy than to try to get the world to understand me. They are not going to get it. I'd be better off telling a person born blind that the sun hurts my eyes.They may accept it or not, but they're not going to understand it, and many people get mad at or fear things they don't understand.Thus, I'd totally given up on living happily misunderstood (Yes, I got temporary gratification from it, sadly). I needed a new outlook. There is no chance of me changing them. They are probably perfectly fine just like they are. Sometimes they say that people on the spectrum don't have compassion/empathy. I do understand projection.
   The situation is for me that I live in a world mostly populated by fear of difference. It's ok with them that you're different as long you don't talk about it and can fake a reasonably good *normal.* (Another useless word to me). Many neurotypicals have a need to try to fix others. Well, I can be the one person of respit in their lives who doesn't try to change them. I can accept with love. (This often confuses them. grins.) Someone has got to understand, they can't, it's not hardwired in, they were not made this way for better or for worse, regardless of what I or anyone thinks of it, so, in the interest of me not asking a legless person to run.....
   If understanding, compassion and empathy are what I sense is missing in the world, then understanding, compassion and empathy are precisely what I need to give to the world. Ok so they don't get me, so what? I enjoy learning, so I study them. True, I feel like Jane Goodall of "Gorillas in the mist" sometimes, but I see wonderful things. They interact oddly to me with all of the small talk, touching, social status rules and other things that don't have significance to me, but they do to them. Just because a thing is not important to me, that doesn't mean it's not important whether or not I understand it. St. Francis said, "it's better to understand than be understood," and for the sake of my sanity, I agree, it's better in that it's more effective.
 I'm interested in what works.
   Not all, but some people respond well to being heard and understood. This, I do right in the middle of yearning to be accepted, by the way. I don't care who provides the understanding. I can't afford to worry about that.  It doesn't matter to me when there is a shortage of understanding who provides it, and it most certainly doesn't matter who goes first or if it's ever returned to me from them. I'm going to have understanding of them and myself either way, because whenever I take time to understand others, I learn a little more about me. I become someone I like better, and someone who is ultimately less alone
   I can't afford to care much what others think of me (another waste of my energy). What I think of them, however comes from inside of me even when faced with apparent proof positive of my own judgements. I'd much prefer the compassion of thinking "they just can't understand or are not ready" than the thought "that they are too cruel to try." I am more peaceful when I have the compassion that is so sorely needed in and for everyone. Who does not desire to be loved for who they are? This I can give.I can let go of judgements, I can accept, and I can love.
   Long ago, I was so angry at *normal* people (neurotypicals) for being different. I was doing exactly what I felt was done to me and hoping that would make a difference. It only made the problem worse. I had to learn to give in the middle of needing, to love in the middle of wanting love, to accept in the middle of feeling judged and to embrace in the middle of feeling rejected. I do not crawl, nor do I negate my own needs. I simply allow my natural compassion to fill the void in others and me.
  Somehow through "It's better to understand than be understood," I got everything I needed and more. When I'm willing to give to the need I sense in the world, my own needs are fullfilled. The compassion I have for a world who has struggles that I could not comprehend comes from perhaps not the person I show compassion to, but from someone, or something or even from the last place I thought to look: From me.
  It helps me to look at similarities, for example "stimming." I've already mentioned what I do for comfort. I've come to believe that their form of stimming is small talk. From the outside, it doesn't look productive. It often involves strange staring, *pretend* smiles, and huge body movements,  but it seems to give them some comfort. Where I chew my tongue, they jiggle their change. I have a kneaded eraser, they have good luck charms like rabbit's feet, prayer beads, etc.
   Priorities are relative too. Where I focus on doing what I can to live in a low stress environment and improving my canvas or memorizing that new tune to the last note so much that I'll listen to it thirty times in a day, they focus (like my obsessing) on competitive steps and getting ahead of someone else. Neurotypical or On the Spectrum, to me, we are all a little delightfully strange.
   Understanding, however much or little I can, is making the world I live in a more comfortable place for me. Some of the NT people, I've noticed, even calm down after a while of me trying to understand, and don't do so much small talk *stimming.* If I can't make the world a better place for me directly, I can begin by making it better for them. When the world is a better place, I am content. When I am content, the importance of differences fade, and I see the beauty in all, all, all of us.
tina