My two oldest sons are quite a pair. They have an affectionate, hilarious bond, as brothers. Garrett (in sunglasses) is fifteen, a straight A student, and extremely bright. He’s one of those kids that can smooth talk his way out of most anything. I don’t often see him doing much homework, yet he pulls off sensational grades. Tests and quizzes come easily for him. He’s an aspiring musician, and the house is usually filled with the rollicking sounds of his piano tunes in the living room or his voice singing through the closed door of his bedroom. Garrett has juvenile diabetes type 1, but you’d hardly know it. As is true of most teenagers with this condition, he has a rather care-free, invincible attitude with respect to his blood sugar monitoring. He does it, but needs prodding. Occasionally I catch him sneaking sweets without insulin, yet he manages to get terrific A1c results at every clinic visit. (It’s a blood test that determines blood sugar averages over a period of about three months.)
Kyle is thirteen. He is autistic and attends a specialized class at his junior high school. He is a gifted artist and Nintendo fanatic. He likes to carry around strings or rubber bands to provide himself with sensory input. He is very intelligent and has savant tendencies with memory, in topics such as math and geography. He’s always good natured and well behaved–a real teddy bear. He’s affectionate and mild-mannered.
Garrett knows how to push Kyle’s buttons. Kyle responds with loud protests, mixed with smirks and, sometimes, dancing. Yes, Kyle will swivel his hips in objection to Garrett’s brotherly teasing. Now, as “Mom” I find myself torn sometimes as to how and when (or whether) to intervene during their Laurel and Hardy routines. Privately, I find the exchanges terrifically amusing. And although Kyle gets a bit unnerved, his body language demonstrates a playful tolerance to Garrett’s antics. The fact that Garrett engages him in ongoing conversation is extremely beneficial for Kyle. Language and abstract thought is often difficult for kids with autism. The more practice Kyle gets with conversational exchanges, the better. And it pleases me to see the two of them develop a close bond. Older brothers kid around with their younger brothers. That happens in every home with brothers in America. I like that at the end of the day, we’re a typical family after all.
Garrett: “Ohhh no.”
Kyle: “Why are you saying that?”
Garrett: “asked Kyle.”
Kyle: “Quit narrating.”
Garrett: “said Kyle.”
Kyle: “Garrett, QUIT narrating!”
Garrett: “yelled Kyle, angrily.”
Kyle: “Why do you keep narrating?”
Garrett: “wondered Kyle, out loud.”
Kyle: “Urrrghhhhhh!” (Starts rocking his hips.)
Garrett: “Why are you grooving, Kyle?”
Kyle: “I’m grooving! Mooom! Garrett’s teasing me!”
Me: “Alright, Garrett, that’s enough.”
Garrett: “Okay Kyle, I’m sorry.”
Kyle: “Garrett, you’re not going to tease me anymore. Right?”
Garrett: “Kyle asked.”
Kyle: “Urrrghhhhhh! You’re narrating again!”
Me: “Garrett….”
Garrett and Kyle are both away from home right now, visiting their father for the summer. How grateful I am that they have each other. As much as Garrett can get on Kyle’s nerves, I know he loves his brother immensely. And Kyle feels the same. Both boys have taught each other lessons the other needed to learn. Kyle has learned stronger communication skills, to speak his mind, and to decipher difficult social cues, like humor. Garrett has learned about unconditional love, setting an example, and standing up for what is right. And they’ve both learned to clown around a lot. I miss my two “wise guys” beyond words.
Kristyn Crow is the author of this blog. Visit her website by clicking here.