Sand in My Sandwich by Sarah Parshall Perry

Author:Sarah Parshall Perry [Perry, Sarah Parshall]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FAM034000, REL012030
ISBN: 9781441223081
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2015-02-05T00:00:00+00:00

6

Sandy Sandwiches, or How to Be Embarrassed in Public without Even Trying

May the LORD now show you kindness and faithfulness, and I too will show you the same favor because you have done this.

2 Samuel 2:6

Kids are embarrassing. They throw fits in Olive Garden before the breadsticks show up and then you have to wonder how you’re going to get through the rest of dinner without shoving a napkin in their screaming mouths. They help themselves to the Nilla Wafers in the grocery cart before you’ve made it to the checkout, forcing you to laugh nervously at the checkout girl and try to brush the crumbs off the conveyor belt while she puts the empty box back together just to scan it, throw it in the trash, and give you a dirty look. They just so happen, on the day you’ve hired a babysitter, to decide that they have a future career in art, and the medium they love most is poop, and the canvas they have closest is their crib so that when the sitter comes to retrieve them from their nap, the nursery room looks like something out of A Clockwork Orange.

Now add to all that embarrassment a form of neurobiology that really turns up the volume on public humiliation. This type of public humiliation, for example: when your eldest son barfs in a crowded Outback Steakhouse because he thinks there is something in his burger, despite your herky-jerky attempts to circumvent his reaction by using one tactic after another:

“No, Noah, the burger is perfect. Here, I will take a bite.” (son gags)

“Here, switch with me. You can have my salad.” (son gags again)

“Noah, look closely at the applesauce. There isn’t any dirt in it. Watch Mommy take a bite.” (son gags, gags, gags, baaaarfs!)

I am happy to report incremental progress in this regard. While applesauce, diced pears, rice, couscous, strawberry jelly, and other foods of a “gritty” consistency may always be off limits, my son has happily announced that he can now eat with my neighbor’s (normally barefoot) baby in the room. I didn’t ask him why, but if I had to guess, I’d say it’s because she’s old enough to finally be wearing shoes. Which also means she’s old enough to cover those repugnant, naked feet. Which further means a slice of pizza can be eaten without the usual encore of barf-cleaning or gag-aversion.

Our family’s “flavor” of autism is not the head-banging kind, but the “Why is that lady so fat?” in a crowded grocery store kind. It is the breathing in someone’s face while they speak because he has no concept of personal space kind. The kind we have is a challenge in its own right, different from those of other children on the spectrum because my children look so “normal.” Which is why the things that come out of their little bodies and mouths can leave spectators with their jaws on the floor. Social obtrusion in a child with a hidden disability leaves plenty of room for parental criticism (“why can’t you control that kid?”).

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