The Journal of Best Practices: A Memoir of Marriage, Asperger Syndrome, and One Man's Quest to Be a Better Husband by David Finch

Author:David Finch [Finch, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Marriage & Long Term Relationships, Autism Spectrum Disorders, General, Family & Relationships, Personal Memoirs, Marriage, Biography & Autobiography
ISBN: 9781439189740
Google: RSQm1S6WkK8C
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2012-10-09T21:08:23+00:00

The year progressed without any more nail holes, without the dreaded wild parties, and without any crazed motorcyclists cutting donuts on our immaculate oak floors. (It’s worth mentioning, however, that Kristen cut a deep four-foot scratch into the kitchen floor by accident, and unlike Delemont’s nail holes, there was no way to repair it without full replacement. Yet I managed to laugh that one off. Forgiveness is easy when you’re in love.)

But that’s not to say that things got any easier. Meredith contracted conjunctivitis—pinkeye—and I quarantined her for days. It wasn’t a formal quarantine; she had simply gotten the hint that I was fearful of contamination when she saw my hand, protected by a latex glove, slipping a list of nearby hotels with phone numbers under her door after I found out that her eye was crusted shut with pus. “The antibiotics I’ve been given make it impossible to spread,” she insisted from behind her closed door. But come on. That’s just ridiculous.

Worse than exposing my aversion to bacterial infections, however, was the fact that I never quite figured out how to cope with the social dynamics of the household. My failures in dealing with group situations began taking a toll on both Kristen and me. Spending time with Delemont or Meredith individually was never a problem. I knew that the key to hanging out with Delemont was always to talk sincerely and literally, to include tremendous detail, and to tell highly exaggerated jokes. I eventually learned how to manage Meredith as well. Details seemed to confuse her, as did having to repeat herself (“Wait, repeat which part? What was I saying again?”), so I learned to get to the point quickly and then activate hyper-listening in preparation for her astoundingly fast-spoken response.

But these techniques for one-on-one engagement flew out the window whenever we convened as a group. Game nights, especially, were ripe for disaster. For weeks, we followed a particular sequence of games: Catch Phrase! followed by Scattergories, followed by Kristen and Meredith gossiping to each other while Delemont and I played Mastermind. I’m not sure if anyone else noticed this pattern, but I sure did; the routine had become as essential to game night as the games themselves. When someone suggested a new game, or when the group decided to change the sequence, I couldn’t handle it. Scrabble?! I would participate in the games, but my lifelong pattern of scowling and brooding in response to a change in routine would take hold of my behavior. I would grow silent and passively belligerent: We always start with Catch Phrase!, and they know that, so why are we mixing it up? Delemont might laugh about something, then look to me to keep the joke going, and I’d snub him by asking if we were still playing. “Well, are we? Because I thought this was game night. So, whose turn?” If someone asked me what was wrong, I’d say that nothing was wrong and then grow even quieter.

The fun would plow

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