Out Of The Loop: The Chocolate Aspie's Diagnosis, Part One

When someone is born, that person doesn't get to choose his/her skin color, nationality, gender, eye color, or other genetic features. That person also doesn't get to choose how their minds function neurologically. I am sure that if my mother had her way, she would have given me a mind void of any mental and neurological issues. She would have given me a life void of ridicule and rejection... Well, that's not how my life turned out. No parent ever thinks that his/her child will develop a form of autism, and no amount of intestinal fortitude in the world will ever prepare a parent for the moment of impact, when he/she discovers that his/her child is autistic. I think I can speak for my mother when I say, you can never prepare yourself for that hurt.

From the moment I was born on Tuesday, July 14, 1992, I was the apple of my mother and late maternal grandparents' eyes. Growing up in the suburbs of East Point, GA, my world consisted of my mom, Joycene, and her parents, George and Mattie. I was a bright eyed, inquisitive, and intelligent little boy, and I enjoyed my household and the adventures in my backyard, playing with pine cones and digging for earthworms. I also loved cars, from small matchbox cars to big Tonka trucks. I would always line the cars up in various parts of the house, as if they were a part of a mini parking lot or funeral motorcade. I was able to properly identify any model of car that I saw driving on the highways. That fueled my desire to collect as many matchbox cars as I could (My mother still has my massive car collection to this very day). As a witness to this, my dearly departed grandmother thought that she was laying eyes on a bona fide genius with no mental flaws. Little did the family know, that was a veil that covered an earth shattering truth. 

Because I was the proclaimed "little genius," school should not have been a major issue for me. The soon-to-be former Oak Knoll Elementary School of East Point, GA was the beginning of my academic journey in 1996. I was one of about 25 students in Ms. Budd and Ms. Clinkscales' class. Our days consisted of  lessons, story time, nap time, recess, and lunch. For me, however, part of the days consisted of crawling under the desks while all of my other classmates would be sitting in a semicircle, attentive to the story being read by Ms. Budd. My mind was completely unfocused from the story, as I continued my adventure crawling under each desk. I did not intend to be a distraction to my peers, nor I did not intend to disrespect my teachers, but this was the way it was perceived. Ms. Budd eventually went to her superior to inform her of my behavior; The superior then contacted my mother and allowed her watch one of my adventures through a one way mirror. For the first time in motherhood, Mom felt completely helpless and heartbroken. She immediately contacted my grandmother, who was a retired educator and assistant principal, to ask for her professional and personal advice. My grandmother had only one option: Immediate withdrawal from Oak Knoll. From there, they would brainstorm the next steps...