CITIZENS OF THE OVERZEALOUS PARENTING POLICE
"We had a great day at the park with our autistic son, until someone called the police."
It had been a good day at the park. A miracle day, in fact, for our family. Our 5-year-old son, who is moderately autistic and prone to violent outbursts and self-injurious behavior, had sailed through the outing without a meltdown. So it was all the more shocking when the police approached us.
It was a Sunday, four days before Thanksgiving, and my mom was in town visiting. My son had a good morning, and feeling
encouraged by that, we selected a new park to visit, the boardwalk on Lady Bird Lake in Austin.
We had been struggling for weeks with getting (and keeping) my son dressed. He had been in a protest phase with his clothes and diaper, but on this morning, he not only let us dress him, he even selected his pants. Sure, they were a size too small and the legs crept up like high waters, but we were thrilled he had chosen them himself.
When we arrived at the park, a sharp breeze from the lake blasted us, so my husband reached into my son’s backpack for a heavy sweater. Another miracle: He allowed my husband to pull the sweater on him, something he normally resists.
He found an area of the boardwalk that he liked, and he walked around while we hovered over him, doing our best to keep him out of the path of joggers and bikers. He found a pile of rocks and
delighted at chucking them in the water, his latest favorite activity. I snapped pictures of him with my mom and my husband, and an hour calmly passed.
I could feel people in the park watching us, and for a moment I looked at my son through their eyes: a little boy emitting strange sounds that aren’t quite words while running around in funny-looking pants. His baby-fine strawberry blonde hair was tangled in some places and my mom remarked we would work on it that evening. Because he also
has sensory processing disorder, he can’t stand having his hair brushed. Also, he is terrified of scissors, so my mom has become his official hairdresser when she is in town. My husband and I assist, holding his hands out of harm’s way and steadying his head as my mother trims his hair...READ MORE
