wispfox

Via

conuly, Girls' autism 'under-diagnosed'.

"Hyperactivity, and interests in technical hobbies have been seen as characteristics of the disorder.

But Christopher Gillberg, of the National Centre of Autism Studies, said girls were often passive and collected information on people, not things."

*pauses*

"collected information on people, not things." A-yup. My fascination, once I was in school and saw the need, was with people, and social interaction and trying to understand why the hell people did the things often very strange things they did. My fascination is with minds and social interaction and such, not machines.

I'm an awful lot less likely to be watching from the outside now, although sometimes I still do. Almost certainly due to the large number of people I know now whose behavior makes more sense to me, so is less likely to cause me to be distant while trying to figure things out. Instead, my investigations into friends' minds are part of my interaction with them.

Heh.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

drwex

My first serious g/f and I got together in part because I called her a "closet autist" - not to her face, but in a context I thought was confidential. However, the remark leaked out to her, she took umbrage.

What can I say - the universe is kind, and I talk fast. Story details on request.

From:

wispfox.livejournal.com

*snort* Yes, now I'm very curious. Details wanted!

From:

drwex

I don't think I've ever written this story down. It takes some background. Thus be prepared for a bit of a ramble, in two parts due to LJ comment length limits.

The scene is senior year of High School. I am in the "advanced" English course, which means they (the seniors I mean) read actual books. (The rant on public schools is not part of this story.) Or, they're _supposed_ to read books. As far as I can tell, I'm the only one in the class who is (a) reading the books (b) understanding them and (c) eager to talk about them. There are a few other people who manage a & b, and annoyingly one or two who manage a & c.

The teacher, one Harry Ringel, and I have gone through our months of coopetition, including the hand-sitting episode, the Boo Boo episode, and the shoes-at-the-window episode - all stories in their own right. Suffice it to say we have come to an understanding of each other as kindred literary geek spirits and share our dismay at the 90% of the students who don't care and would really rather not be in a class where they're called upon and expected to contribute to the discussion. They would, as Mr. Ringel opines, rather be sitting still by themselves, possibly rocking back and forth. C'mon, say I, they're not _that_ bad. Mr. Ringel asserts that there are a couple of "closet autists" in the class and challenges me to name them.

Now at this point I should pause to mention that he and I are chatting in the warm spring breeze of a nearly empty classroom. Nearly because there is one Hugh, a student, in the room as well. I allow as perhaps Vicky might qualify as a closet autist. Vicky is pretty and the very definition of "mousy" and her discomfort at being called on in class is so palpable one could shape it like clay and make of it tortured art, which Mr. Ringel is far too kind to do. The relevance of Hugh to this situation is that (a) he rides the bus every day with Vicky, and (b) he has a major secret crush on her - both facts unknown to me at this time.

Oh, and (c) Vicky has apparently out of my hearing joined in the vocal remonstrations of all the girls in Advanced English attesting to the fact that I'm an impossible, arrogant ass who says things just to get them upset - all true and, again, part of another story.

So I pass off this casual remark and think nothing of it. Mr. Ringel and I go on to discuss many things, as we tend to do and the remark fades from my mind. Hugh, however, does not let the remark fade. In fact, he takes the next opportunity to _tell_ Vicky about it, that being a bus ride home a couple days later.

Meanwhile, back in what I'm laughingly calling my life at this point, a rarity has occurred. I have won a radio call-in thing to get two free movie passes. Shock! Now I have to find someone to go with. See above about the geekitude? Me = no girlfriend. Nada. There are three possibilities here: one is the snotty teasing blonde who is incredibly effective at carbonating my hormones, and knows it. No dice, she's dating someone and I'm _so_ not on the radar. Two is the big and beautiful woman whom I should have asked out but was too insecure and too ruled by social conventions of beauty to approach. (Later I will get the hell over it and have several big and beautiful lovers. But not in high school. Not a chance.) Three is swimchick, who is much more in the "buddy" category than actual girl friend, but hey she's female right. And... busy that night.

The above process of trying and failing to find someone to go to this movie with takes place over the course of a long school day in which we seniors are running around getting people to pretend to like us in that we ask them to sign our yearbooks. It's a bizarre and very uncomfortable ritual, and it involves a lot of being in unusual places. This matters because Vicky (remember Vicky? This is a story about Vicky) - Vicky has finally tracked me down and comes barreling down the hall with a fully incensed and indignant head of steam aimed in my direction. Of which I am blissfully unaware because otherwise, when I finally heard her yelling my name I might not have swung around and let the first words out of my mouth be: "Hey, Vicky! Want to go to a movie with me Tuesday?"

From:

drwex

If at this point you're bored and want to skip ahead to the end, she said yes. We went. We discovered we were seriously hot for each other. We did major smooching and stayed out on her porch talking and talking and cuddling and smooching as only teenagers can such that I got back home well after 1AM, to the overt displeasure of my parents. We date intensely, and polyamorously (though without knowing the word) throughout the summer. Then we go away to college. End of story.

If, however, you're not bored, try to cast yourself back into the mind of this poor girl. She's pissed, and rightfully so, at me. But she's suddenly caught out in the open. She's mousy, remember? She doesn't date much and certainly not at school - turns out she's dating another guy named Alan, from church. So right there, in the middle of a hallway, with lots of _people_ around, this guy has asked her out. And then, before she can even really answer much more than mumble, he asks her to sign his yearbook. What's she gonna do, write "no, asshole!" in it? Or worse, say that out loud? I really think not. Doing that would've required a tremendous amount of self-possession and lack of caring of what other people thought. Which, if she'd possessed in the first place, we wouldn't have found ourselves in this particular situation.

So she does the only thing she feels she can do. She agrees. She dresses nicely for the date, which makes me feel like a schlub because, well, I am and I haven't dressed properly. And I'm not going to tell you what movie it was because you'd laugh at how old I am, but the movie is silly and corny and we enjoy laughing at it so much we discover we have lots to talk about. I mean... lots. And that talking is somehow much better if it's repeatedly punctuated with kissing. And should I mention that, in those days, two teenagers doing the seriously kissing thing for the first time can literally empty a T car? My how times change.

A movie date turns into a late night turns into a summer turns into my first real love. That story has a sad and bitter ending, as do so many of its kind. But that story is not this one, which ends with us on her porch, watching the summer moon at midnight.

From:

wispfox.livejournal.com

Thank you for this story. It's quite lovely, and you write very well. :)

From:

drwex

You're welcome, and thank you for the compliment. Of course, seeing it in print I want to change some of how I tell it. Which is part of the point.

As to your other question, yes, she did eventually tell me that she had been mad at me and why. But it's a wholly different discussion when the person is cuddled up in your lap than it would have been otherwise.

From:

wispfox.livejournal.com

it's a wholly different discussion when the person is cuddled up in your lap than it would have been otherwise.

*chuckle* Indeed!

From:

desert-born.livejournal.com

nifty! i never had that highschool romance thing, possibly because i was one of the B&B folks everyone was busily a) teasing or b) ignoring (depending on context).

but well told, and you ain't as old as you think you are :)

From:

mactavish.livejournal.com

Now I wonder what movie it was, too.

From: (Anonymous)

(whoops. Helps to be logged in)

because you'd laugh at how old I am

Incidentally, no - I wouldn't. :)

At most, you might remind me of the fact that I am (and tend to be) younger than most of my friends, and get _that_ kind of reaction. ;)