Autism is a Mirror

You may be surprised to learn that, for me, as the father, the most challenging part of having a child with Autism, was neither the financial strain, the disruption of my family’s social dynamic, nor the isolation.

No.

It was none of the common challenges we all share as the parents of Autistic children. But, please, allow me to digress.

It’s no exaggeration to say that when Finn was born, it was one of the four absolute greatest days of my life.

His beautiful face.

Those curious eyes.

His mothers chin.

All wrapped up in a baby blanket.

Our “Little Finnie Fox.”

Our “Baby Bird.”

His very existence, living proof that, as Bono famously sang…

“. . the darkness bleeds daylight . .”

I strode through the hospital corridors on a cloud of total euphoria having overachieved on a spectacular level.

A beautiful daughter and now two sons.

TWO SONS!!!

My mind was awash with thoughts of the mischief he and his older brother would create. The men in my family aren’t known for subtlety and bore easily.

We pursue adventure with the same fervent thirst that keeps Jimmy Buffet searching for Margaritaville.

What magical adventures would this fine boy have?

There are tall trees to climb.

Branches to swing from.

Roads to travel.

Oceans to swim in.

Forts to build.

Siblings to torment.

Which of life’s infinite opportunities would he seize by the throat?

Dr. Finn?

Judge St.Aubin?

Or better yet…

“Now starting for the Orlando City Lions Soccer Club…FINN ST.AUBIN!!!

But those cheers in the stands that I dream of are abruptly replaced fifteen months later by a roar so loud…

It’s deafening.

And that sound is clear and present in the eyes of my concerned bride as she sees Finn’s behavior.

I immediately play the role of reassuring husband.

I try to offer comfort and the familiar marital chestnut, “let’s just wait and see.”

But it’s like a freight train you can’t avoid.

He’s in our living room.

He’s spinning in ridiculously pronounced circles in front of the flat screen.

He’s hanging upside down, his eyes ultra focused on the wheels of the train, instead of riding it.

Periodically, he’s screaming at the top of his lungs for no apparent reason.

But…

He isn’t talking.

And I know.

I just know.

Now if you were to ask my incredible wife, she’ll tell you I went through a stage of intense denial.
Perhaps.

But if you ask me…

I never had the luxury of denial.

I could see it. There was something neurologically different about him. Wait. That’s not the right word.

There was something neurologically SIMILAR about Finn.

It was painfully obvious from the first spin.

When he crashed wildly to the carpet, I could see the future…

A broken arm.

A dislocated jaw.

Countless bruises, scrapes and trips to the doctor’s office.

Evaluations.

Therapists.

Stress.

Heartache.

Grief.

I would hear a distinct nagging voice while laying awake at night:

“Whatever this is, it didn’t develop out of nowhere.”

“I come from YOU Dad….I’m your son.”

Your genes.

Your genetics.

Your DNA.

I say ‘I know’ because his behaviors triggered something instinctive in my subconscious.

Something that lurked unseen in the corners of memory, where our hearts fear to tread.

Until now.

Finn’s Autism diagnosis inspired the most gut wrenching period of introspection in my entire existence.

The process was literally like ripping a bandage off an emotional wound that was purposely left unattended. It forced me to confront the circumstances of my life, both socially and genetically.

No doctor, scientist, or parent will ever convince me that Autism is not passed down through generations.

There are too many soul-crushing recollections, curious behaviors, tell-tale signs and flashback tics.

It releases the horrid memories we’ve locked away.

It frees all the ghosts from the cemetery where we buried embarrassing conversations and the shame of wondering..

“What’s wrong with me?”

Every moment of social awkwardness that defined your life, is resurrected for re-evaluation.

What did I miss?

How did I not notice that before?

Maybe I was in denial.. but not anymore.

I flipped stages like a light switch…

I was angry.

Or at least that’s how it appeared.

I’d learn later in therapy with Sher, that it was a flood of emotions I was trying to process:

Loss.

Fear.

Depression.

But, Autism is not concerned about your emotions. It brutally exposes, right quick, what type of man you really are.

It strips away ambitions, dreams and even secret lusts.

It will leave nothing behind but unrefined character.

And THAT, beyond doubt, is the Autism Avenue men struggle to traverse.

In our day to day lives, particularly in the workplace, there are often gray areas, relationships to finesse, politics to play. Then we return home to stark contrast: scenarios that involve no negotiation, bribe, or escape.

I am an extremely selfish person. Before my son’s diagnosis, I did a fair job hiding that character flaw.

But now it was laid bare before the world…

And worse, my wife.

The anger led me to say terrible things.

Shamefully ridiculous predictions that were later proven mercifully incorrect.

Never have I been happier to be wrong.

Because, Finn is his mother’s third masterpiece.

If Lilliana is her Renoir, and Landon is her Haring, Finn is her Picasso.

She believes in him.

She loves him.

She hopes for him.

She endures him.

Most of all, she protects him.

As for me, I’ve matured enough to accept the truth for how simple it is..

When I look at him, I am looking at myself.

THAT is the single most challenging aspect of having a son with autism. This disorder is really a looking glass that demands you evaluate the reflection.

And what you see, what you identify within that image, may be an agonizing revelation.

For me, I was suddenly looking at the answer to many of the most painful questions surrounding my adolescence:

“Why was I like that?”

“Why did I say that?”

“Why didn’t I laugh when everyone else did?”

I am gazing at the inability to connect throughout college.

I am glaring at the years of high school isolation.

And the old waves of doubt and uncertainty stare back at me..

Of being misunderstood.

Left out.

Left behind.

I see a little boy.

On a playground.

Writing in his journals.

Instead of playing, running, and laughing.

Because…

Autism is a mirror.

Written by, Matt St.Aubin

Matt St.Aubin has been writing since his youth. His music related work has previously appeared in Real Detroit, Metro Times and the Detroit Rock Blog. He currently resides in Western Florida with his wife and three children where he divides his time between family, work and finishing his first novel. You can follow their journey on Facebook at Three Little Birds.

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Finding Cooper’s Voice is a safe, humorous, caring and honest place where you can celebrate the unique challenges of parenting a special needs child. Because you’re never alone in the struggles you face. And once you find your people, your allies, your village….all the challenges and struggles will seem just a little bit easier. Welcome to our journey. You can also follow us on Facebook, subscribe for exclusive videos, and subscribe to our newsletter.