The other day I read a review of a play by an Irish playwright, and was reminded of another of his plays and was relieved it was a bright morning of full sunshine and a strong wind pushing away the clouds, or I would have been spooked, as this other play (to me) was thoroughly terrifying in a Kafkaesque kind of way (but keep in mind, I can’t handle seeing horror movie).

I was distracted by other things and then, before I knew it, I was running down the stairs to meet Charlie’s schoolbus, and watching him make his lunch, and helping him practice the cello, and then (even though it must have been the coldest day of the year) we went on our daily walk up and down the main boulevard of the condo development we live in. As it had been snowing on and off since Friday, there were medium-high piles of chunky, soot-streaked ice and a patchwork trail of ice from snow that had melted a bit in the day, and refrozen.

In earlier days, I would have been gripping Charlie’s hand, terrified that he might slip on the ice and fall and—if he came down hard on his hand or knee— hit his head, as if to clarify to himself that some other part of his body was hurting. Charlie’s balance when he was younger was always a shaky thing and he didn’t seem to note when there was slippery black ice, versus pavement. Monday night, Charlie walked on his own, now slowing down to tap the ground a bit to see where it was slick, now stopping to stomp and stamp on chunks of frozen snow.

The boulevard is well lit and cars are constantly going by, so it was alternately fairly bright, and then dark, with some of the snowy piles illuminated. As we walked—-Charlie humming and singing a few verses of “Winter Wonderland” in a loop—I thought of how a younger me walking on a dark December evening by myself would have thought irresistably of that other play by the Irish playwright, and been scared to think of who might be walking at my back, or what might be hiding in the shadows.

Maybe I’ll be walking a lot longer with Charlie, and maybe he’ll indeed be living much longer than many children do with their parents, but no play or story too’s scary when you’ve a stalwart, a steady companion, on dark nights and bright days on the long long road. When I’m walking with Charlie, I’m never alone.

Having posted about “unusual” play as a potential marker for autism in infants—-these ball rolling machines bring to mind the ball coaster that was one of Charlie’s favorites when he was a toddler, and the memory of sitting beside him and watching the balls slide and roll (though not nearly as fast as on this video). Charlie would be absorbed in the movement of the balls, and his fascination was contagious.

“Unusual” play, perhaps, but it opens up a different way of looking at the world as does Turning a Sphere Inside Out is the name of a video from Scientific American via 3 Quarks Daily blog (see it here: is it 21 minutes and even a glimpse fascinates).

Unusual use of toys in infancy a clue to later autism, according to a stuy published in the October issue of Autism, the journal of the National Autistic Society. M.I.N.D. Institute researcher Sally Ozonoff is the lead author. “Strange play” is said to include spinning, rotating and visual exploring objects in “unusual” ways; 66 infants were involved in the study and nine were later diagnosed with autism; seven out of those nine were noted to spin, etc., toys.

Ozonoff is quoted as saying that “‘About a third of parents notice signs before a child’s first birthday.’” Researchers hope to be able to identify autism earlier. Indeed, it’s the sort of study likely to lead parents of young children to scrutinize, and over-scrutinize, their baby’s play. (”Oh no, junior is lining up those stacking cups by size along the floorboards again.”) It’s also the sort of study that leads me, inevitably, to glance at Charlie’s baby pictures and say, yeah, at 2 months and before, he was always looking slantwise out of the corners of his eyes and to remember how he could focus for minutes and minutes on certain pictures in his chunky little board books. There was one called Baby’s Colors with two-page layouts of babies surrounded by objects of each color; Charlie’s favorite was “Miss Brown” (as Jim said), an Asian girl surrounded by a host of teddy bears, many bigger than her. Charlie would turn back endlessly to see the photo and tape the red bowtie of one bear with exquisite attention; with finesse. And over, and over, again. Nothing wrong with this, we thought, just a boy looking at his books—-or not.

Will any hint “strange” or “not normal” play in a young child now set a parent (already worrying about vaccines and seeking certainty) on edge?

We bought our house (the house which we no longer live in, due to Charlie’s school placement situation) because it had a modest but decent-sized front yard set in from the street, and also a big back yard with a deck, visible from the kitchen. Charlie loves to be outside and to be able to go in and out as he will and we, of course, need to keep track of where he is. If your living space can’t be livable for your family—and in our family, a peaceful easy-feeling boy means peaceful easy-feeling parents. The Foote family of Paynesville, Minnesota, has been told by Stearns County officials that the deck where their 5-year-old son Alex, loves to play, must be taken down because it was built without a permit. WCCO reports:

“You hear him out here like with his little squirrels, and he’ll go inside and get his stuffed animals and he’ll bring a blanket out and with his play grill — he’ll cook ‘em food,” said Matt Foote about his son Alex who has autism.

Five-year-old Alex doesn’t know that he and his backyard friends might have to find another place to play. His parents say it wouldn’t be safe for him to wander in the yard that backs up to Rice Lake.

“So if he were to have an open play area in the grass, the fear would be the lake,” said Matt Foote.

Ever feel sometimes that there’s no place you can go, not even your own home?

So what do you think this is?

Click on “Read more” to find out (but take a guess first.)
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I really think of this piece as a love story between a husband and wife, between a mother and a son and between a father and a son.”

Says playwright Stacey Dinner-Levin of her play, Autistic License, which will be performed April 25 and 26 at the Illusion Theater in Minneapolis. More from Dinner-Levin (who has an autistic child) about her inspiration for writing Autistic License:

“This play is based upon our experience of raising a child with autism - the things that happened in our family that were tragic, surreal and funny. This is the kind of stuff you can’t make up! Nobody sees what goes on in families with a child living with a disability. To me theater was the perfect vehicle to tell this story and to give voice to all families living with disability. I really wanted to open the doors, take down the walls of our house and say, ‘Come in, take a good look, and see this for what it is: the struggle of my life, along with the beauty and the joy.’”

The play offers a glimpse of what it is like to raise a child “in a world that has far too many opinions on what is ‘normal.’” Michael Paul Levin, the playwright’s husband, plays the role of the autistic son.

Dinner-Levin’s comment about the play as about a couple of “love stories”—between father and son, mother and son, and between husband and wife: This rings home most of all with me. Even on the toughest, darkest gray days it’s love and sticking together that sustain.