Nitty-Gritty Encounter with an Angry Yekke

Movies and Chinese at the synagogue was a nice time.
The food was good. The movie was Operation Thunderbolt, the Israeli film version of the raid on Entebbe. We have all seen the movie, with the exception of A., but we enjoyed it again. A. did not know much about the raid on Entebbe and enjoyed it the first time.

After the movie and after eating, we let the kids socialize while we talked with some adults around us. And as I was talking to a couple of pretty good friends, I had one of those nitty-gritty moments in which my parenting, for lack of a better term, was called into question.

Mrs. K., a woman that I know only slightly came marching up while I was talking. I finished kibbitzing with the people around me, and they moved off. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Hi, (first name).
Mrs. K.: How old is N.?
Me: (not grokking the context) Oh, he'll be fourteen this coming Friday.
Mrs. K.: Well! Ever since I've known him, and I used to help out at (name of school), N. has been making messes and wandering off!
(I always get nervous when people start talking in exclamation points. I was further non-plussed here by the reference to N.'s second grade year. It's been seven years since then. I decided to stay calm and see what transpired).
Me: And...?
Mrs. K.: N. made a mess with some fortune-cookie wrappers. I told him to pick them up, but he didn't. (She seemed more angry than the situation warranted. I was wondering what else happened).
Me: Where did this happen? (I hadn't noticed any commotion in the room).
Mrs. K. (pointing to the foyer): There. Finally, I had to tell my son to pick them up!
Me (wondering about the intensity of her feeling): Was N. rude to you?
Mrs. K: No. He ignored me.

Now there was a lot I could have asked at this point. I was wondering if she got N.'s attention before she spoke to him, because N. has AS and is often oblivious to what is going on around him. I also wondered why she was so emotional about the situation. It sounded like a fairly straightforward encounter in which she could have pressed her advantage as the adult and gotten N. to do what he was told fairly easily. And why was she so angry if N. had not said anything rude?

I was also feeling a little defensive. I was thinking back to N.'s second-grade year at the school she mentioned. I had never heard that there were any problems of that sort back then, had I? No other person has ever mentioned these sorts of problems with N. that year. Why hadn't someone brought it up with me then? Have I been oblivious to this obvious imperfection in my child for the past seven years? Wow. I must not be a very good parent.

And what is this about N.'s age? As the mother of a child with neurological impairments, I was instantly thrown back to the days when, as I struggled to pull my overwhelmed sensory-sensitive five year old out from under a table where he took refuge from chaos, people would tell me that I should "give him something real to cry about." I would hear comments about how no child "his age" should act that way. If they were the parent, they would see to it that he behaved, by god! And I would bitterly think that if they were the parent, they'd probably be jailed for child abuse before they would get a child with autism to "behave" given their ignorance of the child and the situation.

Inside the woman that I have become, the mother of a child with ASD, the professional with expertise on autism, still lives the new mother who wanted to avoid going out in public in order to protect a fragile sense of worth from such judgement by asses--you know, those who assume expertise without knowledge. Those who know best because they are ignorant of the complexities of other lives. Inside of me during the present encounter anger was building, as I imagined the gossip that had gone on about me and N. among some of these ignoramuses seven years ago. And so I did what my mother told me to do when encountering anger. I counted to ten. It has taken me nearly fifty years to become consistent at taking my mom's advice.

Anything I said to this woman about N.'s disability would just be perceived as excuses. Besides, she was carrying bad feelings from years ago, and probably had gossiped about over the years, nurturing her image of my son into a foil against which to measure her parenting as much better than mine. The problem was really more hers than mine. When dealing with any child, not just one with AS, it is a good idea to get his attention and talk calmly to him one-on-one to get the desired results. That's just good communication. Maybe N.'s reaction was because he had not even noticed the situation. He is, by definition, oblivious to the social situations happening around him. Maybe her anger made him shut down. He does not understand strong emotions in others and is often frightened by them. And maybe he was just acting like a young teenager. That would actually be improvement for him! I didn't know. So I decided that the best course of action was to mollify this woman and see what was going on with N.

Me: Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. K. I was momentarily distracted and I didn't realize what was happening. I will speak to N. straight away. That's him, over there. Would you please excuse me?

I pulled N. from a scrum of children reaching for chocolate cake, and brought him to the lounge where it was quiet. I asked him what had transpired.

Me: Honey, did something happen with Mrs. K.?
N: Mrs. K.?
Me: Did you notice Mrs. K. in the foyer a while ago?
N: Oh, yeah. She was yelling at I. (her son) to pick up something from the floor. She was mad, so I left."

He had noticed her, but was totally oblivious to his part in the encounter. He was afraid of her strong emotions, and he had cleared out. He did ignore her, but for different reasons than she assumed. He missed the social context completely. It was understandable to anyone who knows something about AS. At the same time, it was a teachable moment for me and my son.

Me: Boychick, Mrs. K. had a different idea about what happened out there. Listen and I'll explain.

I told him what her point of view was and why it was important. I told him that when adults come to talk to kids, it's best to pay attention. We practiced the proper way to respond politely to an angry adult. Then I took him over to apologize to Mrs. K. for not picking up the wrappers. I explained to N. that I understood that he had not deliberately been rude to her, but that sometimes, for "social reasons," apologizing is the best response.

We have talked many times about the different needs of neurotypicals, and that sometimes it's best to mollify them and get on with life. It makes things go more easily in future encounters. This is what we mean when we say "social reasons."

Later N said: Mom, is Mrs. K. a Yekke?"

"Yekke" is the Israeli appellation for a German Jew. Someone obsessed with order and orders. Someone who always wears a jacket (yekke) and tie, even when the temperature climbs above 100 degrees during the hamsim. Someone who has all their cups lined up in order in the cupboard, and has the same standards for the rest of the world. Someone who is not comfortable unless they are getting the sabras (native Israelis) up to snuff.

Me: I don't know, darling. But remember, our congregation is a yekke congregation. Rabbi S.'s congregation is more relaxed. The rules are different in each place.

This is true. Reform Judaism has a certain formalistic cobb up its collective butt. That's why we do the fun holidays like Purim at Chabad. There, people are too busy kibbitzing and dancing to notice a few messes. A round of schnapps, and the world looks pretty good just as it is. The place is always in a state of incipient disorder anyway. And nobody cares. We all pitch in to pick up later.

Each congregation has its own, endearing and sometimes, exasperating qualities.

But different rules for different places are hard for Aspies to grasp. We are working on it.
And I think that the learning we did yesterday was good learning.
But I have no illusions that N. will consolidate this learning and act perfectly according to yekke standards in his next encounter with Mrs. K. In fact, I counseled him to avoid run-ins with her.

Why should we become further grist for the congregational yekke gossip mill?