Special

You might be thinking at this point, God, what’s wrong with this girl? Is she dying? Does she have some sort of illness, or debilitating disability?

No. No, I don’t. I just have a brother with Autism.

My brother’s been one of my closest friends for as long as I can remember. It feels like we skipped the petty sibling stages and went straight into best bud territory. 

I can still remember the day I went to visit him in the hospital for the first time after he was born. Well, not specifically the visit, just the fact that I got a pretty snazzy Peppa Pig Goes to School playset as a consolation prize.

“Hey, you’ve got new sibling, take this toy!”

It seemed like a pretty sweet deal to me.

The funny thing is, I have no memories of before this day- the first thing about my life I can recall is being held by my dad, watching a train go by with my little playset in hand, only a few hours before being taken to see him.

Maybe that says something about me. Maybe the day my life really started was when my little friend came into it.

My parents had my brother and I only two years apart with the goal of us being able to grow up together. We’ve all seen those TV-style sibling relationships, where there’s an eager little kid, who’s constantly vying for the attention of a much older brother or sister- it’s painful to watch.

 I’m not sure their plan worked. Or maybe it did. The thing about having a sibling with a disability, especially when it’s as severe as my little brother’s, is that it makes you grow up fast. You become independent, learn to take care of yourself when the adults are occupied and protect the people you care about. I was no exception.

This isn’t to say my parents did anything wrong- in fact, they did everything right! I can never think of a time where either my mum or dad made me feel invalidated or neglected at all in my childhood, which is more than can be said by a lot of people, with or without a “special needs” sibling. My family have always loved, accepted, and cared for me. And I’m so grateful for that. 

But sometimes, they’ve had to put my brother first. 

I have this specific memory from when I was around five or six years old, when my family were enjoying some time at what we fondly refer to as “the spiderman park”. Suddenly, out of nowhere, all hell broke loose- my brother started having a meltdown, completely wetting his pants and screaming hysterically in front of everyone. I hopped down from the climbing frame, walking towards the spot where my dad was comforting him and waiting. Waiting for him to calm down and be ok again so we could keep playing. After a few minutes it became apparent that this wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.

“I’m sorry Char, we have to head home,” my dad told me. 

I nodded, tearing up in my little bucket hat and green, elephant shirt, kicking on my thongs and walking after him as he carried my brother toward the car. 

That was far from the first, or last time that something like that’s happened.

Time after time, day after day: in a Bunnings playground, when he threw all of his clothes [including underwear] down the slide and started bawling when asked to put them back on, waiting to catch a ferry when his emotional support pillow was packed away in his suitcase back at our hotel, when he whacked me across the back with a fishing rod because I wouldn’t “run funny” for him, leaving a mark that didn’t disappear for days.

I’m not writing this for pity or sympathy- I’m writing it because it happens, and it’s the truth, not just for me, but also for thousands of other families of Autistic children. 

But that’s not my brother’s, or my whole story. 

Autism can be a really beautiful thing too.

One of my fondest memories of Tom, is one day in bed, when we made up a little song about his disability. We called it ‘Mental Mind Disease’, and well, while it is quite a banger, I won’t be releasing it on Spotify any time soon. I’d sing it to him while tickling all over his little tummy and face, causing him to laugh hysterically- he’s always been so ticklish.

Another favourite moment was when we tried to teach him to twerk. He has poor coordination and fine motor skills, so the result was a lot of bouncing up and down on his toes and slowly backing towards me. Trust me, you’ve never experience true fear until a little eight-year-old boy tries to “twerk” on you will singing Baby Got Back.

One other time I remember [sort of] fondly, was when he randomly pulled down his pants and started peeing outside of my grade six classroom, witnessed by more than 100 of my peers. While it certainly wasn’t funny at the time, looking back on it, it definitely makes a great story.

There have been so many more moments that stand out in my mind- dressing him up in dresses, bras, and makeup, him giving me cuddles on bad days and chasing me around, holding a dead fish.

So, even on the days where he has a meltdown or gets a little overprotective over his food; even on the days when we insult each other to no end, I reminisce on all of these beautiful memories and realise how lucky I am to have him in my life.

Through the good times, and bad times, he’s been there- and when I too was diagnosed with Autism, I wasn’t scared. Because I’ve seen how sensational people with this “disability” can be. 

That’s why I decided to write this. People like my math teacher may be quick to pity me, to wonder how I can possibly survive with a severely Autistic sibling? 

And to that I say, I couldn’t have done it without him.