17. 'Tis the Season

December 7, 2021

We tiptoe into the holiday season around here.

We decorate, just a little. We find a present or two, maybe. We socialize, in moderation. We bake, a lot.

When your only child dislikes change, could do without crowds and noise, and has no interest in gift giving or receiving, finding joy at Christmas can be a challenge.

In my Scroogiest moments, I say we’d do better to just fast forward to the New Year. Adding extra “to dos” to my everyday responsibilities, not to mention still living under this never-ending pandemic and feeling heavy-hearted for friends who are missing loved ones this year? Bah-humbug, indeed.

And it doesn’t help me get into the spirit that my son’s autism makes it difficult for him (and those around him) to enjoy many of the holiday traditions that once defined the season for me.

He has become less tolerant of Christmas decorating in recent years. Making too many changes in our home makes him uneasy. He’s much more likely to participate in the un-decorating in January, happy to restore order to the house.

When he was younger, my mom and I hoped to pass on our tradition of a special night out to see the Nutcracker ballet. He didn’t feel the magic as much; the first act was an exercise – literally – of holding my left leg askew, a barrier protecting the patron in front of us from my son’s jiggling feet. My boy opted not to return to his seat after intermission, content to leave Clara still in her dreamland, waiting forever outside the Sugar Plum Fairy’s castle.

The other hallmark of my childhood Christmases – a modest church hall transformed into beauty with fragrant pine wreaths, candles, and incense, and filled with the fellowship of strangers singing carols together – doesn’t hold the same mystery for a child who is hyper-sensitive to all those sights and sounds and smells.

Likewise, a boisterous family gathering – with many cooks in the kitchen, rearranged furniture, and loud conversations competing with the football game on TV – is less than merry for someone who wears earplugs to tolerate everyday noise levels. My son loves to see his family, but he flits in and out of the group, appearing briefly to snag a cookie or a grandpa tickle before retreating to turn down our volume.

Buying gifts for my son is both difficult and easy. He does not ask for anything and is rarely interested in receiving new things. He isn’t eager to participate in a Christmas morning gift exchange – my husband and I will open a few presents, and our son will hover to make sure we clean up the wrappings quickly. Any gift I still insist on wrapping up for my kid (it’s just a hard habit to break) will linger unwrapped into the New Year, or at least until he gets tired of me pleading, “What is it? Open your present!”

---

‘Tis the season. We make it what we can. Like most special needs families I know, we find ways to make joy accessible and drop the rest.

Each year, I’m hopeful my son might be interested in helping to decorate for the holiday. He will even begin to say things about Christmas as Thanksgiving arrives. Although he no longer plays with the toy nativity my Godmother gave him when he was a toddler, it’s sweet to hear him recite the names he learned: “Mary. Joseph. Baby Jesus. Sheep. Shepherd. Donkey. Camel. Wise Man. Wise Man. Wise Man.”

But when the bins of decorations come out, he’s not a willing participant, so I settle for a few hints of Christmas and leave most of it packed away. Ah, less is better, really, anyway…

We won’t take him to church, or to the ballet. Even the “special needs night” at the local train park that was our annual tradition for years has fallen out of favor.

His need for quiet reminds me that I also crave simplicity away from most of the hustle and bustle, especially as public spaces get noisier at this time of year.

We’ll take a drive together, or walk in our neighborhood, to see everyone’s light displays. We can “go” to concerts or see movies on our TV at home, and if he wanders in and out of the room, that’s OK.

We won’t ask him to pose in fancy holiday attire for family photos, but I can be assured of some level of “dressing up” when he agrees to wear a new-ish jacket or hoodie over his familiar t-shirts.

When we gather with family, I’ll be reminded that we have the most supportive, kind, accommodating family that we could ask for. They all accept him as he is, offer love in fidgets and food, and welcome him at whatever level he can attend. That’s such a gift to us, really.

And, I’ll fill the void of a mutual gift exchange with my son by indulging him in the one holiday tradition that he truly loves.

Here come the Christmas cookies.

In the spirit of the season, I will set aside my relentless quest to clean up our diets and encourage healthier eating.

I’ll play the Nutcracker Suite or other holiday music to set the mood while we follow our family recipes and make a mess of the kitchen. My son will help some, and supervise more, and taste-test every batch.

We will practice gift-giving by sharing cookies with our friends and neighbors, my boy always wary that we don’t give away too many.

We’ll gather in small doses with family, wear comfy clothes, and balance out the stress of the season with sugar.

We’ll head into the New Year fatter but happier.

There’s certainly some joy in that!