That Aspie Sense of Humor

The report read:

"NJ began laughing at something during the test.  We were reading a simple passage about a girl on a bicycle.  There was no apparent reason for his laughter."

This is roughly what one of NJ's instructors noted after putting him through a battery of reading tests in kindergarten.

The tests confirmed that NJ is a good reader.

But the instructor's note rang a somewhat ominous tone.  As in: "Doesn't this child know that you're only supposed to laugh at FUNNY things, such as clowns, comic strips and knock-knock jokes?"

However, I patiently - like a saint - explained it during the followup meeting.

It's simply called an absurdist sense of humor.  

And it's something he inherited from his father (and to some degree his mother, who married his father, after all).

I have heard this is true of many Asperger's folk.  They have a sense of humor that might make Tom Stoppard jealous... or Steven Wright.

I mean, let's be honest.  Living with kids of any sort can sometimes be a challenge.  Kids can be willful.  They can be demanding.  They can be smarter than their own good, and certainly more intelligent than their parents.   

And all of these things are extra true if your guiding an aspie through this thing we call childhood.

But most days, I feel strongly that the rewards still, after all, come quite cheaply.

To me, one of the biggest rewards of all is something many aspie kids bring to the table, and that is an absurdist sense of humor... and one often centered on language. 

I know not all aspies have this trait, but I sense a lot of them do.  And I love it.  I mean LOVE it.

Tonight for example...

NJ was hopping out of the tub.  He was really tired, and kinda hanging from his shoulders like a damp Oxford shirt.  He stepped into his towel and leaned against me for a big wet hug, and he said something like "hug me... [indistinguishable]."  

I got the "hug me" but the second part sounded like "Garcia."

So I says, I says to the boy: "Okay, Hugme Garcia, let's get your clothes on."

It was a throwaway line.  I wasn't even going for a laugh. 

But something about it gave NJ the giggles.  He told me to say it again, which I did.  And then I began giggling, and looking at him giggling.  And it was like looking into a mirror, somewhat high, and recognizing the total absurdity of human existence as we know it.

There we were, looking into each other's eyes and laughing like madmen.

What a blessed relief from the yoke of Meaning.  The shackles of logic.  The manacles of responsibility.

By the time I tucked him in for bed, we were still laughing about it.  He even threw in some twists:  "How about, Garcia Mehug?"  Although he never did tell me what he actually had said, the thing I heard as "Garcia."

Kid's a genius, I tell you.  And he's oftentimes a pure joy.  

Makes me want to stop for a moment and think about all the little things about the kids that would make any sensible person grateful... even on the toughest of days. 

Thank you, NJ.