Asperger's and Graduation

Stephen graduated from high school last week. My son would have preferred to skip the graduation ceremony, but he dutifully participated in the ceremony without complaint, because he knew it was important to me. It perplexed him that people made such a big deal about graduating from high school. The Prom, yearbooks, cap and gowns and graduation parties were the furthest things from Stephen's mind as his high school experience drew to a close.

First day of preschool for Stephen, age 2

         
Stephen started preschool when he was two years old to give him the opportunity to socialize with other children. I didn't know it then, but there was little the preschool could do to develop my son's social skills. A later diagnosis of Aspergers Syndrome would provide the key to understanding why appropriate actions and responses in social situations eluded a boy who was so bright.

It's amazing to look back at the tow-headed boy holding my hand on that first day of preschool and to recall our journey together through the past 13 years of school. Stephen received his diagnosis in first grade and the ensuing years in the public school system were extremely challenging for a socially compromised boy and his mother.

Most of the time I love the qualities that make Stephen different from other kids, but there are times I wish he was "normal." The evening of May 17, 2011 was one such occasion. During the weeks that preceded graduation, I looked for any spark of excitement about this rite of passage that most teens relish: there was none. I was frustrated with his apathy and a little resentful that I couldn't enjoy the graduation of my first child like other mothers.

As I watched the ceremony from the bleachers of the football field, I couldn't see Stephen, but I suspected my son was probably miserable. I hoped the excitement of other graduating seniors would be infectious and Stephen would internalize what a milestone this night was in his life.


Class of 2011

After returning home that night, I uploaded pictures from graduation, hoping to find some evidence of my son acting "normal" at his graduation. I enlarged one of the photos and saw something that touched my heart. As new graduates from the Class of 2011 were looking skyward, tossing their caps into the air and celebrating, I perceived a tiny figure standing in a sea of green gowns on the 30 yard line, looking at the ground and covering his ears with his hands.

That figure was my son.

Stephen was miserable at his graduation ceremony as his senses were assaulted by the chaos on the football field. I imagined how difficult it must have been for him maintain his composure on the field as people were screaming and bumping into him. While the photograph reminded me of how different Stephen was from his peers, it also was a powerful illustration of his willingness to endure an agonizing two hours to make me happy.

On a warm night in May while families gathered to honor the academic achievements of the Class of 2011, I realized that my son's presence on the football field represented a child honoring his mother.