When My Son with Autism Didn't Drop the Ball
What one night at lacrosse practice showed me about who he is becoming.
April is my bittersweet month, when the world turns blue for autism awareness, when it’s more conscious of the thing that is my constant companion. But after April, the world sometimes forgets.
I cannot.
When he was little, our neurologist commended us for being proactive in seeking Noah’s Asperger’s Diagnosis. Strange, I thought. As if we could wait, when Noah was flapping, refusing eye contact, and fixating; as if other parents would have missed it. But they do. Parents miss things. We are so fallible. We are busted and time-weary and inexperienced. Sometimes we don’t see things until later, when a child on the spectrum stands out among his peers like a road flare in the dark.
Tuesday was the first lacrosse practice of the year for Noah. Lacrosse requires a hand-eye coordination that’s so hard for him. He’s also started with a new league, where he knows neither the coaches nor the players. On this night, my husband was traveling and I had neglected to ensure my son had all required equipment. Being only passingly familiar with lacrosse, I eyeballed his gloves, helmet, and stick and thought we were covered.
We were, in fact, not.
We were missing Noah’s pads, his jersey, and a pair of shorts. He was going to have to practice in sweatpants, indoors. This would be unremarkable, save for the fact that he was also wearing a long-sleeved shirt, and Noah sweats like a hog in July. What’s more? We’d forgotten his sports bottle. I had visions of Noah’s heat-stroking, unprotected body being pelted by balls as he begged the coach for water.
The only thing “right” that night was the fact that we were punctual, and had just enough time to approach ...