My name is Shannon Johnson and I am the parent of a 13 year old son with autism.  His presence in our lives has brought a richness and a fullness that I could have never imagined.  I regularly write about life with Wynn on my personal page of Foggyrock.com.  Foggyrock.com is the online social community for families with children on the spectrum that I founded last year as a way of connecting with other folks around the globe who also love someone with autism.  Please feel free to browse the site (which has grown to almost 800 members) and read what autism is like for those of us in the trenches.  Below I have posted some of my favorite compositions and you can read more at:  http://foggyrock.com/MyPage/wynnsmom

The Snow Dance by Shannon Johnson

*I’ve heard the weather reports and recognize that it is surely

inevitable that I’ll wake up to 10 inches of coverage and an email

alert of school closings. Still, I say a prayer that perhaps the

forecast could be wrong, just slightly enough that the precipitation

ends early, the roads can be easily cleared and all buses can leave the

garages on time….*

*The alarm wakes me at 6 am and I roll over to spy the fresh powder

clinging to the branches out my window. I tiptoe downstairs, notice the

road has not been cleared (a bad sign) and log on to my computer. Sure

enough, two emails assure me that I will certainly have an extra six

hours of quality time with my 12 year old high-energy, low interest,

revved up and always famished autistic son…..not to mention my 11 year

old daughter who will spend countless hours in her haven of a room for

safety, peace, and sanity…Once again, the answer to my prayer was no.

That’s okay because I am keeping track and one day I am expecting a

really big miracle.*

*After I have ascertained that everyone is fed, Wynn is occupied with

PBS and Haley is safe and put in her room with the door locked, I

venture out into the garage. But not before I pull Steve’s snow pants

over my pajama bottoms, grab his gloves (because I always know where to

find his), pull the red fleece hat over my bed-hair, and zip my green

LL Bean coat over my gray fleece top. The tractor is gassed up from

yesterday’s run and she starts easily with a purr.*

*Before I even leave the garage, I sense a tension that is too

compelling to ignore. I don’t  have to look up to know that an

outraged Wynn will be standing at the door, yelling something I can’t

hear and certainly will not answer right. Darn. I was hoping to make at

least one pass down the driveway before the torture began. Turning to

face him, I see his lips moving but can’t hear a word of his rant over

the engine of the snow plow. Turning the key back off, I now find that

I have really ticked him off and he is now yelling for me to “turn it

back on and listen better!”…..His OCD is bigger than both of us and so

I obediently crank her up again, and squint my eyes in my best attempt

at lip reading. I think he is asking if I still love him and so I nod

enthusiastically and yell back, “Yes! Yes!”…The next question resembles

“Am I your boy forever?”…and I respond with another very emphatic,

“Yes! Yes!”….Then comes another question that is harder to deceipher but

I assume that the answer is affirmative because that seems to be the

pattern and I therefore nod again, smile my biggest grin and yell at

the top of my lungs, “Yes, yes!”. When the doors slams and the house

quivers, I know that I have answered wrong. I turn off the engine just

in time to see the door open and my red-faced son accusing me of

wanting him to die soon. Who would know that he was asking me about his

lifespan, standing there in the doorway in his pjs and barefeet? It was

an honest mistake and now I would pay. As he stomped  towards me, I decide to head down the driveway and let him follow me back and forth in his

tirade…..As the white fluff arcs through the air, I realize that Wynn

is not behind me. Instead, he has stopped at the edge of the garage and

continues to spew his angry words at the top of his lungs. In this

moment, I am grateful for the few acres that separate us from the

neighbors, and for the sound of several other roaring snow plows in

driveways down the road. Whatever is happening in my driveway right now

is mine alone, thank goodness. And from experience, too much

experience, I know this will soon pass. Wynn expected to be at school

today, expected to have a packed lunch and a clear routine. This snow

day is a transition, a change, and will only be processed after the

meltdown, and not a minute before. If I can just focus on the patterns

I am making as the tires take me over the bumps of caked snow and tune

out the hum of a pacing and pointing firecracker of a boy at the top of

the hill, I can get through this crisis with my dignity still intact. I

breathe deeply the crisp air and pull my hat below my ears. I sweep

away the paths of snow that threaten to trap me at home to insure that

my car can safely drive us to school tomorrow when the weather clears

and the schools reopen. I focus and I conquer.*

*Wrapping it up at the top of the driveway, I notice that Wynn is no

longer outside. I’m relieved, but nervous at the same time. At least

when he was yelling at me I knew where he was and that his sister was not being harassed and the pantry was

not being raided. Now, all I knew was the quiet and it worried me.

Calculating that my time might be short, I grabbed the snow shovel and ran to clear the sidewalk leading to the

front door. If the snow turned to rain as predicted, this sidewalk

could become slick and dangerous. We get very few visitors here on

Shapleigh road, but the ones that tread that sidewalk bring packages

with supplements and lab kits, in-home support hours, and rides for my

daughter to school. I’ll shovel a path to my front door if it kills

me…..*

*As I lift the shovel over my shoulder, I feel a presence and know that

I am being watched. I sure hope it isn’t the neighbors that

live next door, worried about the ruckus coming from my house once

again. Looking up with caution, I spy my laughing son through the front

door panes, clapping and dancing with delight. For a reason that I may

never know, I am the subject of great humor in this moment. If I could

capture that laughter and bottle that side-splitting delight, I could

rule the world---or at least my little corner of the world. What I

wouldn’t do for a potion like that……Determined to prolong this

experience, for both of us, I look right into his bright eyes, smile as

big as I can, and leap high up into the air for effect. He loves it!

Mommy does tricks, just like a pet..more, more, more! The next thing I

know I am first hopping on one leg, then marching with the shovel over

my head, then singing show tunes from Aladin and Lion King—all on

command from the great puppeteer behind the front door window pane.

Right then, I’m the mommy that I have always wanted to be. The one who

calms a storm, who brings a smile, who is funny and yummy….who is

everything and all things to her loving, happy boy.*

How to Make a Friend by Shannon Johnson

*My son Wynn has autism. As a result, his social skills are stunted.

Neverless, he still longs for friendship and interaction even though he

rarely knows how to properly initiate conversation. When he was 7 or 8,

he went through a phase where he would approach strangers with

survey-type questions: "Excuse me, Sir. Are you married or are you

happy?" or "Excuse me, Lady. Have you always been so old?" or, my

personal favorite, "Excuse me, girl. How did you grow up to be a fat

woman?" As you can imagine, he didn't make many friends for either one

of us, and I spent alot of time apologizing and embarrassed (although

his questions were actually quite relevent).*

• Then there was also the phase when he was totally fascinated with

any man with facial hair. In his attempt to interact with his subject

of interest, he approached each man in need of a shave with the phrase,

"My mom really likes your beard." And then he would shove me and my

glowing red face in the direction of his new acquaintence. Thanks to

Wynn, I have flirted with a lot of five o'clock shadows in my time.....*

• Currently, at age 12, Wynn has become much more direct in his

social initiations. He is methodical and to the point as he follows

this simple two-step formula: first give compliment, then ask a short,

personal question. More specifically, he bluntly says, "I like you. Why

are you so weird?". No matter your age, color or size, he uses the same

formula.."I like you. Why are you so weird?"....It is amazing how

effective such an approach has proven to be. I have watched countless

people be totally taken off guard and become completely real in just a

matter of seconds.....Usually, the individual of interest laughs first

and then proceeds to explain their particular "weirdness". It's

humbling to be witness to such confessions but it is also heartwarming

to see the walls come down and the bonding begin. And now, my son with

autism has many, many friends. I think he may be on to something.*

Life should be so simple.