Navigator

When people visit Eliot's classroom, where at least one child is making strange noises while another swings wildly on the therapeutic swing, they see my son with his French Irish good looks sitting quietly, and they think he is out of place. But if they stayed a while they would see he is not.

Eliot has quirky behaviors. He will be sailing along when something (not always detectable to us) sets him off. Once before he could talk, the lighting in the grocery store upset him and he shrieked his way through the checkout line.

By the time he was nine he talked constantly, but in most ways he was more six than nine. Teaching him to read, or getting him to do any difficult task, was challenging at best. When I told him he needed to learn to read so that one day when he took his girlfriend to dinner he would be able to read the menu, he said, “I’m not taking her out to dinner. I’m taking her to the movies.”

One Sunday something in Eliot went haywire. Barometric pressure? Too much dairy? It was not always easy to tell.

That night we went out to dinner. After years of practice, Eliot had the “going out to dinner” routine down, which was a good thing, because not having to cook or clean up while being served soothing alcoholic beverages was one of my favorite Sunday evening activities. But this particular Sunday it was amazing we made it through the meal without an incident. On the way home in the car, he started beating up on Carly.

As soon as we got off the freeway, Blue pulled over so Eliot and I could walk home. This was a tactic we often used. When we went to a restaurant within walking distance, we did it no matter what, and Eliot showed me the way home. Eliot had proven himself an excellent navigator, and I preferred walking to driving as much as he did.

Although we were ten blocks from home when Blue dropped us off, it was the first time I had seen Eliot unsure of the way. But I did not tell him, he pointed in the right direction, and off we went. Until we reached Carly’s school, he seemed unsure, yet he always pointed us in the right direction.

Now, I can find my way home from anywhere in my stomping grounds, but take me out of my familiar surroundings and I am lost. Blue, on the other hand, need only visit a place once and he can find his way. I have been grateful many times for the fact that, of all the traits inherent in Eliot’s genetic makeup, his father’s navigating skills are among them. As he led me home, I hoped one day if I was not there and he was lost, this exercise would help him.

He took one look at Carly’s school, gasped, and said, “This way! Can we cross here? Come on!”

When he had guided me across the street he said, “You know the way?! I show you!” And he took off running.

As I walked behind him in the dark, it occurred to me that most people walk right arm swinging with the left leg, left arm swinging with the right leg. This is the sequence for those whose brains and bodies are intact. This is not how Eliot ran. His left arms swung, but his right arm jerked out perpendicular to his torso. A perfect metaphor for who he was. Some parts intact and seemingly normal, other parts jerking away in an unconventional direction. And so in his own unique way, Eliot showed me the way home.