I was mad when Jill got out of jury duty just by saying that she was the mom of an autistic child.

For years I considered it simply my civic responsibility to try to get out doing jury duty, and especially so after I was called in August, 2001. Alex at that time was 3; he hadn’t started preschool, and at home he was a real handful when not going back and forth on his rocking horse. Sequestering wasn’t something I could handle as a parent right then; any relief I might have experienced while waited on in a hotel would’ve been shot to pieces by Jill the instant the trail ended and I was sent home.

We had a lawyer friend I’ll call Pamela. Pamela told me, “Just tell the judge if you’re called that you have an autistic child, and they’ll let you out of jury duty!”

I reported to the cavernous jurors’ waiting room on the date specified. First announcement they made, as we all took out our books and newspapers and coffees:

“Court here is 9 to 5 each and every day,” the loudspeaker said. “You may arrive here tomorrow at 9:30, and Wednesday at 10 a.m. No later. You may have been told by some friend who thinks she knows how to get out of jury duty that you will be going home at 10:30. Pamela may have told you many things. They are all untrue.”

So yes I did get called and suddenly there was a judge asking if any prospective juror had any reason they shouldn’t serve. I approached her in the silent room, and fired my missiles of “father of” and “autistic.” She bobbed her head and looked at me like I’d just asked to borrow $50 to buy a CD player.

“If I’d said ‘mother of,’ I bet she’d have let me go,” I thought.

As the years have gone by, I think her look was pretty justified. I did my three days, helped bring in a “guilty” verdict that in turn made me feel surprisingly guilty myself, and went home. The family all survived. When I was summoned again I, unintentionally, pulled another trick to get out of jury duty (when one of the attorneys asked me during the juror interview process if I thought there was any difference between “describing” someone and “recognizing” them, I answered completely, and was quickly shown the door).

I look forward to jury duty again; it isn’t fun, but it does make you kind of proud. Also my kids are less of a handful now – Alex even joined in family reading time last night!

But jury duty also makes me wonder what, if anything, I’m entitled to, as a parent of an autistic boy, in a society that chooses to call itself “compassionate.” A lot? Nothing? Wait in line, the head of the line, or something in between? And what I am entitled to, if anything, from family and friends?

Amid all the interesting developments in the autism world today—the NYU Child Study Center’s ‘town meeting’, David Kirby’s latest interpretation of ‘evidence’ for a link between autism and vaccines or something in vaccines, a little politicking—I’ve been fielding emails from various colleagues from work, regarding the scheduling of student presentations. It has been made very clear that the schedule does not work for one colleague, due to other, very pressing work demands and shouldn’t I have realized this?

In responding, I’ve been a bit tempted to insert this sentence:

I have a son with autism and I am going to great lengths to get him a babysitter so that I can attend the presentations at that time of day, and at the risk of severely disrupting my son’s own schedule and overall well-being—-I have to go back home to meet his bus and then turn right around after briefing the babysitter to go to the presentations; my husband would take care of my son but he has to work (as you note that you do)……..

Stop, I say to myself: Stop the excuses. Sure, I have some complicated circumstances; sure my colleague does, too. Who doesn’t?

I know, deep in my heart, that it helps Charlie to have changes in his usual routine and that the babysitter is glad to spend time with him. I know that flexibility is an asset.

But ah, the excuses I could make!

And don’t need to.