Barbie Bummer

While watching a video lecture by Tony Attwood on the topic of Asperger's syndrome, I received new insight on an experience I had in childhood. Tony Attwood describes part of the way he diagnoses or rules out Asperger's syndrome in children. He reads the child a story about a little girl who really, really wants a puppy for her birthday, but instead she receives a book. In the story, the little girl smiles at her parents and says, "Thank you. I like the book very much." Tony Attwood explains that when he asks why the girl in the story would say that, children without Asperger's know immediately that it's because she wants to be nice to her parents and not hurt their feelings by saying she was disappointed not to get a puppy. Children with Asperger's, says Attwood, can come to the same conclusion, but only after thinking it through carefully. This example shows the Aspie preference for openness and honesty over shielding other people's feelings from being hurt.

This example brought back a memory of a time when I received a gift I didn't like. As I remember, the gift was not from a relative but from an acquaintance of my parents, a lady I never saw again. I don't believe it was Christmas or my birthday either, so the fact that I was getting a gift at all made me excited. I had more than the usual anticipation in opening my present, and I really didn't have a clue what it could be. I just didn't expect it to be a Barbie doll. But it was. And I hated it.

For most seven-year-old girls, a Barbie doll like this one would bring ecstatic joy . . . but for whatever reason, I didn't want any more Barbie dolls. I did not have a large collection and seldom played with the ones I had. I played along when visiting other little girls who wanted to "play Barbie," but I'd rather have played almost any other game instead.

So I was disappointed. The next thing I knew, the nice lady who had given me this unwanted toy was asking, "Do you have one already?"

"No," I stuttered. "I don't have one already. Thank you very much." At that point, my mom started enthusing over the gift for me, and all I had to do was nod and attempt to smile when she said, "Ooh, isn't she pretty, Sharon Rose? Look at her sparkly gown and long, blonde hair!"

Of course, I had been ready and willing to say, "Thank you very much," when I opened my present. I knew enough to be polite when receiving a gift. And I actually wanted the lady to think I was happy with my present. What shocked me was that she realized I was disappointed in my gift without my saying so. I guessed by the way she asked if I already had the same doll that she could tell I was unhappy, and she was trying to guess the reason. I didn't like her knowing I was disappointed when I hadn't said so.

It was the first time I can remember realizing that my face communicated my feelings.

"A MERRY HEARTH MAKETH A CHEERFUL COUNTENANCE: BUT BY SORROW OF THE HEART THE SPIRIT IS BROKEN."

"IN EVERY THING GIVE THANKS: FOR THIS IS THE WILL OF GOD IN CHRIST JESUS CONCERNING YOU."

Override

The question, "How do I feel?" brought back to mind another experience from my elementary school days. I kept this memory alive through the years but I think this is the first time I bothered to put labels on the emotions I felt at the time. I felt embarrassed, shy, disappointed in myself, and afraid to admit I had made a mistake. As it turned out, none of those emotions were necessary, but they influenced a choice I made.

It was an ordinary day at school - fourth grade, I think - except that I would not be going home at the end of the day. My mom had arranged for me to spend the night with some friends of hers. Their two daughters were several years older than I. In fact, the eldest girl would be driving us back to her house, so she must have been at least 16.

I remember we stayed after school for a softball game, and then we got into the van and drove off. The girls were busy talking to each other, and I did not need much attention. I was content to be left to think my own thoughts on the long drive . . . until I suddenly realized that I had left my overnight bag at school. I was horrified at my mistake, and my thoughts spun round and round while I stared at the floor of the van where the bag should have been. I knew it would make sense for me to speak up and tell the driver, in case she wanted to turn around and go back for my bag.

But somehow, I couldn't make up my mind to tell her. My feelings of shame were intense, and I didn't like to think about what reaction I would get if I admitted that I had been forgetful. Now that I think about it, fourth grade was a time when I forgot my milk money, forgot my field trip money, and forgot to have permission slips signed. (My mom says she was the forgetful one, but I forget now whether or not it was her fault.) Forgetfulness got me into trouble. So maybe that's why I was too nervous to speak up. After all, as an Aspie, I wanted to be perfect. I prided myself in being mistake-free!

Besides, I was a very quiet child and seldom initiated a conversation, even with my own classmates. To interrupt the driver's carefree dialogue with her sister would be rude, wouldn't it? That thought kept me even more tongue-tied.

I waited it out till we pulled up at the house, and the driver saw for herself that my bag was missing. I remember that she did all the talking about how it was a long way back to school and that she would ask her mom what to do. Then her mom did some more talking, told me I could borrow a nightshirt and use an extra toothbrush, and that my bag would still be where I had left it tomorrow. So I felt relieved and stopped worrying. But this memory stayed with me as an example of how my feelings, intense and unnamed, could override my rational mind in decision-making.

"WHEN PRIDE COMETH, THEN COMETH SHAME: BUT WITH THE LOWLY IS WISDOM."