Last week I took Benjamin to see his endocrinologist. Of all his doctors, Craig Alter is my favorite. Which is saying something, considering the enormous depth of his medical records. Even though our appointments are annual, and only last twenty minutes Dr. Alter makes a real effort to connect to Ben, leaving notes about his interests along with thyroid levels.

 

Ben was not in the best of moods, for reasons he cannot explain to me. As we sat in the waiting room I was aware, as I often am, that he can be hard to like. He wore a Batman shirt, cruddy polyester sweats, and the lime green socks he got at a field trip recently. One of those places where you bounce for two hours. I cannot vouch for the cleanliness of said articles. During his ten months of internship in a professional setting I kept after him to tuck in his button down shirt, use a belt, and comb his hair. But there comes a point in the bottom of summer that I let a twenty one year old man with autism look unkempt. 

 

In spite of his annoyance at the interruption to his day, and the expectation that he sign five whole times on an electronic pad, I was feeling warmly toward this boy man. He had been telling me the moves to his last chess game, too quietly for me to really hear, and yet I assume to be both accurately and sequentially. 

 

As the appointment came to a close I invited Ben to draw one of his Venn Diagrams for the good doctor, which he plunged into while we chatted about his recent vacation to the Finger Lakes. Ben's circles explored the similarities and discrepancies between African and Asian elephants, and Dr. Alter seemed pleased to have it. 

 

Ben does not usually greet people, not that we haven't gone over such niceties ad nauseam. Neither does he smile, or learn your name. These overtures are easier for me, and I often stir up conversation with people doing their job. I found out that the nurse has recently changed office locations, which meant she got no time off this year. But she likes the work. 

 

It was different when I took my babies places. Most people enjoy the brief company of a cuddly infant, and are quick to make friendly comments. This is in spite of the fact that infants do not say hello or address you by name. As a culture we seem to overlook such shortfalls. 

 

But even when he is scruffy, I like Ben. Most of the time. And in that simple flow of affection I am humbled. It is not because I am especially magnanimous. There are plenty of people I cross paths with walking in the city, or trying not to bash into in a crowded store that I do not like. Not that I dislike them. Usually I am simply neutral. Other times, if I am brutally honest, there are people I feel distant from based on how they look. No need to incriminate myself with particulars.  

 

Yet it occurs to me that if I can feel deep affection for this young man who is clumsy in social settings, forgets to be cordial, cares little about his clothes, and has never spontaneously hugged me, maybe I could believe that most of the other people I encounter who are neither cute nor charming are worth liking too.