80 Summers
Summers have always been difficult. Change is always difficult for Aspies. As fragile humans, we may only get eighty summers. Eighty seems like a small number compared to the almost thirty thousand days He may grant us. Only eighty summers to gather with family and friends. Only eighty summers to complain about the humidity and heat. Within these eighty summers are twelve weekends. Weekends are worse than summers, a disturbance in my schedule. During my childhood, the summer broke the routine of the school year.
At first, I felt the freedom from bullying and the difficulties of education. Change was the speed bump. As soon as I got used to my new found freedoms, school started again. New teachers, new bullies, new rooms, new structures, new surroundings, and a new schedule to try to adjust to. I would have preferred year-long schooling. I spent the summers riding BMX, skateboards, hide an’ go seek, and a week in the cabins in New Germany State Park. There were many ER visits, road rash (my sister loved pouring the peroxide), stitches, casts, and Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever without spots.
In the summer of 1988, I had extensive TMJ surgery, which left my tongue and bottom lip numb. Luckily, the numbness in my tongue recovered. My face looked like Freddy Flintstone. My jaw was wired shut with my braces and six screws. Breathing was not fun. My mom asked me to mow the grass. One, I have allergies to grass, and two, I couldn’t breathe well. Nothing tasted good because of the numbness. I lived on egg protein and YooHoo for the summer. My parrot, Sam, mumbled like me, and he still does. Watching TV was not fun either; TV was full of food and eating. I would say 1988 was my worst summer.
As an adult, summers changed for the better. I had a job working for a printer that did school publications. Summer was our busy season, which was good for me. Some weekends, I would work. Weekends were difficult. Weekends were a void of silent isolation, as is true for most with Aspergers The Church gave structure to my Sundays and forced socialization. Socialization, alien to an Aspie, is a complex maze with no cheese to try to find. Twelve weekends in the summer becomes twelve voids. Outsiders claim that Aspies want to be alone; we don’t, we just can’t understand the social structures around us. Even with an invitation, Aspies are lost outsiders, still in the maze without cheese. Three day weekends are the worst, many people celebrating with family and friends, while Aspies watch the world from their windows.
Although summers are difficult, I cherish seeking the sunrise, as an opportunity for worship, understanding that I may have less than thirty summers to wake early to enjoy the sunrise over the Atlantic, seeking a beautiful location to sit quietly, wait, and witness the awe in His creation.