At the zoo

Image via Wikipedia

"Remember the good times," I whispered to our departing visitor at the airport.

After a lovely couple of days, the last 24 hours were rocky. When we sat down to seder, Diver announced, "This is wrong. I should be at Auntie L's. That's my routine. I always go to seder at Auntie L's. " And there he stayed stuck. Nothing we did was right. Eventually he stormed off to his room, reappearing after our guest had gone to bed. "I hate having guests," he declared.

He seemed better in the morning, and we set out for a day at the zoo. As we approached, he had a major outbreak of autism: "Are all these cars going to the zoo? All these cars are going to the zoo! It will be too crowded! Where will we park? Park here! Park here! Don't talk. Come on. Come on. Walk faster, walk faster! Two adults and one child. I know I don't look like a child but I'm only 12. Bye. Meet you at the Minnesota Trail."

And he was off. He was on high anxiety all day, complaining about our pace, our jokes, our age, muttering "I hate guests." What did our guest think of all this? What does any outsider think of all this? What do I think of all this?

Today is another day; my birthday, as it happens. And I have to pull out my special yardstick, the one custom made for measuring Diver's growth. Mark #1: Diver gave me a birthday gift.

Mark #2: The gift (a Swiffer Wet-Jet) was exactly what I wanted. Mark #3: He paid for it with his own money. Mark #4: Keeping his impulsivity in check, he kept it under his bed until today.

So I got a lot more than a mop.