I've heard that the most telling deficit in people with autism is a lack of social skills.
My daughter often seems socially oblivious or socially crippled. Two years ago she was obsessed with makeup and smuggle it into school and paint her face such that it was gaudy and kind of scary looking. She isn't very good at looking at herself in the mirror. So there was that.
Now she doesn't care about make-up so much but likes to wear cat ears and a huge bow. The cat ears are a complicated nod to the Warriors books and the giant bow is a nod to JoJo Siwa who encourages girls to be themselves by imitating her and buying lots of official JoJo merchandise. If you can get past the consumerism, her messaging isn't as awful as some. But the giant bow isn't winning B cool points, but it does make her feel in control, so I guess it stays for now. I kind of like the cat ears.
Here's the thing: even though she may look like a bit of kook, she is attempting to communicate something in her choices. She wants to be noticed and liked. She wants attention. She wants to fit in as she is being her own self. She is interested, without a doubt, of being a part of the larger world.
Tonight I went to book group at the Library where I work. I've gone from time to time over the years. I went sort of regularly when I first moved here and then not so much after Erin was born. The leader of the group stopped by my cubby yesterday and invited me to join them as they were discussing the Curious incident book about the autistic kid who runs off and figures out how to catch the train to London to find his mom. I was pleased to be invited, but not so sure I wanted to sit around and talk about autism. I guess I knew I would have a hard time keeping my mouth shut and I would have a hard time listening to the others. All this proved to be true. I went anyhow and still I have mixed feelings about the evening. It wasn't horrible, it wasn't great. There is something about leaving the house at night in February to go interact with people. Reading is so solitary; writing is so solitarty, and yet we are sharing ideas. We are "listening" I suppose in it's purest sense when we read and expressing in it's purest sense when we write and yet we do it in a vacuum. Social in a very controlled way. There is not face to face. We could just write and read, but then we did all put on our coats and boots and left our comfortable houses to go to the Library so we could talk face to face mostly with strangers about what we read. The author, who's expression we read, was not there to say what he meant, but we all had our ideas on that. Some of us are better than others. At least I wasn't the only one who couldn't shut up. I really feel like I must be an insufferable prig at these things. Maybe I should have stayed home. I feel like the person I most need to be talking with is my daughter. And then my husband.
My daughter often seems socially oblivious or socially crippled. Two years ago she was obsessed with makeup and smuggle it into school and paint her face such that it was gaudy and kind of scary looking. She isn't very good at looking at herself in the mirror. So there was that.
Now she doesn't care about make-up so much but likes to wear cat ears and a huge bow. The cat ears are a complicated nod to the Warriors books and the giant bow is a nod to JoJo Siwa who encourages girls to be themselves by imitating her and buying lots of official JoJo merchandise. If you can get past the consumerism, her messaging isn't as awful as some. But the giant bow isn't winning B cool points, but it does make her feel in control, so I guess it stays for now. I kind of like the cat ears.
Here's the thing: even though she may look like a bit of kook, she is attempting to communicate something in her choices. She wants to be noticed and liked. She wants attention. She wants to fit in as she is being her own self. She is interested, without a doubt, of being a part of the larger world.
Tonight I went to book group at the Library where I work. I've gone from time to time over the years. I went sort of regularly when I first moved here and then not so much after Erin was born. The leader of the group stopped by my cubby yesterday and invited me to join them as they were discussing the Curious incident book about the autistic kid who runs off and figures out how to catch the train to London to find his mom. I was pleased to be invited, but not so sure I wanted to sit around and talk about autism. I guess I knew I would have a hard time keeping my mouth shut and I would have a hard time listening to the others. All this proved to be true. I went anyhow and still I have mixed feelings about the evening. It wasn't horrible, it wasn't great. There is something about leaving the house at night in February to go interact with people. Reading is so solitary; writing is so solitarty, and yet we are sharing ideas. We are "listening" I suppose in it's purest sense when we read and expressing in it's purest sense when we write and yet we do it in a vacuum. Social in a very controlled way. There is not face to face. We could just write and read, but then we did all put on our coats and boots and left our comfortable houses to go to the Library so we could talk face to face mostly with strangers about what we read. The author, who's expression we read, was not there to say what he meant, but we all had our ideas on that. Some of us are better than others. At least I wasn't the only one who couldn't shut up. I really feel like I must be an insufferable prig at these things. Maybe I should have stayed home. I feel like the person I most need to be talking with is my daughter. And then my husband.