This past week, I finished coaching my Upward Basketball team for the second year, with my 42 year-old son Jimmy as manager. Our church-affiliated team, the Blazers, was made up of seven first- and second-grade boys. While Jimmy cannot attend our practices because of his work schedule, he helps me any way he can on game days. He is part of our pre-game ritual and post-game activities. Before games, one of his absolute favorite things to do is line up with our team in the hallway outside the gym. When players and coaches are introduced one at a time, they run through a “wall” of crepe paper and then high five the family members and friends who have formed two long lines leading to the court. It’s lots of fun and the kids love it. So does Jimmy.
A couple of weeks ago, Jimmy lined up with his team before the game on one side of the hallway, and the team we were playing lined up on the other side. When Jimmy gets excited, he flaps his hands and hums pretty loudly, something we call stimming in the autism community. The Blazers have seen him do this before, during, and after games, so it’s no big deal. Also, I talked a bit about Jimmy at one of our early practices so they understand that Jimmy flaps his hands when he gets excited or is happy. It’s kind of like the Blazers getting pumped and giving each other high-fives.
As Jimmy flapped away, I happened to look at the opposing team. Nearly all of them were staring at Jimmy wondering what in the world he was doing. This went on for a couple of minutes until we entered the gym. I’m used to this reaction. As a matter of fact, Jimmy and I had just returned from a family wedding in Florida. Walking through the airport terminal toward our gate, Jimmy could hardly contain his excitement. Stimming and smiling, I felt like there was a bright spotlight turned on my son. Passengers were fixated on him. He’s never let on that he’s aware of the stares or how it makes him feel. Even after all these years, I know I still feel uncomfortable and annoyed, especially when those doing the staring are adults.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to appreciate Jimmy’s stimming. After all, this is his unique way of communicating and he seems to enjoy it immensely. He’s learned not to do it at work and during prayers at church. And once others like the Blazers and their parents get to know him, they pretty much ignore his stimming but appreciate his enthusiasm for life. Hopefully, as autism becomes more commonplace and less hidden from the public eye, the public’s perception of hand-flapping will change. In time, hopefully staring will gradually give way to indifference or maybe even smiling as well as understanding.
Please note: I just finished a book that applies the latest research on autism to our family’s journey over more than four decades. My son Jimmy is a middle-aged adult on the autism spectrum. The voices and perspectives of my son, my wife and two daughters as well as friends and professionals are included throughout. It’s a real, uplifting, and remarkable story; one which I have wanted to share for a long time. Both the print and Kindle version of this book are now available. Profits will go to Linwood Center, an internationally recognized program whose mission is to create extraordinary lives for children and adults with autism (see https://aJimmy.com).
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