
Jeff Stimpson
Today’s post is by Jeff Stimpson, author of the books Alex: The Fathering of a Preemie and Alex the Boy: Episodes From a Family’s Life With Autism. Hear more from Jeff and his wife, Jill Cornfield, on their fantastic blog, AutismVox, and be sure to check out their podcast.
I’m one of three kids, the youngest. My sister was married and gone by the time I knew what planet I was on. My brother Lee is nine years older than I am, so I had an older brother and Lee the teenager had a practice dummy, especially during his kung-fu period. Lee’s gone gray and a little wrinkly now, and we still punch each other.
My 8-year-old son Ned has an older brother, too: Alex, 10, who has autism. “He’s either going to grow up and be like one of us, or he’ll live with me,” says Ned, “or he’s gonna go to this thing where people take care of him and stuff. I would like to live with him. We’re really close even though he is still a lot different from me. Sometimes I have to act like I’m older. In a way, I am the older brother.”
I always imagined it’d a heartbreaking day when predictions came true and Ned did become the older brother. And I have to admit a tug at the strings when I see that Ned is now as tall as Alex, who eats a diet of mostly hot dogs, chicken nuggets, crunchy stuff, chocolate milk, and yogurt. Oh, and sometimes banana and watermelon. Mostly Alex tries to take the chunks of watermelon and reassemble them into a whole watermelon.
Which is more than Alex does when he takes apart Ned’s latest Lego creation. “The rest of my LIFE!” Ned will screech at such moments, and who can blame him? Alex scatters Ned’s toys, stands on his trumpet case, hogs the TV for “Elmo.”
“He messes with my life,” Ned says, “but he does it on purpose in a way, like he knocks my stuff over. I think I know why. He likes to hear the big bang.”
I doubt Alex will ever vote, drive a car, or live on his own. For the rest of his life indeed – six or seven decades, maybe, a span of time beyond me – the care or the decisions for care of Alex will fall to Ned. (Let’s not even consider Ned’s eventual wife…)
So maybe it was just fear of parental wrath that made Ned run after Alex one morning before we were awake and Alex had left the apartment. Maybe it’s because Alex’s bed is next to the radiator that on cold school mornings I find Ned in Alex’s bed, both deep asleep, sometimes one with his arm around the other’s neck. Maybe it’s just because Ned was bored one day that he took Alex’s hand, gently coaxed him to the couch, and started jumping on him and initiating their own kung-fu period.
“The brother or sister is closer than the parent is,” Ned points out. “The same height, same age, same thoughts, same idea of playing.”
Then one day in a school conference Alex’s teacher told us that Alex had been getting other kids in the classroom to play by putting his head in their lap and letting them put their heads on his lap. “A lot of these kids aren’t social at all,” the teacher added. “Alex is a very social boy. He loves all the other kids.”
Ah, Ned. My big brother looked out for me, too.