My eighteen-year-old son told me

urgently – we need to go to the hardware store. I took a deep breath. Another

adventure with my autistic son was about to begin.

When we got to the store, Matthew

rushed in and disappeared behind the shovels and the toilet seats. I followed,

warily. Matthew reappeared with the orange extension cord he had in mind.

“Mom, give me the money and let me

buy this … like I’m a regular man.” His forehead was screwed up with intensity.

I handed him a 20 and told him to

meet me outside.

I stood behind Matthew in line,

clutching a bottle of Elmer’s glue I had grabbed. He wanted me to look like a

regular woman, anonymous to him, shopping at Ace Hardware. I watched as Matthew

put the extension cord on the counter and handed the saleslady the 20-dollar

bill.

She was Flo, an old timer, with a

bouffant hairdo and eyebrows painted on. I saw the two of them having a little

conversation, and could tell by the confused look on Flo’s face that she might

need my help – but held my stance anxiously to respect Matthew’s wishes.

After what seemed like an eternity,

Matthew stepped outside and waited for me as I marched up to Flo, placing the

glue on the counter.

“See that guy?” she whispered.  I glanced outside and saw Matthew standing

there with a self-satisfied look on his face.

“ He’s got mental problems!” She said it as if she wouldn’t share this

with any customer.

Apparently he had asked her if

rhododendrons were poisonous to goats.

When I told Flo that Matthew was my

son, she looked mortified.

I explained to her that Matthew was

autistic, and that he had instructed me to stand back so he could be like a

regular guy at the store.

“I feel terrible! But he must know

he’s different.” Knowing that Matthew’s hopes, dreams and lack of

self-awareness would be too hard to explain, I shrugged and took my glue,

wishing her a happy New Year.

Flo didn’t know how many times I

had said to Matthew, “If you want to be treated like a regular guy, you’ve got

to act like a regular guy!” or “Regular guys don’t talk about poisonous plants

all the time!” Unfortunately, social awkwardness is wired into Matthew’s brain,

and no amount of instruction or reasoning was going to change that. 

I glanced at Matthew as we drove

home, and could tell by the strange smile on his face that he had moved on from

his “regular man” frame of mind to the absurd.

What would happen if Dad ate an

oleander, he asked, and the lump that had been in my throat on and off since

his birth returned.

Laura Shumaker

www.laurashumaker.com