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How Do You Recognize Me?

I recently discovered that R has prosopagnosia (face blindness). I didn’t understand just how pronounced it was until he revealed, after a few weeks of questioning, that he does not recognize me by looking at my face. He uses other cues, like hair, glasses, clothing and body shape.

So I said “R, how do you recognize me in the hallway at school when I’m standing there with a bunch of other moms?”

He mentioned my long brown braid, my glasses, my voice…”And this.” (pointing to my bra strap showing)

“You recognize me by my bra strap?”

“Yes. None of the other parents have that. Why is that???”



R counted all his money and it came to five dollars. He had an idea. He would give his money to people who had no money to buy food. On the way into the library he stopped a man who looked down on his luck – “Excuse me, if you don’t have any money, you might like to have this” – and handed him a quarter.

I explained that there might be a better way to give away money than to go up to people on the street. I told him we could donate money to the homeless shelter. He wasn’t convinced, so he wrote a note and taped it to the garage so passerbys could see it, come up to the door, knock, and get their money…


He turned on all the lights and ceiling fans in the house to signal to passers-by that they could come to the door to get their money. He knew the rule for trick-or-treating was that you only go to houses with the porch light on.

“5.00 of money and you can use that to buy food.”


When no one came to our door to claim the money, we addressed an envelope to the Shelter Association of our county. He signed his note, and after a lot of convincing, he let me put a bill instead of $5 in coins into the envelope.

He wanted to make sure it got to the homeless shelter, so he wrote Homeless Shel across the back of the envelope, and ter on the front when he ran out of room.



A few weeks later, R is still trying to give away his money. He put $10.30 into a wipes container and put it at the end of the driveway. “Take 1.00”


The money was out all afternoon. When he counted at the end of the day, there was $10.31. Did he miscount, or did someone add a penny? I told him that the people in our neighborhood probably don’t need money.


Today his idea was to fill these pouches he made with coins and take them downtown. People are supposed to reach in to get a coin, after which R would write it down. After much discussion, R agreed to give the money to someone who was collecting donations for the Children’s Hospital, and to simply put the money in the bucket without making the person reach into the pouches. We talked about giving freely, with no strings attached.


Wait, I thought autistic people lacked empathy???

It’s Just Ketchup

It's Just Ketchup


I jumped up to find R sitting on the floor next to his chair, his plate on the floor next to him. Ketchup was splattered from head to toe and all over the wall next to him. He wasn’t hurt, no. As I rushed toward him he said:

“Mom! It’s not blood! It’s just ketchup!”

Yes, I said, it’s not blood, it’s ketchup!


Yes! It’s ketchup!


Yes! I know it’s not blood, it’s ketchup!



By this time he was on his feet, I was wiping ketchup from his hair, and he was getting more and more agitated. He was CONCERNED that I might think he was covered in blood. And this, my friends, is what a language processing disorder can look like. Stress + overwhelming need to communicate something important = receptive language takes nosedive. I grabbed a pen and tried to scribble my affirmation about the ketchup…but the pen didn’t work. I grabbed another pen. By the time I finished writing my message, he was back to Minecraft, oblivious to me and ketchup.

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