Raising Cubby: A Father and Son's Adventures With Asperger's, Trains, Tractors, and High Explosives by Robison John Elder

Author:Robison, John Elder [Robison, John Elder]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Nonfiction, Biography, Psychology, Autism, Personal Memoir, Retail
ISBN: 9780307884862
Goodreads: 16029122
Publisher: Crown
Published: 2013-01-15T08:00:00+00:00

Rockets, rocket fuel, and explosives make some kids dream of being astronauts. Not Cubby. He dreamed of becoming an organic chemist.

I wasn’t surprised that Cubby found explosives fascinating. Ever since my dad first showed me how to make rockets from baking soda, vinegar, and a pop-top bottle, I’ve felt the same way. It’s possible we are unusual, but I suspect every boy loves fireworks, deep down.

That’s especially true of boys who love chemistry. There are many uses for chemists in the adult world, but every teen chemist I have ever met thinks about one of two things: explosives or drugs. Given that choice, as a dad, I preferred the former.

There’s something irresistible about rockets powerful enough to light the sky and shake the ground. The bigger the blast, the more you feel it. I loved watching fireworks displays as a kid, so when I worked rock and roll as a young adult, I jumped at the chance to use them in our shows. That was where I discovered the real power of thunder. I already thought metaphorical thunder was cool. I loved it when the drummer rolled the heavy tom-toms or a timpani to make a point in a musical performance. Inspired by that, I created amplifiers that could deliver rock-and-roll thunder without self-destructing and punch the audience smack in the chest. I was proud of what I’d accomplished, and I thought I knew the state of the art, until the first time I saw KISS play a big civic center.

I knew KISS used a lot of pyro (pyro stands for pyrotechnics, another word for fireworks), but I had yet to see the band in action. Their show started like many others, as I stood at the control area with the crew. There were five of us on a little fenced island among a sea of fans. The producer hollered commands into the intercom as guitarist Paul Stanley leaned forward over the front of the stage to scream out his intro. “Do you people want a little bit of rock and roll? Shout it out loud!” With that, he lit into his guitar and the meters on the sound system swung all the way into the red. The band was playing the only way they knew: full throttle. That was the moment that pyro master Hank Schmel pushed the button, off to stage right, and the first of his bombs went off.

Before that moment I might have described the roll of the big drums as thunderous, but after, I knew the truth: Real thunder comes from the sky or out of the barrel of a cannon. That’s what Hank had, sunk into the stage on both sides. Four-inchers, stubby versions of the guns on old navy destroyers. When they fired, it was as if time stopped. The flash lit the room, and the power of it rocked us back on our feet

That’s how KISS started every show. It left me with a profound appreciation of the power of explosives, and a good sense of comfort using them.

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