When my nephew was turning two, I got a call from my sister in the middle of a work day. A call that would forever change our lives.
I think Evan* is special, my sister told me.
Of course he is special, I retorted. All children are special.
No , special-special. That kind of special, my sister persisted. Specifically, I think he’s autistic.
I could hear the tears in her voice over the phone. That was the exact moment that a chapter in our lives ended---it was curtains down, the end. From then on, our world just wasn’t the same perfect one it was just a few minutes before I got that fateful call.
How do you take care of an autistic child?
I have never had any personal encounters with autistic children before .But I do remember seeing a TV movie when I was still in college , and I remember that in that story, the child overcame his autism with the help of his mother. I also knew that the mind of an autistic child was differently “wired”. Autistic children were said to live in a world of their own, mainly because they perceive the world differently. I remembered also that just a few years back, Rainman was such a big hit, and that movie alone must have opened the eyes of the world to what autism is all about. Dustin Hoffman was autistic in that movie, but he was also an idiot savant, for he was psychologically challenged but he had genius as well. Was it possible that our own family was facing this kind of a challenge ? I was at a loss for words. I didn’t feel adequate with what I knew. I didn’t know what to say to my sister. But it turned out that she had a lot to tell me, for she was watching a medical program that afternoon, and a doctor was being interviewed regarding the condition.
The good doctor had enumerated and explained fully the 14 or so symptoms of autism. As he went through the list, my sister got more and more worried, because she realized that Evan* had more than 12 of them.
He was echolalic. He could never answer even a direct question. What he did was that he “echoed” them. For example, if you ask him, Do you want hotdogs, Evan? --- he’d answer, Do you want hotdogs, Evan.
He engaged in “unusual play.” He never played cops and robbers, Batman and Robin,
or raced cars or engaged in hide and seek. He was engrossed with batteries and rubbing alcohol.
He also had a fetish of sorts. He liked smelling our feet. Which at first was funny and made us giggle except when he insisted on doing it even in public. Everytime we refused, he cried inconsolably. Clearly, something was not right.
He could never point at something using his own finger. What he’d do was that he’d take somebody else’s arm and use that to point at the thing he wanted.
He threw such huge tantrums when you deviate from his routine. Like one time, my sister decided to take a short cut driving home and instead of turning left, turned right. Evan shrieked and screamed and howled, and he wouldn’t stop, and wouldn’t let anyone hug him or comfort him. He wept and shouted and bawled , like his little heart would break, which reduced us to tears and to such a feeling of helplessness. Nothing could stop the rage Evan must have felt at having his world turned upside down. For us, it was the longest ten –minute drive home ever.
Another symptom I remember is that autistic children are “aloof.” My brother –in-law used to call Evan , suplado. That’s because he will never turn his head to look at you even if you call his name.
And he wasn’t much of a talker. He used stock phrases. He would never launch into a story of what he’s done or said. He never initiated a conversation.
But my sister already had a plan of action. She had picked up a term from that program, and it gave her focus: something could be done about Evan’s autism : EARLY INTERVENTION.
Early intervention. It became my sister’s anchor, and it kept her steady as she took the lead. While she led , we followed. If not for her, the rest of the family would have been too stunned to do anything about Evan.
I must admit though that I was the one who found it hard to accept that Evan was autistic. In my eyes, my nephew, my inaanak was---nay , is--- and will always be perfect.
All the strange things he did in the past, I called them wonderful and creative. When he played with batteries and put one small one beside a big one,the looked up at me and said, Mama! Baby ! -- I felt such joy that I must have crushed him in my arms. And I gushed over the fact that he saw something different in just a pair of old batteries—it was like seeing the world with a different set of eyes!
There was one time he was bored while my husband and I were asking him to spell words. We asked him to spell cat, and he spelled c-a-t very unenthusiastically. Boy, we said, and again, with hardly any feeling, he spelled, b-o-y. Then , suddenly, he sat up and asked my husband, Ninong! Spell NEWSWATCH. My husband’s jaws fell. Okay, Evan, spell NEWSWATCH. And he proceeded to spell it , nay, shout it joyfully. Then he said, spell BANGKOK! SPELL SCENE! SPELL JURASSIC PARK! SPELL TOYOTA! SPELL MITSUBISHI!
He spelled them all perfectly. My newphew’s a genius , I told my husband, my sister, her husband, my friends, our neighbors, until the whole family must have spent the whole night babbling about Evan’s singular feat.
And what about that time he recited 4 or maybe 5 digit numbers, in succession, and we were all mystified, for when he’d reach the number 1592, he ‘d grin and do a little jig. My husband explained to us that the numbers were multiples. Then my sister discovered that the number were the dials on the car radio.
I was prepared to argue with whoever doctor we were going to consult about Evan’s condition. I was going to tell him that no way is my nephew autistic.
I was the one in denial. But my sister was the one with determination.
She was going to get help for Evan.
Little did I know that we were in for bigger surprises.
ON MONDAY, PART TWO OF A SPECIAL CHILD IS A SPECIAL GIFT.
*I changed my nephew’s name to protect his privacy
BOOTS MA. GARCIA –SISON IS A WIFE, MOTHER , DAUGHTER, SISTER , ADVERTISING CREATIVE DIRECTOR AND WRITER, MORE ON SOME DAYS THAN OTHERS. IT WAS HER TWELVE YEAR OLD SON WHO THOUGHT OF HER COLUMN’S NAME.
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