PERSONAL NARRATIVE
isodes, and frequent meltdowns. Ian walked into the
market that day happy, beaming. to notice. But for me, oh Jesus, I may be walking, but
I’m on my knees on the inside. I need you.”
“He makes me to lie down in green pastures. He
leads me beside still waters.” I was wearing myself out, or maybe Divine Love was
provoking me, teaching me, to let go.
On your mark, get set, go! was one way to describe
Ian’s entrance into the produce section. At 13 years
old with facial hair, his gait still awkward, he stood
as tall as my five-feet-two frame. Without hesitation,
Ian began to skip. Yep, I said it: skip! Ian was having
the time of his life, laughing, smiling, singing, and
skipping! “Hey, guy,” I said, “stay close to me.” Yeah,
that didn’t happen. My eyes darted between shelves
grabbing what I could to keep up with Ian who glid-
ed up and down each aisle. With each new turn,
scouring, judging faces met my glance, void of com-
passion. Free and unaware of his own wonderful distraction,
Ian picked a checkout and stopped to a halt. There
was a lot of action going on in this aisle. And, it was
loud.
“He leads me in the path of righteousness for His
name sake.”
“I can’t believe this,” I thought to myself. My guy is
having a wonderful day, he’s happy. No one is hitting
him; he’s not being made fun of or throwing up—
he’s talking for God’s sake! “Look away, please! Stop
with your condescending stares,” I wanted to shout.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death, I shall fear no evil: for thou art
with me.” My spirit ached.
Scooping up this and that, another scowl greeted me
in each new aisle. More thoughts stifled: “I am going
to make a T-shirt. It’s gonna read, ‘This is autism too!’
How can people be so cruel? Oh, wait, I know, a big
A with a line through it. That will do it!” I contained
myself—barely.
“Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup run-
neth over.”
That wasn’t the only thing running over. Tears greet-
ed us as we settled into the checkout.
First, we saw an adorable but screaming toddler in the
shopping cart ahead of us. He was inconsolable. Right
in front of their full cart, we found his mom, cradling
her infant. The little one’s pitch was piercing. Time and
the waiting cashier stood still. This sweet woman was
paralyzed looking at her two screaming children with
what I knew was an all too familiar look of defeat. I was
sure her own meltdown was seconds away.
Ian and I looked at each other, and I whispered, “Ian,
we have to help.” Taking all things literally, that was
the cue Ian needed to hear. Quickly, we unloaded the
cart onto the belt. As I moved closer to bag the items,
I turned to see Ian speaking to the toddler, “There,
there, it’s going to be okay.” Those words were the
few spoken during our encounter. The infant was cry-
ing so hard the mom motioned; she couldn’t move.
Reaching the end of her rope, perhaps herself, she
was unable to open her handbag.
I let Ian know it was time to check out. My heart whis-
pered to my Creator. “Father, why do I feel such anger?” The cashier and I found her wallet and gingerly re-
moved payment for her groceries. Perfect strangers
were entangled in this personal transaction. I gave her
reassuring smiles above the cries. As Ian playfully leaned
into the cart, the little boy began to laugh. A sigh from
the frazzled mom filled the atmosphere. Her tension
released, her baby at last snuggled into his mother. I
held back my tears. It was beautiful and intimate. For a
moment, we were drawn by a tender Love that boldly
connected us. The mom, restored and strengthened,
left the store with her peaceful little ones.
“Thou preparest a table before me in the pres-
ence of mine enemies.” “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all
the days of my life.”
“Ian has been through so much. Lord, I can’t stand
the glares. Please, Father, help me. Ian doesn’t seem It was our turn. The cashier watched this boy of mine
(the skipper with hair and clothes in usual disarray, no
“Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”
“He’s eating strawberries for the first time in his life
without gagging. Maybe they were jealous that he
could skip without wearing Depends. Oh, I must be
a mean momma,” I decided during this internal con-
versation with myself.
14 | Autism Parenting Magazine | Issue 72