Another Kind of Party

Liam was invited to join his mainstream class at their end of the year party at my favorite place, Pump It Up. (In the previous sentence, italics mean sarcasm.)

I offered to drive some kids in my car--two boys from the class who were so sweet with Liam, holding his hand while we walked to my car. They were full of questions about him--how old is his sister? where does he live? where did he go to school before? Finally, the boy in back said, "Um, Liam's mom? How old was Liam. . .when. . . um, when he. . .?
"Do you want to know how old he was when he got autism?" I said.
"Yeah."
"Well, we don't know exactly, but probably since he was a baby and maybe even since he was born. He was different from other babies. Are you wondering how he got it?"
"Yeah."
"We don't really know that either. We just know his brain works a little differently and that even though he's smart, some things--like making friends--are hard for him. That's why you and your friends are such good helpers for him."
"Yeah, we always help him."
The other kid mentioned a family friend with autism and some ways in which he's different. We had quite a nice, mature talk about it, with Liam listening, of course, sucking his thumb and looking out the window.

Once we got into the "play" portion of Pump it Up, I regretted offering to drive. It became clear that Liam was not interested in jumping on the inflatables for two hours. Liam was interested in breaking every rule at Pump it Up, in plain view of the sour-faced teen aged attendants. He strode up the slide steps with no mat, he dove into the ball pit without waiting in line, he went the wrong direction into the obstacle course and stayed in beyond the allotted time frame--all grievous crimes, to be sure. Guess whose job it was to chase him around? If I hadn't brought the other kids, I could have taken him back to school, which I threatened to do anyway. No effect. "Why does this have to be so hard? Why can't you just have fun?" I quietly pleaded with him, "This one time, could you PLEASE do what the other kids are doing? Just bounce in the goddamn filth-ridden germ holes?"

I finally came to the conclusion that he didn't like being there (I'm quite a genius) and I would have to find some sane way to occupy the remainder of time before cake and pizza. Thanks be to God, I had some books in my car. I asked a kind mom to look after him, while I ran out to get them. When I arrived with my stack of books, a group of the girls surrounded us. Liam was happy reading and listening. Some of the girls borrowed books; they were tired of inflatables and ready for pizza and cake, too. The remainder of the afternoon passed without incident, at least nothing that would qualify as an incident in life with Liam.

The scary part about this is that he was invited to a birthday party there this Friday. This one is Rob's turn, because I swear to you I will go straight to hell before I take him back to that place again. Peer interaction, my ass.