Can You Sit By Me?

I’ve not been surprised that Charlie’s been calling for home and so uncertain about vacation, although it’s a very familiar vacation, in the same beach house that we’ve rented for a couple of years and at the same time of year, and with the same families renting houses on the same street. He likes his regular routine that centers around school, because he likes school, and packing up the car and going somewhere else may suggest to him that we’re not going back.

We went to a take-out place for dinner and Charlie insisted that we sit down instead of taking the food home. Every picnic table was filled and Charlie stood close by one table and then another while I beckoned him to stand with me. We went into the building; Jim was just getting our food. The tables were all still full and Charlie still wanted to sit at one, so we waited—-after a few minutes, Jim noticed a family standing up and I edged myself over.

As we sat down, I realized that there was another family—-two parents and their sons—at the other end of the table. Who knows but we were barging into their space. Charlie sat down and reached for his ketchup. Every other table was taken and more people were standing around with strollers and six packs. Charlie ate some and asked to get up and—unusual for him—only ate a few more bites of his burger after we were back at the beach house, with my coaxing.

It’s not easy asking for a place at a table—-hence the title of a collection of stories of growing up, of being different, Can I Sit with You?, edited by Shannon Des Roches Rosa (she blogs at Squidalicious) and Jennifer Byde Myers of into the woods, living deliberately).You can buy the book here and submit yours own writing for a second version here. From the mission statement:

Dealing with the other kids at school was complicated even if you didn’t have a label. For those of us who were socially awkward, culturally juxtaposed, same-sex attracted, gender-cocooned, income-challenged, “weird” sibling-saddled, differently abled, atypical looking, religiously isolated, on the autism spectrum, or who somehow just didn’t fit in, it could be brutal. Even though most of us eventually developed coping strategies, grew up, left school behind, and tried not to think about how much that time in our life sucked.

Until some of us starting having our own kids. And saw those kids start to flounder, saw them start fretting about how to fit in. Aiigh! What to do?

What to do is write and tell the story. I think. Jim and I have often thought that our own experiences of growing up and being different have truly helped us in raising Charlie and facing and identifying his challenges. I remember a friend whose son has Asperger’s telling me that, when he’d sit at a table in the school cafeteria, everyone else would get up and leave. What does that do to a growing child’s understanding of the world?

Saturday night, Charlie planted himself on a couch after eating a few bites of burger and carefully arranged the favorite things he’d brought with him nearby: Two copies of Goodnight Moon, his Leapster, his blue backpack with the photo bucket (he kept calling for his lunchbox; it’s at home in the fridge); two fleece blankets. He didn’t want to go up the stairs to his bed (the same one he’s slept in the three previous times we’ve been at this beach house); he took himself up with a cry and I followed with all of his stuff.

I found him curled up in the yellow fleece blanket and asking to see Wiggles videos. I recently got myself an iPhone and ran downstairs for it, and found Charlie several Wiggles videos—all the old favorites, “Hot Potato,” “Point Your Finger and Do the Twist,” and the one about riding in the big red car. At first I wondered if Charlie could see the videos on the small screen, but he was quite absorbed watching and I wished him good night with the promise that we’d watch more tomorrow.

And any day, sitting side by side, together.