SHELLY HUHTANEN

Connection and Understanding

I have a son with autism. I, of all people, would know not to make assumptions about anyone, but here I was, doing it. I knew what I needed to do. I needed to close the gap and reach out to this man.

I read a story a few days ago on social media that stuck with me over the weekend. A mom, along with her child with autism, had just experienced trying to maneuver through a busy airport while attempting to console the child. As she described his meltdown due to him feeling overwhelmed, she continuously reverted back to how hard she tried to keep it together and do all the right things to help her child. I couldn't help but feel like I was right there with her since she was so descriptive with his behavior and what she was doing to try and calm him. I could feel her stress and worry because I have been there.

 She felt she needed to journal her experience once she had calmed her son on the plane because she realized she couldn't keep her emotions hidden any longer. She broke down crying. She shared a picture of herself with swollen, tear-filled eyes. Seeing her face after reading her honest and vulnerable post hit home even harder. One of her last comments was, "I sit down silently sobbing next to a man on the plane who probably has no idea what the heck is wrong with me."

As I read that line over and over again, I wish I could have teleported myself to that place in time and asked that man to say something. Anything. He wouldn't have had to say anything poetic. He could have asked a simple question like, "Are you ok?" or "I see that you are crying." It would have been up to her to decide how much information she wanted to disclose, but at least she would not be living in a vacuum, something I've noticed that I have done from time to time. Something that I realized I needed to be more aware of and change.

In the mornings after I drop Broden off at clinic, I drive straight to the gym that is located nearby. I know that if I head home and go later on, I will find 100 reasons why I should not go later on that day. Every morning, I treat my exercise class or time on the BLIND SPOT: "I tried to be nice to the guy at my exercise class whose workout bench was in the center of the group. I've said hello many times, but he would just walk on by like he didn't see me. I thought that maybe I wasn't cool enough to be acknowledged." treadmill like a meeting. Since I've done a pretty good job with making it to class over the past few months, I've had the pleasure of getting to know some of the regulars and also, unfortunate ly, taking time to make plenty of assumptions about people while pleasantly living day to day in a vacuum. For example, there are a few people that always secure a spot in front of a weight class that I take twice a week. They very rarely miss a class and if they do, that area stays vacant almost out of a sense of respect for the individuals who normally choose that spot.

I admit, if I'm having a bad morning and I'm seeking out situations that annoy me, I think to myself, "Oh look at those teacher's pets up there. They just have to be up front." I tried to be nice to the guy whose workout bench was in the center of the group and I've said hello many times, but he would just walk on by like he didn't see me. I thought that maybe I wasn't cool enough to be acknowledged. Was I not considered a regular yet? How long would it take to establish that title?

One day, I overheard a person in the front row tell someone else to move over for her friend who was running late. As I started to roll my eyes in infinite disgust, I heard her say, "My friend is legally blind and needs to be close to see the instructor. That is why we always hold his spot for him."

Once I heard her comment, my mouth dropped and I felt tremendous guilt and disgust. I can't believe I did the one thing that I complain about with so many people. I knew better than this. I have a son with autism. I, of all people, would know not to make assumptions about anyone, but here I was, doing it. I knew what I needed to do. I needed to close the gap and reach out to this man. Most of all, I needed to clear my conscience.

The next week, I approached him on the stairs after class, "I apologize if I am too direct, but I heard you are legally blind." He looked in my direction and confirmed what I thought to be true. I said, "I'm writing a column and I was going to write about you. I thought you were ignoring me these past few months, but you weren't. You couldn't see me. I'm sorry for misjudging you. To be perfectly honest, I thought you were being a snob."

At the bottom of the stairs he stopped and giggled. We spent about 30 minutes talking about autism, disabilities, and what it was like to be blind. He told me about how much he used to love cutting hair when he could see and how his life changed once he became blind. He has been determined to live a productive life.

As we said goodbye, he asked for my name. Then he looked very close at my face and examined my eyes and the curve of my face. He then examined my hair. He took a step back and said, "Shelly, when you see me again, call out my name and say who you are. Then I will know to smile and say hello." Once I told him that I would keep him anonymous when writing about him in my column, he said, "You write in the column that my name is Sam."

The next day, I looked for Sam. I ran over to say hello and yelled out, "It's me! Shelly!" He walked over to me and looked close and said, "Hello Shelly. I see that you're wearing your hair down today." Even though he is considered legally blind, he had such an eye for detail that others would deem unnoticeable. For a man who is legally blind, he took time to see me. I hope there is someone that will cross paths one day with the woman who was silently sobbing on the plane this weekend. Someone who will take time to reach out and connect with her. Everyone has a story and their story is worth sharing. Shared stories lead to shared meaning. Shared meaning leads to feeling more connected in the world. •

PUZZLES & CAMO

Shelly Huhtanen is an Army wife stationed at Fort Jackson, SC who has a child with autism. She enjoys sharing her experiences of day-to-day life caring for her son with autism while serving as an Army spouse. She authored "Giving a Voice to the Silent Many" that encompasses many stories of raising a child with autism in the military. Shelly is passionate about autism advocacy for our military and works to bring awareness to our local legislators and command about providing better support for our military autism community, such as better health care and education.