...walk this way...

Last year there was a utility crew working on our street for a few weeks, cleaning up debris and repairing the damage done by Sandy.  We'd see them early in the morning as we walked down the drive and waited for Mister Man's schoolbus to arrive, then again later in the day when he came home.  The roar of their vehicles and electrical equipment was deafening, and it made my ritual of reading aloud "The Hardy Boys" impossible.  All their ruckus disturbed the very air, filling it with dustclouds and sawdust and displaced insects.    So rather than read or sit and converse, we took to walking.  Pacing up and down the street, arm in arm, for 10 minutes or so until the bus pulled up.  

(I've always made it a habit to incorporate some down-time into our morning routine by heading down the drive early, so that he has ample time to de-stress and de-compress before heading onto "the battlefield".  Since we rise before the sun in order to fit in therapy time, it's a necessary indulgence.)

The utility workers looked on with curiosity the first few times they saw us walking by...back and forth, forth and back.  But by the third day, they were just as used to us as we were to them and we each ignored one another as best we could. One of them, though, must have been paying attention when I covered Mister Man's ears with my hands as we walked past their workspace and he kept an eye out for us.  As we approached he'd look up, nod, and switch his tool off.  The grinding sound paused just enough for us to get  past, and then kicked back into gear once we were clear.  By week's end, Mister Man had gotten in on the action...nodding back as we approached, then using his hand behind him to wave the tool back on.  This funny little backhanded motion as though he was in charge.  

Work progressed somewhat slowly, and we became quite used to the scene at the bottom of the drive.  But at the end of two week's time, the construction vehicle herd had thinned considerably.  The following Tuesday, after Mister Man's bus departed and left my frantically waving self in it's dust, one of the few remaining workmen crossed over the roadway and called out to me.  I stopped, unsure.  He approached, taking off his ballcap and rustling his hand through his hair quickly.  I waited.  

"I just...well, I just wanted to say goodbye Ma'am.  And to tell you that's one special boy you've got there.  But he's the lucky one.  You're the only parent we've seen actually wait with their kids.  That's special. You two walking down and back, instead of just sitting in a car. So much better.  My mom did the same thing.", he burst out at me.  Startled, I didn't really register what he had said.  "Um, ok", I got out, right before he cut me off.  "He's special-needs or something, right?  I mean, oh man, I hope that's not wrong."  I stopped him this time and replied "Yes, he is. He's on the autism spectrum, but he's doing really well." "Oh, good, I mean, yeah..." he said.  "I thought so.  I saw the way he'd shrink and tense up when the machines got louder and how you held his hand and then his ears.  Hope we didn't make things to hard on you.  Anyway, just wanted to tell you that you are a special mom.  You remind me of my mom.  I had problems too, but she never let me let them get in the way.  You keep it up.  He's going to thank you someday."

And with that, he slipped his cap back on and walked back across the street.  I stood there, rooted to the spot for a moment, wondering what had just happened.  Then my phone buzzed in my pocket, and I waved at their backs as the crew packed up and drove away and I walked back up to the house.

We leave the house early and walk down the driveway.  I snap pictures, encouraging him to look right at me and focus on my voice.  Sometimes we sit at the bottom where old paving stones jut out from the dirt right at the edge of the woods, and read together.  Often he works away diligently at his Transformers drawings, while I read aloud.  But some mornings we walk arm in arm..back and forth, forth and back.  He'll clench my hand tightly if the trucks whizzing by are to loud or the sun is to bright or something startles him.  And I'll use my other hand to cover his ear, shade his eyes or squeeze his shoulder.  

I keep it up. 

~Leanna