People Love To Ask Invasive Questions About My Son's Autism. These Are The Only Ones I'll Answer.
We don't live in a world that's made for neurodiverse folks. And while there's so much out there that tries to push kids like mine to conform into neurotypical spaces, it's really on us to bend the world for them.
That's why I talk to our neighbors, the folks running nearby stores, members of our community, about his autism. As a result, he has a favorite corner deli, where the owners know him. A thrift store where when we walk in, an employee turns the music down, smiling at me from across the aisles. A bookshop where the booksellers don't mind him sitting at the little kids table for half an hour, even when he unpacks a bag of Legos.
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As a father, I will pry the world apart with my bare hands if I have to, if it means he can find a way through. But outside of these specific situations, I've never liked talking about my son's autism with other people.
Growing up as a marginalized person, particularly as an adopted person of color who didn't really fit into any one space, a lot of irritating questions regularly came my way. 'Where are you from, from?' perhaps being the favorite.
And while I had plenty of canned responses, none were ever satisfying, and I was always tired. No one likes to continuously explain their existence.
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It wasn't until I was an adult that I learned the concept of 'It's not your job to educate everyone.' It quickly became a core part of how I walk through the world. I was frustrated. I didn't want to keep justifying myself to people who didn't understand.
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They could just go Google. It's not that hard to learn about adoption, or what being a transracial adoptee means. Why waste my time, why make me cut myself open for you?
When our son was first diagnosed, there were a lot of questions from family and friends. Most of them were genuinely well-meaning, but as he grew older, some of them started to feel more and more ignorant and intrusive. I got angry. I snapped on phone calls, out at dinner. And that shield went up once again.
It wasn't my job to educate everyone.
But in the last two years, something has changed. My child started going to school, then started wanting to go to the park, to playgrounds. He was trying to be social, even without the words. And in that world that tries to make neurodiverse folks bend and change, he deserved every opportunity, every run on a slide, every jump in a splash pad. A classroom, a summer camp. A childhood.
Then the questions started to happen again.
But they weren't coming from the adults. The other parents mostly looked at us silently from the corner of their eyes as I showed up with my kiddo in a wagon while the rest of their children walked, or when he jumped around as their kids sat still, or when he got wildly upset over someone touching his backpack and had to unpack the entire thing so he could make sure everything was just the way he needed it to be.
The side eyes and furrowed brows are seared in my brain. Even if they don't recognize me at the local grocery store, I sure remember them. I'm a father first and a Scorpio second.
So no, the questions didn't come from those adults. They came from their kids.
'Hi, are you his Dad?'
'Why do you take him everywhere in that wagon?'
'What's wrong with him?'
'Why doesn't he talk?'
'He won't play with me, why not?'
'Why does he keep spinning around like that?
'How can I help?'
At 6 or 7 years old, they were full of questions, but they were also full of empathy. Between drop off and pick up at school, at neighborhood block parties, and at this year's summer camp, little kids frequently asked these gentle questions, sometimes while a nearby parent tried to shoo them away or tell them what they were asking was inappropriate.
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Maybe Past Me would have felt the same. The part of me that insisted 'It's not my job to educate everyone.' But I think that changes when the person you're trying to educate people about can't do it for themselves. When you have a chance to alter the world for your child, even a little bit.
So, I started to answer the questions. Just a quick sentence here or there.
'Oh, well he's autistic. He experiences the world in another way.'
'Sometimes he gets overstimulated, and moving around helps. It's called stimming.'
'It's called being nonverbal. Words are hard, but he does communicate.'
'He experiences sensory things differently. So touching is sometimes very uncomfortable.'
And so on. My responses were always met with a thoughtful look, a smile. An 'I want to try that!' and a kid spinning around themselves, arms stretched out in the morning sun.
I'm hopeful, staring down second grade. He's got great teachers and a great community. And there are kids with empathy everywhere, even if some of the adults have lost it over the years.
Where I once thought it wasn't my job to educate everyone, now I wish that more people would ask these questions in the gentle, well-meaning way kids do. That instead of the stares and the whispers, they would be curious and brave, like children who only want to understand.
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