"Popping"

A couple of years ago, one of the local agencies that is involved with our older son needed an independent psychological evaluation on him. Don't ask. It's just something that, from time to time, all of us living this life need to do. So, I took him.

I had never been to the agency that was chosen for us. The waiting room was small. There were no toys. Nothing in that room indicated that this agency was accustomed to dealing with the special pediatric population.

Our son was as good as he could be, but nothing there held his attention, and, soon, he wanted to leave. The problem was that we couldn't leave. So I spent a good fifteen minutes working up a sweat trying to keep him from bolting out the exits.

"Please don't run for the door," I said to him. "We simply can't leave."

Scolded for his running, he next tried to sit, but his energy would get the best of him. Soon, he'd start to squirm, becoming physically uncomfortable in his skin. Next, he would pace. Back and forth. Back and forth. He'd crack his knuckles. Pull at his fingers.

Then came that thing that I hated. He could pull his scapula out of joint. He's yank it and make this terrible popping sound that would make me cringe every time. He loved that. He loved that it got under my skin.

"Stop popping," I told him.

"Popping!" he'd say with a grin. It was maddening.

After an eternity, I heard his name called by a rather stiff, middle-aged man. I stood to greet him, but he had already turned around and started walking down the hall.

Huh. I guess we were to follow him.

At least we would finally be in a clinical room where he would have toys and space to play while he was tested. I put my arm around our son's shoulder and dutifully followed the ani-social, nameless man down the hall. Yes, the worst was over.

Around the corner we went and into a room that wasn't a child-friendly examining room at all but, rather, a very adult office. It was an office with a desk full of papers(that I envisioned being knocked to the floor any moment). There were two upright chairs and a small loveseat on the far wall. Did this man expect our son to sit there like a little adult?

"I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU A TEST," he began.

Oh my gosh, was this man actually yelling at our son? He's not hard of hearing. And, what was this person's name, anyway? He hadn't even introduced himself.

I was feeling offended.

"CAN YOU DO THIS?" Mr. Nameless asked as he stacked a few colored blocks. Our son looked at the blocks on the desk. Child's play. Yes, he could do it. No, he didn't choose to do it. He turned his back and started pacing.

"He can't do it," the man said.

Yes he can, I thought. And, while not engaging could be part of his autism, I'm also not sure so sure I'd want to engage with you if I were him, either.

"For the record," I chimed in casually, "he can understand everything that we say to him, so..."

The man stared at me. If I were to read his mind-- which I told myself that I shouldn't do --it said that it didn't matter if our son heard, that our words would not compute, anyway.

"LET'S READ THIS SENTENCE," he next yelled to our son. This felt relentless. C'mon, mister, couldn't you work with me, here? I just stared at him in disbelief, shaken back to the moment by the shifting of our son in the seat next to me.

"Popping," he said as he looked up at me with a grin. I couldn't help myself. I snorted.

"What?" Mr. Nameless asked. "What did he say?"

"It's just something that he does," I offered.

"Oh," he said knowingly. "That's a behavior, you know."

"I'm sorry?" I quizzed.

"To say things in a conversation that are completely out of context. It shows social unawareness," he explained.

Oh, poor soul, I thought. I believe it is you who is misreading the context.

For, in that moment, and in his deliciously humorous way, our son was saying that this guy could go jump in a lake.

"Popping! Popping!" our son continued.

I got the giggles. I couldn't help it. And, so did he. Very clearly, we were two nuts sitting across the table from an examiner who had all but written his report. He could save the effort. I had a feeling we weren't going to use that report, anyway.



This entry was written in response to the letter prompt "P" in the Blogging A to Z Challenge 2012.