Almost sixteen years into this parenting gig, kids still shock me. What they see. What they know. What they instinctively feel. On any given day, anything can be, and yet they surprise me in new and astonishing ways. Even still, I wasn’t ready for what I witnessed one day on the track.

About three weeks ago, I got this text:

I don’t care what people say about not reading tone into text. This text was an alarm bell, a siren, a scream. This text sent to me from Lisa, my neighbor who carpools with me to high school track practice, said to me in no uncertain terms to pick up the phone pronto. So I did.

And the story unravelled. Apparently, Lisa was at Defcon 5 with her son Dylon who has autism. Anyone with a teenager knows that hormones alone can rain down the hurt and pain on even the happiest of families. Autism ratchets up that hormonal hot mess and takes it to levels even Dante couldn’t imagine. Lisa was in hell, her kid was hurting, and she needed answers. . . like thirty minutes ago.

Ace filled in the blanks. Apparently, none of the coaches had remembered to get Dylon to his races at the meet and he missed them. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. Hence, the monumental meltdown.

Now let’s put aside that this was not Dylon’s first track meet. We have been carpooling with him for over a year. Let’s acknowledge that these coaches are not uncaring. They have recognized Dylon’s efforts on the team with support and tangible rewards. They even gave him a most improved runner award last spring. So this is not the time for our litigious, self-righteous, holier-than-thou selves. This is where we stand back and recognize that this is what autism brings to the table. Confusion, miscommunication, and dropped balls all come part and parcel with kids bearing this diagnosis. That’s why we talk of hidden capes with absolutely no hint of hyperbole when speaking about the people who love them.

When we started our carpool last spring, we were grateful for the opportunity to help our neighbor, support Dylon, and also, let’s be frank, split the drive time. We weren’t really expecting anything other than some savings at the gas pump and warm neighborly feelings, but that turned out to be just the beginning.

Good things happened. Ace and Dylon developed a real bond. Dylon started talking to me more. The boys were able to transition to hanging out in front of the school with all of the other athletes instead of being picked up at the track. After many years outside of my classroom, I had a chance to reimagine what the future could hold for the preschoolers with autism I had taught way back when. We were in a good place. It was a good fit. And carpooling gave me back valuable hours in my day.

But autism is an unforgiving highway with treacherous curves that you don’t see coming.  Getting closer to Dylon meant that we were now navigating some of those blind turns with him. Like when this winter on a training run through a neighborhood, Dylon was spooked by a dog and took off running scared. Ace ran an extra 3 miles trying to get him back to calm him down. I then spent the rest of the evening talking to my kid who was still worried about it long after he had unlaced his shoes.

And then there was the day that we thought we lost Dyln. We couldn’t find him at school and Lisa couldn’t get in touch with him and his teachers didn’t know where he was. Ace tried to break into their house to see if Dylon had somehow made it home early on the bus. We found Dylon safe on the football field watching his sister’s band practice, but our hearts were still pounding with the What-Ifs.  We don’t begin to presume what life is like day in and day out with autism, but our peek into that world was sometimes scary.

And frustrating. Nobody was more irritated than Ace to hear that Dylon had missed his events. All athletes deserve their moment to see what all that practice is for. Dylon had put in the work. He earned the chance to prove himself against a clock and the other runners. It was JUST. SO. WRONG. in that black and white way that belongs to the world of teenagers and toddlers.

The next track meet was only two days later at a local rival high school. When we arrived at the meet, we immediately saw all of the kids on the field in the center of the track, including Dylon and Ace.  Now I may have been distracted buying granola bars, chasing kids out from under bleachers, and teaching the kindergartener how to take pictures. Taking four siblings to a track meet ensures that you have brought the traveling sideshow.

But when I looked up for the first race, my breath caught. There was Dylon being led to his first event by his teammates with nary an adult in sight. And it went on that way for the rest of the meet. They had this. Adults, step aside. Dylon was not going to miss an event on their watch. To see the cloud of orange and black surround him and then deliver him to the starting line before EVERY race was a sight to see. And that’s what melted my heart, I think. The way they owned the situation and the way they acted. They were a team. Dylon was their teammate. End of story.

Ace verified after the fact that there was no edict that had been handed down from the coaches. It was just a group of kids trying to do the right thing by their teammate.

Blame it on the beautiful weather that day after an abysmal spring. Blame it on a group on kids who fixed what was broken on their own. Whatever it was, I lifted my face to feel the warm sun and smiled like it was going it out of style.

If a tiny tear was in my eye,  you can never prove it. Anything can happen. Anything can be.

-Erin

 -Erin

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