When I was a child, I must have been the boy who cried wolf. Maybe I cried wolf and no one believed me or maybe there were wolves in my yard every day. But who cries wolf when the wolf lives in the house? Predators of all varieties lurk and slither about amongst us. Some may disguise themselves in grandparents’ clothes but mostly they hide in plain sight. Here, we mostly tolerate predators. Predators are in the constabulary and government and religious institutions and corporations alike. This is why I know, when the boy or girl cries nazi or rapist or murderer or thief or human trafficker or evil, most won’t believe or even care. The world may glance up for a moment, but then life will continue.
My autistic sense of justice conspires with my autistic joy to liberate a howl that can no longer be contained inside this puzzle-piece-shaped box. Now when I’m most overwhelmed, I get the largest balloon I can find (24” to 36” is best for bear hugs–hugs that would injure any pet, family member or lover) and execute what balloon enthusiasts call a blow-to-pop. The rage, fear, anger and sadness must go somewhere, so with each breath out I imagine inflating that balloon with all my pain, my negative emotions, my trauma and my tension, releasing it all at once with explosive surprise and equally explosive relief. Crying for catharsis is standard.
When we no longer have mass shootings or untested rape kits or armed force used on peaceful
protestors or predator presidents or missing client lists or corporations that are individuals or kids
in cages or black sites or rights that are suggestions or war or terrorism or genocide or famine;
not until the return of integrity and leadership and freedom and journalism and an educated and
informed populus and tolerance and decency, then and only then can we ask of any human child
upon this earth: have you seen a wolf today? Yes, I saw a wolf today. For me, autism means
saying I see wolves even after being raised by wolves.
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