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

Human Behavior Study: The Mating Ritual Gone Wrong

I went to the store, somewhere between 93 and 98 degrees, and I'm not speaking of latitude. If a soul was not exhausted, I couldn't detect it save for one hearty beast of a man and his (figuratively) jumping with her hand in the air saying, "Me, me, meee!" prey.
I watched them from my position behind his cart in the checkout lane. He was mid fifties and she was late forties or so. He had a sort of Barney Fife, sniff with a tug of the britches up to his Yogi Bear belly, from where they'd, in fatique, inevitably fall again. He was shooting "come hither" louder than the musak, shopping crowd and Fruit Loop display combined. Wreaking of studliness and trying to impress the lady object of his odiferous affections, he set about story telling. Mostly it was complaining about work, and mostly about children. "Grumble, grumble, sniff, Bubble Gum under the seats, grumble, homework, trash, middle schoolers, hate, high school kids are the worst. grumble, whine, I clean my bus every night!!!" She responded with nods and "uh huh's," and I felt mildly bad for the guy as our lady of desire's interest was fading. Swing and miss it seems, but there was more.
Looking past the obvious Turandot rewrite was a gentleman. Follow me here. They do exist. If you've ever experienced the desire to apologize for the behavior of your own sex, then you'll know the look of on this man's face. Our check out boy was in his seventies, clean, hair combed and ready to smile I hoped. He seemed horrified watching the goings on, and I thought to give him a break.
I waited for Romeo de Compassion et Gum Putty Knife to depart, checked out while Julliet had her sights and conversation elsewhere, and I walked ahead leaning to whisper in the gentle....man's ear. "If I knew it wouldn't get some kid in trouble, I'd go find that man's bus, and put bubble gum under the seats myself! Wouldn't you?" He smiled, giggled and his face glowed all pink.
I had a good day shopping. What did I learn? I learned that 5-6pm is a great time to study overworked, tired people at the market looking for someone else to cook them dinner. I suppose there's nothing wrong with that. smiles. I learned that making someone smile makes most experiences more pleasant, and that 98 degree extra sharp cheddar is right tastey!
tina jones

Department Store Screamers: Our loveable children

For all parents including those with children on the Autism Spectrum.
  It isn't personal. It's not about you. Very rarely in life does anyone do anything TO me. People, including our children are simply doing what they do, and considering the tools they have, they are often doing a wonderful job of it. Many adults cope with pills and a variety of addictions. Now, who looks more sane, the screamer or the self appointed pharmacist? The hand flapper or the adult female who buries herself in soap operas, and the child who rocks and the man who can't beat a gambling problem? We all have done a lot of things to fit in, and most of it is unhealthy. It may be time for a good scream.
  Our Loveable Department Store Screamers:
  I didn't learn to enjoy shopping. I learned to fake it, lie to myself, stuff my feelings, that others were more important than me, to drink heavily when I couldn't stuff my feelings enough, to loathe myself for lieing to myself while I'd never lie to another. Yes, We can be molded, and we can pretend for you and please you. Eventually, I learned that I was wrong about all of that,  and I did matter, that other people's obsessions for social activities did not make them a requirement for me, and that I could no more learn to love  these activities than an NT (neurotypical/not on the Autism Spectrum) could learn to enjoy having splints under the fingernails. Repetition of both activities wont make them more pleasant, rather it can make a person withdraw and go numb. Rather than looking at why an aspie doesn't like hypothetical fingernail splints, why not ask why it is so important to us as parents that they they do?
  Yeah, I can hear the dead silence too.
    It may be more about the self image of the parents than the coping skills of the child. Blame absolutely must be dropped. There is not a more useless word in any language. No parent caused their child's Autism or any of it's various struggles. You're enough as you are for these kids, and if no one's told you today. You are admired and amazing....so is your child. Those who think otherwise aren't worth your time. Their kids screamed too, were impatient too, tore the house up too, and didn't eat, think or do what those parents wanted either. Anyone instinctually looks at a screaming or crying child. It's human to have the instinct to see if they are ok, but I had to learn that most people are concerned about themselves and their own lives, and rightfully so, that they have little time or desire to spend their precious time thinking about me, much less judging me and my screaming kid. It's still hard, but just taking that blame and judgement load off meant a lot of freedom for me.
   Once the insecurity has been dropped, try mimicking the kid. Who says they have to do it our way? Why not try it their way? If the kid rocks in the grocery cart, rock with them, if they hand flap, start flapping, if they hum, hum too, if they yell, take a breath and give it go. You just might have fun with your child....Did you HEAR that? "Fun with your child" He/she just might pay more attention to you after you take time to respect their way of doing things. They just might laugh at you, and if you're feeling free by now as you can, you just may laugh too.
  Don't miss the joy right infront of you by wasting time worrying about what other people think. Take a moment to consider your child as an adult. Do you want them to remember and possibly recount a Dad or Mom who was always fearful or upset, or do you want them to have stories of how Mom or Dad's laugh made everything better? Choose carefullly. They just may write a book about it one day.
   We have a lot of choices. I choose happiness every chance I get. I'd bet, come to think of it, that most people have had the desire to let out a good scream at a department store at least once in their adult lives. So kids are more honest about it. Pay attention, they just may be on to something. I'm not saying you should scream your lungs out, but you can at least go as loud as any annoying person you've met. (Come on. I know you know a braggart, preacher or inlaw who can belt it out.) If you want to teach kids more acceptable places and times to let off steam, do some more screaming, hand flapping or whatever appeals in the car. Do use cruise control if your driving. You just may find yourself getting into the freedom of being real. Again, "more" not instead of. When they see you cutting loose, letting the feelings go and even having a giggle over it in the car, they'll want to follow suit. And don't worry about the kids thinking you're nuts. They already do. hehe.
tina jones