Most of you who know our family well know my story first hand.
About ten years ago, we took Joey, our son with autism, to a high school musical–West Side Story–at Tallwood High near here. He would have been eleven or twelve. Our young friends from church, the Davises, went with us.
We enjoyed a great performance by the young actors. Joey seemed to enjoy it as well.
At least until the end. I looked over at him as we were getting ready to leave our seats and saw him crying inconsolably.
Since Joey is not usually a crier, I was alarmed. I went over and asked him what was wrong.
Joey asked me a question in return, “How are they going to do the play again tomorrow night with all those people dead?”
It was like an arrow through my heart. I had never thought to tell Joey in advance that the people who died in the play were only playacting their deaths.
Poor guy! He didn’t know. A wave of sadness washed over me, too.
Autism is so inscrutable. Just when you think a person understands things in a normal way, something like this happens . . .
So it is that last night, when we went to Regent University to see the outdoor Shakespeare play (Julius Caesar), I was very happy to note our son sitting on a blanket in the front row, taking the deaths of the emperor and various other combatants in stride!
In fact, since he knew one of the castmembers and it was an all female cast (college students), he was visibly entranced by the loveliness before him! Typical 22-year-old guy!
He did ask his friend afterwards whether her dagger was real–he seemed to be relieved when she let him feel for himself that it was rubber.
In any case, he knew that no one really died–that the fight scenes were staged.