Blue

Blue.  Whether you think of a serene sky with white puffy clouds or a mood brought on by ill fortune or a rainy, gray day, blue carries complex meanings for a simple, short word.  For April and for thousands of people, blue is the color of autism.  The Cigar Box will be blue for a month – for Mason, and for his mom, dad and brother and for every family dealing with autism.

From the stories of my youth, blue was the color of Paul Bunyan’s pet ox, Babe.  When my girls were young, Papa Smurf and all of his Smurf kin and descendants gave their town an omnipresent hue of blue.  As recent as this weekend, the fans of college basketball are seeing Kentucky Blue in great supply and the Blue part of Kansas’ colors is pressing for space in the blue world of basketball.  Now it is the color of wrist bands, lights on the front door and autism decals on the car.

On one of the best blue sky days, we took a walk, Mason and I.  We circled the church inside and out.  Hand in hand we looked at new grass raising its head, reaching for sunshine.  Touching things is another way to see them or maybe touching is like the knowledge a puppy gets when he sniffs.  We touched cars and trees, bricks and glass, the fabric of chairs and the smooth table tops.  We sat on a step and rubbed the broom finished concrete with our palms and then with the back of our hands.  We touched each other and looked directly into each other's eyes.

I’ve always believed that its right to try to walk in another person's shoes to become an understanding friend.  I’ve tried that with Mason.  The obvious problem that my old feet are too big for his shoes isn’t the reason that I often fail.  When I walk with him and feel his hand in mine, I think I get glimpses of another world.  It is huge and energetic and not ordered in the way I'm used to.  That world seems to crave quiet and predictability and loyalty.  I feel completely ill equipped to see what he sees and walk in his shoes but I think there are some wonderful things to be learned there.  

It’s high excitement for me each year when I travel to the North Pole to get my commission.  I'm honored to serve as Santa’s surrogate for a group of kids who are Mason’s classmates or pals.  Each one of them knows Santa and some will sit on his lap.  Every one of them finds a way to give their folks a joyful moment that can be captured for all time in a photograph.  There are smiles and laughter, high fives and exploding knuckles as Santa and the kids share touches, looks and sometimes words.  When I look at their faces through Santa’s little square glasses, I see love.  But even as Santa, I’m not fully invited to walk in their shoes.

As I’ve watched the moms and dads and their kids deal with autism, I am always struck with the normality of their family lives.  It can’t feel normal to them when they’re swimming in therapies, regulations, insurance and other unknown waters.  But it is love, striving together and supporting each other that makes a family.  Families who deal with autism have elevated all of those characteristics to heights that none of them expected they could achieve.

Join the effort during this blue April.  Everyone knows someone dealing with autism.  Go spend some time with them.  Let’s all see if we can walk a few steps in their blue shoes and share what we learn.  We'll awake to blue skies!

--td