The Thing about Aaron #autism by @barnestormjohn

The Thing about Aaron

by John Barnes

Aaron is seven.

He is my boy.

They can’t decide just what else he is though.perhaps something

from that Awesome and terrible Space

of Distinctly other.

He is small for his age.

We don’t mind that.

It’s the food issues that concern us much more.

Prone to allergies and respiratory ailments

since his pneumonia before he was two

Emotional Intensity in spades, as they say.

He just really can’t stand when things aren’t right.

His meltdowns,

epic in scale

are sadly, a daily occurrence.

It’s not a tantrum.

It’s watching his heart breaking.

Over and over

again and again.

He’s a bright guy,

my boy.

Reads at well over double his grade level.

His vocabulary is tremendous.

He builds Great

and Wondrous

things.

He sees Everything.

But cannot readily understand

the feelings of others.

He loves to play outside.

Outside is where He wants to be

most.

Yesterday

he paused ahead of me on the walk.

“I’m afraid of nature”

he said.

Further inquiries divulged

it was the birds

that caused him fear.

“They’re just too loud”.

You should have seen, should have heard.

Last Fourth of July a rocket went off

just way too close to his ears.

Bath time is a major ordeal

Every Time.

It takes two adults to wash his hair.

His screaming and squealing are deafening

bouncing off the tiles of the tub.

He understands well how things should work.

But when an impulse takes him,

he’s gone.

All semblance of common sense falls away.

all civilized pretenses shed.

He’s a runner, you see, when you open the door.

Pretty much any door.

This can be a problem.

Thank God he doesn’t have much stamina

so he stops to hide

pretty soon.

But, he is what he is, this boy of mine.

And I love him, ah yes, I do.

In many ways similar, He and I.

Both odd little units, it seems.

And yet, his mind works ways

I can’t possibly understand.

He has Mighty and Vivid Dreams, my boy,

and he tells me about them sometimes.

“There are stories – in my eyes”.

“They get there

when I sleep.

And sometimes

when I’m not.”

I appreciate this poem that is so thoughtfully penned by father and writer John Barnes. John Barnes lives in Portland Oregon with his wife and their autistic son. Please enjoy more of John’s writing at his blog.

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