"Quiet, please."

There we were, standing on a platform that jutted out into the middle of the Marine Park marshlands in Brooklyn, when C said, "I need privacy. Can I have quiet, please?"

If you know C, you know how rare it is for him to ask for something so directly, so clearly, let alone string together two unique but related requests.

He repeated his plea: "Can I have quiet?"

"You want us to go away?"

"Yes. I want privacy."

Faced with such an unequivocal demand, what else could we do but grant the request?

So the three of us walked back up the path and, from some distance, watched C sit quietly, by himself, in the middle of so much...silence.

And there he remained, at peace, for a surprisingly long time.

Quiet

I've written about this before, recently even. But it's worth repeating.

There's a different C that most people don't see, and this is the C who comes out when it's quiet. I mean, really quiet. And not just when it's quiet, but when we're quiet.

Instead of unresponsiveness, C answers. Instead of silly talk, he is frank and funny, and sometimes poetic. For example, just after I took the photo above I asked him what he was doing (he was so intent and still, very unusual for him), and he said, "I'm listening to the quiet."

Quiet. It's hard to come by. But it's worth it when you can find it.

Quiet Time

Beautiful weather outside at last, and so sensory gym was quiet today. In fact, for most of the time we were there, C and I were the only guests.

Lonely? Bored? Not at all. C was joyous, silly, and connecting like crazy. I was reminded again that this boy loves the quiet, loves the space it gives him to be himself.

Add more people, more noise, more bustle, and he just becomes much more disconnected.

It also reminded me that we need to quiet our lives, literally and figuratively. He needs it, and we need it, too.

Assume Awareness

Today is World Autism Awareness Day, so here’s what I’ve learned about awareness over the past couple of years: my son with autism is very aware.

He’s aware of me, he’s aware of you. He’s aware of a lot more than he lets on.

He might appear distracted, aloof, in his own world; he might not answer when spoken to; he might chatter on seemingly oblivious to whether we’re listening or not.

But rest assured: he's taking it in, this frenetic, loud world. If you get to know him, you'll see the signs, hear the words that demonstrate this awareness.

And that's another part of it: will you take his apparent lack of awareness as a sign that he doesn't want to connect? Or will you take a moment to say hello, acknowledge his existence, even if it doesn't come with an immediate payoff? Because, trust me: he's aware of your efforts (and so are we).

So, for this Autism Awareness Day, I'd like to suggest we all assume awareness.

Our Sunday Ritual

Sunday mornings I take C to a social skills class. We walk hand-in-hand through the dappled shadows cast by big trees, then board the subway. I put headphones on him because music helps drown out the noise that gets him agitated. He sits peacefully, sometimes gently rocking. (He seems to like Herbie Mann and Lionel Hampton the most.)

On the subway he likes to announce each station before the PA system does. Depending on his volume and enthusiasm, people regard the pronouncements with looks ranging from approval to worry.

At our stop we head to a Starbucks for juice and coffee, then through Chinatown over to the place where class is held. It's surprisingly quiet on the normally bustling streets.

Along the way, we're sure to see a dog or two, and this delights C. Except the ones that yap. Of those he'll say, "That's a Startling Dog." (The first few times I thought he was calling them Starting Dogs, which confused me greatly.)

After class, we have a little lunch at Whole Foods. He sits through the entire meal (a true rarity) and sometimes I can even get him to talk to me a little bit.

"How was class?" (Wait) "How was class?"

"Good."

"What did you do?"

"Piggy."

"Piggy?"

"I made a piggy."

"Did you play with anyone?"

"Dylan is purple."

"Why is Dylan purple?"

"Because he is!" (Bursts into laughter.)

We have several more Sunday morning social skills classes coming up, so the ritual of our little outing together will continue for a while. I only wonder what color Dylan will be next week.