Recently, while browsing online, I stumbled upon a headline claiming a connection between autism and circumcision. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity. Over the years, I’ve encountered countless theories about what causes autism, including:
- Mercury exposure
- Lead contamination
- Insufficient maternal bonding
- Certain pesticides
- Plastics and their effects
- Gluten’s impact on autism spectrum disorder
- A suggestion that children with autism should eat more strawberries
- Excessive car exhaust as a leading factor
- Chemicals from non-stick cookware
The idea about maternal bonding strikes a personal chord. I struggled to connect with my son, Max, when he was a baby. He had a knack for wailing and fussing for what felt like an eternity. While he began sleeping through the night at six weeks, it was short-lived, and soon I was sleep-deprived, leading to constant squabbles with my partner, Alex. Meanwhile, my first child, Sam—sweet, easygoing Sam—was just a year old, making Max’s fussiness even more apparent.
Yet, I can confidently say that no one on earth is more bonded to Max now. And guess what? He still has autism.
I’ve come to understand that the cause of Max’s autism is quite simple. Drum roll, please: Max has autism because, as his younger brother Leo puts it, he was “bornd-ed” with it. I genuinely believe autism is a genetic condition. Somehow, the combination of my DNA and Alex’s resulted in a child who perceives Wednesdays as orange. Perhaps his unique genetic makeup makes him more sensitive to environmental factors like lead, mercury, and plastics.
As for the strawberries, that one remains a mystery.
I used to blame Alex’s family for the autism gene, but during a recent family gathering, I found myself pondering that notion.
Not long ago, I was at a café when a woman approached me. She introduced herself and mentioned her daughter, Bella, who is in Max’s fifth-grade class. After a brief chat, she hesitated before saying, “Bella told me a boy called Max weird the other day.” I felt a pang of discomfort. “Oh, yes, that happens.”
“Bella told that boy Max isn’t weird; she said he’s exactly how he’s meant to be.”
This presents a dilemma. If I go around declaring autism to be an epidemic, demanding answers and cures, it seems contradictory to my message of acceptance and understanding. The delicate foundation we’ve built over the years could shatter.
However, it is somewhat of an epidemic. New families are forming, and perhaps they want insight into how to prevent this complex spectrum disorder. My own children will grow up and have children, and if autism stems from something like automotive exhaust, wouldn’t it be wise to know so we can all consider electric vehicles?
Still, I don’t want to dwell too much on the causes that I forget the essence of who Max is. I don’t care where it originated from, but I’m a little curious.
Ultimately, it doesn’t matter why Max has autism. What’s important is that there is absolutely nothing wrong with him. Sure, he might talk excessively about the various types of gum sold at Wal-Mart, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
I celebrate autism and its remarkable facets, even if it makes my son fixate on gum and Wal-Mart. He is both broken and whole. Autism is not anyone’s fault. Perhaps I should reconsider using Tupperware or encourage him to eat strawberries that he despises, or even repaint our home to ensure it’s free from lead. Maybe I should have shown him more love when he was a tiny swaddled infant.
As you can see, my feelings surrounding Max’s diagnosis are complex, akin to a prism displaying a myriad of colors. Some days, my doubts are quiet whispers; other times, they feel like shouts in my ear.
I’m not a scientist, nor do I claim to be, but I am a mother. I understand autism from this perspective—the rigidity, the obsessions, the struggles with having an aide in school. I know the disappointment, the fears, and the silent longing that comes with being perceived as different.
Living with someone who has autism often means you frequently utter the phrase “for now.” For now, the radio is set to the right station. For now, he isn’t screaming. For now, he’s safe.
So, for now, I choose to believe that Max’s autism is a result of DNA and heredity. I’ll strive to add vibrant colors to science’s stark black-and-white interpretations. Together, we’ll paint a fuller picture of autism, and I like to envision it as a utopia—a harmonious blend of science and humanity.
There will be strawberries, puppies, and an abundance of peppermint gum from Wal-Mart, specifically the kind in the blue container. You’ll find tall, blonde girls named Bella and boys with glasses named Max. In the distance, you might spot a glass house glistening in the sunlight, breathtaking in its beauty.
Upon closer inspection, you’ll notice a phrase etched into the front door. This collection of eight words serves as a sturdy barrier against uncertainty, a beacon of hope in darkness, and a source of pride. The first time I heard them was in a café while purchasing a cupcake: “He’s exactly the way he’s supposed to be.”
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Summary
The journey of understanding autism is complex and multifaceted. Ultimately, it is a genetic condition, and the narrative surrounding it should focus on acceptance and love rather than blame or fear. Celebrating the unique qualities of individuals with autism while recognizing the challenges they face is essential in fostering a supportive environment.
Keyphrase: autism causes
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