Big memories flooding in now…

It was the weekend of my eleventh birthday in June of 2013.  An open trip to NYC was my wish and my Mom and Dad made it a dream come true weekend.  Yes, rest assured I will share all the details, but first let me tell you a little about the road before.

This year had been very hard in school.  I had no voice at so many points and now that had just been changed.  In the fall, I would be hopping into a new pilot program with uber-cool help, thanks to my Mom working with the school.  This trip was kind of a celebration of the start of my new life.  I felt like I had been operating as a lonely guy shunned, and was now going to the party for the first time.  Giving you a good sense of what I had overcome, old efforts to teach me did not recognize my intelligence, so I spent many days looking at trees thinking by myself.  I was an indentured servant to autism without a chance to be free.  I really identified with so many of my history lessons this year as they talked about the injustice of never being heard.  I want to tell others about this trip because it nabbed a place in my history in changing attitudes for the better.

I was highly frightened talking about this trip with my Mom.  My jinxed body was so worried NYC would be a cruel lot of sophisticated people looking with disapproving eyes at me.  My Mom tried to educate me that openness is a feeling that can exist anywhere.  Not sure I believed her though.  I was highly worried the whole way up on the train.  Torrid rain made the open suggestion that I was right to notch fear in my mind next to New York.

A nice talk on the way up made me more relaxed.  Mom showed all sorts of things we would do in the city to help me create another visual plan of how the whole trip would play out.  My “golly gee” moment came when the train pulled into the Grand Central Station and we saw a sewer rat.  I knew I was in the city now.

Then we almost hit the rainstorm head on as we trunk-rolled our suitcases in the subway after my Dad, who travels a lot and knew just where to go.  So far, Mom was only annoyed by the rain, but I predicted Mom would be under duress and my tall Dad might meet her wrath soon.  Nowhere in the nice tunnel did I yet see anything that reminded me of NYC.  It was almost 11:00 pm when we finally got to our fine and formal elegant hotel room. In a pile of big pillows and blankets I got cozy, joining the rest of my tired rain-trodden family in riding the Lear jet straight to freaking sleep.

The next morning came.  I had highly anticipated this day for so long that I could not believe it was finally here.  My good efforts to get ready were lonely because Scott and Devon talk non-stop about their hopes for the day.  I stick by Mom, signaling its time to eat.  We walked outside into the sunshine on the corner of 8th Ave. and West 43rd St. in Midtown Manhattan.  I was highly blown away by the buildings and my open interest in every detail ensued.   Horrible smell of car exhaust mixed in the air with a variety of good food smells.  People everywhere, oozing out of every building, a sea of activity on the street, opulent dress on some and rags on others.  Indescribable was the energy reeling in the street.  It was the highlight of my life so far.

Next stop was a great little cafe that I described to my Mom as being right out of a Seinfeld episode.  My close family each found something scrumptious to eat here. I was so happy in this place in this moment.  But the Seinfeld idea took me back to my hobbled youth for a while.  When I was young my parents watched Seinfeld.  They also sometimes spoke to each other in Seinfeld actor quips.  My favorite memory of that was when I was really young and they held me in their arms as the really funny Kramer came into the room talking about a surprise birthday gift he had for Elaine, but Jerry only gave her cash.  Note to self: “Never give cash to a girl.”  My body might not work well, but I have been collecting notes about how to impress girls for a very long time.

Of course, understand it would be years before I could tell my parents about many intellectual thoughts I had as a youngster but to head into NYC with them both understanding my Seinfeld reference felt incredibly terrific.

My family is kind of a listening circle.  Mom finishes a sentence and my younger sister Devon asks the same question as if she didn’t hear anything.  Our little brother Scott answers Devon also as if nice Mom never spoke.  Dad chimes in with details and then Mom gets mad that it is clear nobody has been listening to her voice but me.  For example,  

Mom says, “The Top of the Rock building has the best view. We should start our morning there.”
Devon states, “The whole point of the trip is to get pictures so where is the best view?”
Scott emphatically declares, “We need to get high up Devon”
Dad gives his opinion, “I heard the best view is on top of Rockefeller Center and I know it is a high spot that would be great for pictures.”
Mom says, ” I just said that.  Was anyone listening?”

I laugh and mom pulls me close and says, “It’s a good thing I have you, Grant.” Yes, you have no idea how much I shine inside when she pours out these words.

It was a highly interesting ride on the elevator up to the top with a video history about the building on the ceiling.  A very mop-oriented wistful janitor was the first person we saw at the top, but he became more alive when my Mom said ”Hi” to him.  Mom often alerts to melancholic people everywhere and tries to connect.  It is one of the thoughts I have all the time.  Give her nice credit for always noticing who needs a lift – no pun intended.

Can you fear heights by looking at an old picture?  When I saw a mural of the men who worked on this nice building in the 1930’s, I could not believe the lack of safety harnesses. It is hard to imagine how anyone could forgo safety this high up.  I give credit to their bravery and dedication because open heights frighten me, freezing me in my tracks.  We look at so many sights from the top.  Down on the street people look to be specks moving.  Cars are the colors of medicines.  Yellow cabs are the most noticeable, giving a look of dusted gold to the streets.  Fantasy like images I am seeing from this viewpoint.

Mom wants to give me a chance to take things in, but Devon and Scott tried to see how fast they could ruin a fun day with their kooky behavior.  It is a treat to watch Mom try to stay calm in those moments.  I longingly suggest we get a babysitter for them big time but Mom launches into a lesson about respect for others and the two of them settle down, openly trying to please.  Unfettered Mom is incredible in those situations at teaching how to give then take in life.

It is very hard to fear the top of the roof with Scott relaying error-filled information non-stop.  My mind minces his errors until I can’t concentrate on my grand fear of heights.  I am going to thank him someday for that.  His erratic behavior has helped me conquer a lot of fears.  I figure if my future is honored with a really good job then I would really like to work with him if he will settle down.  It was good he helped me and I will help him.

Getting back to the tour, 30 Rock has two top decks.  The elevator took us to the lower top deck and then we climbed old stone steps to the very top deck.  I loved seeing the steps to the top deck because it felt as if the ghosts of the old men who built this structure worked right up to Heaven’s gate, curing their concrete and open frames of iron endlessly in every direction up to the sky.  I marveled so much at the opulent bewitching figures cut into the stone that I felt dizzy and Mom had to ask if I was ok. Mom longs to hear me type the details of the building and it goes on and on and on.  My siblings have a big need to take in points of interest, but to me, everything they don’t notice is really where the magic starts.  The buildings in the shadow of 30 Rock are assumed to be in an inferior position, but the sun bathes them in a different light, so I can make out the chores of those working inside.  I wonder about each life meaning for these people bound together by bricks.  I wonder if anything else binds them but the building.  I long to know if I could fit in here too someday.  This is a high lofty goal for me to live alone.  Can I die not knowing what it feels like to be a part of this city?  I tunnel deep in my mind to come to the conclusion that I cannot.  Voracious in my efforts I will be to make sure I make for up years of stunted progress to get my life back on track in as short a time as possible.

We then took the elevator down and walked outside into Rockefeller Plaza.  It was a good morning to Saturday window shop in the beautiful plaza if Mom needed a new shirt, which as it turns out, she did.  Sorry, no story for that incident.  The big Lego store hit Scott like a ton of bricks, again no pun intended.  His destiny is that he will build really big buildings.  His trite message will probably be to purge tradition and build especially fine buildings with Legos.

I highly wanted to belong here someday I decide.  Mom focused on showing us more but I was already sold.  Can going to a Broadway play be possible?  Could a brunch in Bryant Park go off without a hitch?  Can an open stroll through Union Square inspire me to move?  Stay tuned and find out.

The afternoon was turning out very much like I had both hoped and imagined.  My Dad was jonesing to go to Union Square.  Nobody knew why, but he was very excited to take us, so into the subway we went.  Mom gives Scott a lecture about safety near people and trains.  I learned she had been in a scary part of old Philadelphia during her college days.  For emphasis, she surrenders a tale to ante up dad, explaining that during years of train rides she would notice new bullet holes in glass on the way to the hospital where she trained. I hear this and suddenly am really scared big time but Mom assures me things are done differently here since a long ago mayor named Giuliani cleaned up the streets.  I think to myself, I want to learn more about him.

Now I notice both my parents hover a bit more than usual.  Years of an earnest life monitoring people helps me to notice the protective stance they’ve taken to block their children from harm.  Littered at the wayside under the train was another rat, letting loose my memory of the impression of fear from under 24 hours ago.  But now, a second rodent has the nice effect of reminding me of how good the trip had been already, leaving me longing to know if this rat is to be reprised at a later date, and in as meaningful a way as the last one was.

Birds are everywhere in Union Square, lightly pecking at seed.  I tend to give attention to the older people on benches in the park. I stencil in their image in my mind.  I think to myself about the future we might have if we move here someday.  Mom would have plenty of coffee shops and books to learn from all day.  Wired for sound our apartment would need to be for dad to feel at home.  Lots of other policies would need to be applied since my parents’ opposite poles would need to merge together to make NYC a good home.  A lodge-like apartment says mom and technology says dad.  Devon and Scott only bother with iPad apps lately, so they could live anywhere.  But for me, it would be a utopia of sensory information and people of all types, where I could nicely blend in.  I have nice thoughts of NYC every time I see older people at a park now.
Under a tree, in the nice calm park, Mom and I have a meeting of the minds as children play nearby.  Mom explained how people fear what they don’t understand and my behavior can frighten if parents are busy trying to protect their children, and I should take notice.  I am saddened to hear that when my kooky body launches out of my control, it causes those offended looks to ensue even though my wall is down to connect now.  I am going to try hard to change minds.  Bopping bodies are not to be feared, but need love and compassion.

I had a great day, but inside, I’m really unsure how much more of this I can take. We are pointing to Spider-Man on Broadway next.  Who would have thought the aura of nice Mom could keep me calm during this exciting solo kooky web-flying through the polite folks in the audience?  But I did it – Yeah!  I go a little crazy inside just thinking about the ability needed to do this.  Lord only knows near mountains moved that night.

The show hardly started mundane, with my important inside thoughts about Spider-Man.  I dearly loved the music and keen dancing, ordered, but nicely chaotic too.   In a truly treasured vicarious moment, I let out my laughter openly and had to leave for a few minutes.   Giggling is not allowed during a Broadway play so Mom answers the call to remove me.  It only took me a minute to recover nearing a moment of exhaustion and elation in the foyer.   I big time pulled off the urge to handle this as my first test for the New York Sinatra mantra, “If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere.” The show is then over and I’m ecstatic, years of logging failure after failure is falling away.  Each portion of the day has been a test for myself and I am acing the turtle guy routine, more of a slow and steady wins the race.  I am urging patience but only my Mom feels the list of kooky successes and knows why I can’t sleep even though I am exhausted.

In the morning, we head to breakfast in Bryant Park, only to see the high brow crowd gathering and I feel the familiar open feeling of terror that I will mess up. The building is a beautiful tracing among the trees. It is a green conservatory with marble dots on the floor, with open air flowing through.  King of the place I am when a kooky nice waitress seats us, but then we get a different woman and the good connection really isn’t there.  The food was great so nobody minds, and it is a treat to sit with whole family in such a pretty place on such a nice sunny morning.

As I finish writing this memoir sitting by the fire with my Mom on a snowy evening, I remember amber flames from another day long ago in 2011. My mom had brought me home sick from my private school and openly asked if I liked a fire and why. “Yes “ and “to make cozy”, I typed. It gives her hope to see my words, so I see to it that I give her more. She asks, “What do you need to start a fire?” I type,  

“wood”

“lighter”

“tiny hands”

She asks,  “What do you mean by tiny hands?” Since I could not talk I took her small hands in mine and motioned, “yes”, by nodding. I have no idea why but she starts to cry. Yes, you should have seen the cymbals clash in her eyes in that moment. She amplified her efforts to reach me from that goofy little interaction. I think back and wonder why I didn’t do it long ago. So much time was wasted. Nonsense really– thinking for so long I could not have a full life without a voice.

I very much want to inspire others to try to communicate. I hope to be a writer someday. Highly need to read my own body better to reach my goals but I am lonely no more in my own thoughts, thanks to that sick day by the country fire. I flash forward to the trip to NYC.  Again, another moment with Mom, but now my life identity is completely different.  I was on top of the world in the best moment of my life in nutty NYC.  I will still tremble when I think about that day on top of Rockefeller Center going hard to understand every detail of every building, and every precious moment of life going on below seemed somehow related to me that day.  My flash of genius was that I had certainly become a part of the world that had loitered in front of my eyes for so long.

My favorite stones are gray and smooth and stay cool; they trigger me to catch them off-guard by plunking them loudly into the water. Civilized they are, quietly enduring my needs for interaction. I give them credit for their tolerance of interpreted occidental further occurrences on another day.

I appeared more like a stone as an actor, but now, when I can share, you see the beauty inside.  Underestimated, it was always difficult to untangle my molecules. I was just one instance of stillness. Tightly stacked.

Yes.

I am now really looking to tell you that the smallest stone may have been through many storms that have reduced his size in your eyes. A feature that has allowed him to survive is his ability to be sacked again and again, while maintaining his core strength. This may appear like a lack of ambition to others.

I eagerly arrived in this life to share something. To easily inspire others is my purpose, but the stone-locked system I was born with divides me into productive in my mind, but not my body.  Absorbing the shocks in life at every turn is easier than instead letting the molecules relax, and possibly ceasing to exist.

I ask of you…when you come upon a stone, respect the strength it takes to be there in the first place. Then, thank him for changing the entire experience of your day as you happily plunk him into the pond.