At the Zoo

Photo courtesy of BotheredByBees (flickr.com)

Alex does in fact like penguins because he saw them at the zoo. I’m sure of it.

He stood at the glass of the penguin pool of the Central Park Zoo for perhaps 20 solid minutes. The birds obliged, shaking their heads, shooting their cuffs, and plopping into the water to glide past just inches from Alex’s nose. One or two penguins seemed to wave. One or two looked Alex in the eye.

Every now and then all children at all zoos are captured by the charm of animals — I thought for Alex it would be the tiger at the Bronx Zoo who sneered at the flies around her head, or perhaps the gorilla in the Congo exhibit who sat with his broad back about a foot from the glass and picked at a hangnail — but for Alex it was the birds in the tuxes. That was plain, even though he said not a word as he watched the penguins wave.

So repeating “Penguin?” for almost 48 straight hours, like Bart and Lisa asking over and over “WillyoutakeustoMountSplashmore? WillyoutakeustoMountSplashmore? WillyoutakeustoMountSplashmore?” until Homer caves, made perfect sense in the universe of small kids, a completely typically developing device to get something you really want. Alex can’t plead or whine, at least in complete sentences, but he can get his point across if anyone listens the right way. And I did, ducking into the toystore half an hour before it closed on Sunday to find the right penguin. (found a whole row of them, five bucks each). Next morning Alex was up at 3, standing in the living room and calling, “Penguin? Penguin?” He whines the best he can.

His connection, then, makes sense, and is even one any kid would make. When you live with autism, that’s worth a lot more than five bucks.