I'm sure it is a common family tale told around many Thanksgiving tables; the young child filled with compassion to the point of overflowing rescues some sickly, desperate animal who thereby becomes the beloved family pet. The greater the need of the animal, the greater the love, and then of course, the harder it is for the parents to say no. And they can't. Now, we too, have our own version that timeless story. Not without a twist, of course.
It is often assumed that children with ASD have a fundamental lack of empathy. Often this seems very true, like when my boys laugh at someone who is hurt or make a hurtful (albeit true) observation. However, I've always felt this bit of conventional wisdom was at best an oversimplification and possibly completely and utterly wrong. It is true that the boys often miss the social clues that might generate empathy in others, but I wouldn't regard that as a deficit in empathy, but rather of awareness. When they do become aware of the suffering of another the impact, the feeling of empathy, often seems overwhelming to them. So much so that I've often wondered if as opposed to a lack of empathy they actually possess it in excess to the point that they have to shut it off completely to avoid it's crushing heaviness.
Recently Daniel, who generally shows a stunning disregard for the material world around him put on an impressive display of compassion and empathy. Like the classic young child of so many family stories who takes in and nurses a bedraggled and half starving kitten and continues to protect it for years to come, Daniel rescued something of his own and is now fiercely protective of it. He worries about it. He checks on it. He makes arrangements for its safety when he is gone.
It is a nickel. A completely ordinary nickel, minted in 1994.
The nickel first came into my awareness when he suddenly sat upright in his top bunk as I began our nighttime story. He leaned over the bed and peered down intently at his desk. When asked why he said he was just checking on something and that was the end of it. The next night, when the process nearly repeated itself, I began to ask more questions. He was checking on his nickel, making sure it was safe. He said it was special, but didn't say why. Certainly odd behavior for Daniel, who typically cares not one cent for money and will open a card and lose any birthday money it might contain within seconds, letting it fall idly to the floor. The next night he went into more detail as he began to build a sort of protective shrine around the nickel. He had found it perched perilously above an open knot in the floorboards. He had saved it. He cried about it, how close it had come to being lost forever. He demanded the hole taped over before he would dare to move the nickel again. He searched out other dangerous holes in the house and demanded those be taped too. He checks on the nickel, to ensure its safety daily and before he goes to bed at night, he verifies that is safe. He won't let it be removed to a potentially safer location as he needs to KNOW that it is safe.
It may just be a nickel, but it is a start. The boys might not show empathy in the way most people expect, but it is there. It is there in an abundance.
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