A Time to Forgive

Not that it terribly matters, but I have a “preliminary diagnosis”, that is, a “name” for my pattern of social cluelessness. I’ve known for some time that my son, Brian, has been “diagnosed” (read “labeled, for Special Education funding purposes”) with Asperger’s Syndrome. He has also been “found to have” Attention Deficit Disorder. That I also once had ADD is unremarkable; it is known to run in families. AS, it seems, also tends to run in families. It may also account for my cluelessness.

The way it’s been explained to me goes something like this: Less than one-fourth (some researchers claim it’s less than one-tenth) of what people communicate with one another consists of the words they speak. The rest consists of gestures, facial expressions, emblems (things like a stuck-out tongue, a flipped bird or shrugged shoulders, that are supposed to mean specific things), proxemics (how close communicators are to one another), posture, eye contact, and the like. Apparently, while I’m exceptionally good at verbal communication, I’m exceptionally bad at nonverbal communication.

How I impress people in social situations can be compared to how others impress me in driving situations. To put it mildly, I’m one persnickety S.O.B. when it comes to traffic etiquette. Such behaviors as tailgating, turning without signaling, driving too fast or too slow for conditions, stopping too suddenly or changing lanes too frequently have been known to provoke me to anger or even rage. There are rules for driving, they’re all written down in a book, and people are not supposed to operate vehicles on highways until and unless they have demonstrated that they know and can abide by these rules. If I’m sitting in the middle of the roadway with my turn signal flashing, I expect people to take note of my flashing light and pass me by. If they cue up behind me as though waiting for me to drive straight ahead, and then start making rude noises behind me, I’m apt to think them rude. Similarly, if a person across an intersection from me has no signal flashing and makes an impromptu turn in front of me as I drive straight ahead, I’m liable to be pissed.

Unfortunately, there are no written rules for social communication. Further, because of how my mind works, it is next to impossible for me to carry on a conversation with someone while looking at his or her face. I need to look at “white space” or just not focus on any object. This allows me to think about what I’m saying rather than think about the person’s face. If that person is trying to communicate something to me nonverbally, I won’t see it because I’m looking somewhere else. Even if I were looking at him or her, however, I probably wouldn’t notice it. I don’t often know what to look for.

I remember one incident that occurred in the neighborhood where I grew up. I was learning to drive and had just taken my mother to the supermarket in her own car. As I had to make a left turn into our driveway, I turned on the signal and then sat and waited for the traffic to clear in the oncoming lane. Meanwhile, a large truck that was pulling a large trailer carrying an even larger earthmover came rolling up behind us. As he had to round a blind curve just before arriving in front of our house, he had to fairly slam on his brakes to keep from rear-ending us. By this time, all of the traffic had gone by except for a kid on roller skates who had paused by the front of our car to say “your blinker is on, Mister”! Had the kid understood the meaning of the turn-signal light, he might have just waited for me to turn in front of him, or he might have just gone on by without stopping to chat. In any event, I’d have already made my turn before the truck came along and my mother and I would never have been in danger of being rear-ended.

In light of what I’ve recently come to know about myself, it occurs to me that I shouldn’t simply assume that people who play their stereos too loud or have unsilenced exhausts on their vehicles are out to piss other people off. Sure, they seem rude. I’m sure that some of them are intentionally asinine. But, judging by the number of times I’ve been fired from jobs for social faux pas of which I was unaware, chances are that at least some of those people are simply so self-absorbed that they don’t realize how much they’re hurting other people with their behavior. I know that I would benefit from someone calling me aside and pointing out the impropriety of my behavior. Perhaps I should try that instead of flying into a rage?

While I was at Kumeyaay Lake with the guys last weekend, I asked Pastor Mark to take a walk with me and tell me frankly what he had noticed about my behavior. This was after I told him that I had prayed to God about my Asperger’s and asked Him to take it away. He said no. He wants me to rely on Him, not on a constitution free of disabilities. So I asked Mark whether it was like that for him: did he know where he was going and what he was doing, or did he have to wait for God to “spoon feed” His will to him. He replied that he has both long- and short-range visions for the church and that God has been faithful to provide them. So I asked him why, in his opinion, God would not heal me of my affliction. He replied that God does what He does for His own reasons and that we shouldn’t question that. However, he also said that he has noticed on several occasions that I not only don’t “read” others’ feelings in a situation but that I seem to expect them to know mine even though I don’t indicate them. He noticed that I had grown frustrated when trying to communicate a value to his young son at a church gathering.

When I was a teacher, I experienced a great deal of frustration when my students failed to “shift gears” with me when I moved from a serious subject to one of levity or vice versa. Now it occurs to me that I may be just as bad at “sending” nonverbal signals as I am at “receiving” them. Perhaps my pupils were just as consternated as I was, since I expected a certain response from them without “giving the proper signal” first. That would explain the Scoutmasters’ and the Scouts’ responses to my teaching at the summer camp as well as my subsequent dismissal from my position there.

Now, I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time reflecting on my life and all the situations in which I failed to read or express value or emotion when interacting with others. I’m beginning to compile quite a list of people whom I should either forgive or ask for their forgiveness. I’m beginning to feel a bit like that guy, “Earl” on TV. I’m also beginning to wonder whether he is really a recovering asshole or he simply has Asperger’s Syndrome.

God Is Good--All The Time

People who desire pity rather than growth, or escape rather than responsibility, often blame God for their failures. While I sometimes blame those who have maimed me for the limitations they have placed on my native abilities, I never blame God. He made me perfect, whole and good. He told me so and I believe Him. Other people have hurt me and I am less for it. However, that is on them and not on God.

God has also told me that He will allow nothing to happen to me that I cannot survive. He may allow me to be murdered but I will rise and live forever with Him. Not only that, but He has told me that He will allow no temptation to beset me that is greater than I can bear, that is more than those common to all human beings. I also believe this is so.

What has caused me the most sorrow I have ever endured is not being imperfect, being hurt, being maimed, or even being killed. What has caused me the greatest sorrow is my seeming inability to find my proper place in the world. Striving first to be a duck, and then a swan, and then a fish, and then a bat, and then...discovering that no one will accept me in any of these roles, I am worse than an Ugly Duckling; I am a Nobody. No, says God, you are Somebody You Don't Know.

Okay, I never strove to be a bird, a fish or a beast. I did strive to be an entertainer, a counselor, a teacher, a technician, a builder and a hundred other things. I kept being fired from jobs. I tried with all my might to grow, to change, to improve. I went to college. I went to trade school. I earned certificates. I found jobs or they found me...and then I got fired. Every time.

"What is wrong with me?" wailed the Ugly Duckling. "Why do I have this long, geeky neck? Why do I have this stupid Unibrow?" "Because," God replied, "you are not a duck at all but a swan."

Okay, I say, so I'm not a singer. I must be a teacher. Okay, so I'm not a teacher. I must be a counselor.

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I have a basket full of talents. I put them on the ground, one at a time, to try to fit them together. First the ones with corners, then the ones with a straight edge. Try as I might, I can't seem to define a space within which the puzzle must come together as a cohesive whole. I've got all these parts, and they don't fit together! Someone at the factory must have f***ed something up! What other explanation could there be? No, I never blamed God. Someone sabotaged my kit--that's what happened! Somewhere along the line, when I wasn't looking, someone switched some bastard parts for the ones I was supposed to have! I was supposed to be better looking; I was supposed to have different feet; I was supposed to be hip, not clueless; I was supposed to have good breath. At least, I was supposed to be interested in doing the sorts of things that I'm good at (or good at doing the things that interest me)! Someone f***ed me up for a joke, and the joke's on me!

In truth, Someone did f*** me up--Satan. First He did it to my ancestors, Adam and Eve, then He did it to my other relatives, then He did it to me. And the joke's on all of us. But God didn't do it. He's not to blame. And neither are we.

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I suffered a painful blow when my job at the Scout Ranch ended. It hurt a lot. I'd held out such a fervent hope that this would be a successful effort and that it would yield a bountiful harvest of job offers or referrals. Instead, it yielded only thorns and further rejection. I was bummed.

Then, I suffered a second blow. My computer died. A capacitor on the motherboard blew out and the Ghost in the Machine went bye-bye. Such is life. I had backed up some of the files, but only the most important ones. The rest--like my drivers, etc.--are "history". Not only was I unemployed; my chief avenue for job searches was kaput as well. (Expletive deleted.)

This past weekend, I suffered yet another blow. That one sent me careering over The Edge of What I Can Stand. A niece of mine, whom I have always liked a great deal, got married. (No, that part is fine. A woman should marry.) She invited practically the whole town. (That's fine too; her folks are rich and she's popular, so why not?) She specifically excluded me (and my family) from the guest list. (Ouch!)

The computer was just a booger in the nose of convenience: neither good nor bad, just one of those events that tends to eliminate (as opposed to "illuminate") history. The other two events, however, fit a pattern.

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"Even in the midst of rejection and sorrow, there is grace." I wrote that in a letter to a friend. Whether I quoted someone else or made it up, I may never know.

These are the "pricks" that God used to ventilate my durable film of denial. For decades, I have striven to obtain, maintain and retain jobs for which I am not suited. God promised me long ago that, if I put Him first in my life, He will give me the desires of my heart. He didn't promise me what my heart desires; he promised that he would give me the desires. First, though, I have to put Him first in all things. That entails prayer; that prayer entails asking for those desires.

I lost the job at the summer camp because I am tactless in dealing with Scouts and their adult leaders. I've lost countless other jobs for similar reasons. My niece didn't want me at her wedding because I have lavished unwanted attention on her and ignored her hints that it wasn't welcome. Frankly, I was oblivious to the fact that I was offending anyone. That, I suppose is the whole point. Anyone suited to the sorts of careers I have pursued--whether entertainment, or sales, or human services--would not be oblivious. S/he'd be aware. Very aware. "Hip" as we used to say. I'm not hip. I'm not even "hep". I'm clueless. I need to rethink my entire game plan. I can't work with the public; I'm going to piss people off.

So where is the grace? It's in showing me the ugly truth about myself that I couldn't or wouldn't see before. It's in saving the really hard stuff until now, when I could deal with it. It's in making sure that I had people around me to keep me together and spare me the sure consequences of my own oblivion in an unprotected world. There is grace all around. God is good...all the time.