Landing spots. Perhaps our autism kids are helicopter pilots, especially those with the "comorbid" (and surely there's not a more lovely word in the English language!) condition of ADHD.
I keep trying to visualize a place, a shelter with a roof and all, but maybe I'm thinking of the wrong thing. Maybe our kids are helicopter pilots.
My son's landing was the local recreation center for a job lasting ten months. He somehow brought his helicopter down (or maybe God was in the controls or a persistent mom), but his flight vehicle came down and blew some grass and some rabbit ears as he settled on ground. And, he jumped out, and for awhile, there was a man there who welcomed him in. He was a man who could have shot him down from the sky, but he didn't.
And, my son got used to the earth and its smells. Other inhabitants greeted him, "Hello!" and he smiled a little smile and found an occupation of pulling weeds and wiping down dirty plateaus. Every single day, he would show up, having dropped earth pebbles to find his way since he couldn't look down from on high any more. But, he did it and consistently too and on his own which was really an accomplishment! He wondered if he could become settled down away from flight, although he loved the sky, but it had its moments when the stars and the clouds were beautiful but cold&remote.
However, he started forgetting a few things because planet life was not the same as atmosphere life. And several times the man saw him and he shook his head. On the surface of earth life, we must behave as if we will always be able to stay. We must be and do like those without wings; we must be like the industry of the ants and must resist imitating the whimsy of the mosquito. Someone else on the ground told on him for being a mosquito when really he was in fact a helicopter pilot all along. Maybe a royal helicopter pilot unknown.
So the man finally had enough and showed him to the landing spot. Rather, he had someone else show him there because he was too preoccupied with his ants. And, when my son got to his helicopter, he knew well enough that he would lift up, look down, and wave goodbye because after all as a helicopter pilot one becomes closer to the high, the wide, the deep, and the long vista which no one else was able to love experience or see.
Therefore, flight, up high, beautiful skies, the real life. Until perhaps one day, a new landing spot is perceived. Helicopter pilots always need to refuel and reprieve. They always want to meet someone who knows enough to care about the pilot who has come floating in by the air.
So, late at night, here's wishing and praying my helicopter pilot can be happy in both states, and, for me, I am going to resist defining the all elusive, the all frustrating, the entirely limited earthly view of "Place."