SALT LAKE CITY, Utah, Dec. 25, 2016 (Gephardt Daily) — To be an autism parent is to be in a constant state of apology.
“Hey, I’m sorry my kid just took those rolls out of your shopping basket and started eating them ….
“Sorry that looking at your beard just sent my kid into full-blown hysterics because he’s terrified of beards. Yes, I know the beard thing seems kind of random, sorry ….
“Sorry that your quiet meal in this nice restaurant was accompanied by my son’s happy vocalizations that sound like a barn owl’s.”
I’m not making these up.
Our twins Zachary and MacLean have autism, and I’ve apologized for those incidents, and oh, so many more behaviors from my delightfully unpredictable offspring. Children on the autism spectrum tend to look — and here’s a word that makes me uncomfortable — “normal.” They look like your average kid until one of their triggers is flipped, and then it can be Armageddon.
When you’re battling a sensory processing disorder, that trigger can be anything from bright lights, a water feature, crowds of people, and the big one: noise.
This describes every mall in America, and it’s the reason Quiet Santa was created.
When Todd and I heard about the concept four years ago, we started making phone calls to find a spot and to sucker our friends into volunteering with us. We put out a little post on social media and offered a three hour schedule. Every slot was filled within 15 minutes. So we ended up with a full week’s worth of appointments, and Todd became the “go-to” Quiet Santa for the Wasatch Front.
Four years later, I’m standing on a ladder in The Leonardo’s private events area trying to hang ornamental snowflakes. Because once you see these families, you can’t stop. It’s a place where no one has to apologize for anything. Their kid can yell, roll around on the floor or eat the glitter glue (don’t look at me like that — the boy said it was a scientific experiment. Who am I to deny the education he’s going to get the next day?)
To see the expression on a parent’s face melt from apology into relief is the best moment of my day. We get you, mom. You don’t have to worry about anything. This is your child’s time and they can do anything they want with it.
Kids will usually start with a craft while getting used to their new surroundings. When they’re ready, they’re taken back to Santa and Mrs. Claus, where the lights are lower and Santa’s not bellowing questions at them.
Some kids will race over and sit on Santa’s lap. Others will sit on the floor. There’s always one or two who will refuse to release their death grip on their mother’s neck, and that’s all fine.
Santa Todd can wait.
Look, I know that a picture with Santa Claus seems like such a small thing. But at Christmas time, there’s traditions we all hold dear. Scrubbing the kids and wedging them into their “nice clothes” for a picture with the Big Red Guy is one of those customs for most families. When your autistic darling freaks out whenever you even drive by the mall, it’s another dream that goes away.
There are a lot of dreams that die with an autism diagnosis. It doesn’t mean your life together won’t be rich and meaningful, but a lot of the experiences your friends and family enjoy are just not possible. So, giving one of those traditions back feels like a huge win. Maybe for the first time ever, you’re going home with a gorgeous photo of the whole family with Santa. And you all look happy.
Something beautiful always happens.
Like, in every session.
Milo is etched in my memory. He’s a little guy profoundly impacted by autism and he’s non-verbal. He sat on Santa’s lap, deep in his own mysterious universe. He couldn’t respond to anything Santa Todd said, so Santa Todd began humming “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” Without looking up, Milo began humming with him. They hummed all three verses of the tune and finished off with a big “Santa Claus is coming to tooowwwn!” The full line of the song. Perfectly. Mom and Dad were sobbing. These were the first words their son had spoken in the six years of his young life.
As I write this, we’re nearing the end of this holiday’s session. There’s a little girl twirling under the snowflakes dangling from the ceiling, happily chanting “La, la! Lalalalalala, LA! Laaaaa…LA!”
Dance all you like, sweetest girl. Quiet Santa is patient.
Many thanks to the kindness of the folks at The Leonardo, who graciously hosted us with merely a day’s notice. Our deep gratitude to Applied Behavior Connections, an ABA company that works with children on the autism spectrum. They supplied our professional photographer, volunteers and gifts for the kids so that we can offer this as a free service.
