A Snapshot Of Jeremy

                     
From the kitchen, I hear the muffled
sounds of things going on in my son’s

bedroom that shouldn’t be going on in
any room in any house. I soon find my-

self politely shrieking, “Jeremy, whatev-
er you’re doing, stop it!” (Variations on

this parental admonition are atop the daily
play list of all homes populated by autistic

children.) On my return to my son’s room,
I’m not sure exactly what he’s done but at

least it’s stopped. Jeremy’s as-yet-to-be-de-
termined shenanigans have segued into sus-

tained giggling, perhaps in the sheer delight
of my not knowing what he’s been up to. I

turn the TV off & inform Jeremy that he’ll
have to leave his bedroom if this keeps up.

I ask if he understands what I’ve just said.
Instead of responding with a simple Yes or

No, he nonchalantly stretches his right leg
out to its full extension, turns the TV back

on with his big toe & then gives me his most
innocent expression. However much I may

now desire to boldly assert my vast & final
authority, I’m helpless to do anything but

smile & surrender.