Growing up with Asperger's

Several years ago, I read Mark Haddon's novel, told from the point of view of an autistic, but fairly high-functioning, teenager, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time.   The boy's thought processes obviously differed in many respects from those considered "normal":  he possessed a very literal understanding of language, feelings of being overwhelmed by sensory perceptions, a tendency to focus on one particular interest to the exclusion of all or most others in order to feel in control, an apparent absence of empathy. 

Haddon was so successful in bringing me into his hero's mind that I found the boy's way of thinking to be totally understandable, almost "normal."  I actually wondered whether -- because of my affinity for the way the boy thought -- I might possibly be mildly autistic myself.  A missed childhood diagnosis?

After quickly scanning the diagnostic criteria for autism and Asperger's syndrome, I realized that I wasn't even close to meeting those criteria -- to my relief, I suppose, and -- by then -- slight surprise. 

I'm now nearly finished with another book told from the point of view of an "Aspie."  This book is a memoir, rather than a work of fiction.  Look Me in the Eye, by John Elder Robison, is the author's harrowing account of growing up with undiagnosed Asperger's.  His father was an alcoholic and a physically abusive college professor.  His mother was a psychotic poet.  Although Robison had one of the highest IQ's in his high school, he dropped out in tenth grade, after a semester of straight F's on his report card.

His memoir, told at the age of 50, would be an interesting read regardless of where, if anywhere, the author fell on the autism spectrum.  His typical -- for Aspies -- trait of perseveration caused him to latch onto mechanical and electronic design and repair as the focus of his life.  By developing, through intense concentration, unusual competency in these areas, he was able to overcome the fear that haunted him -- that he was just a high school drop-out, doomed to failure throughout life.  It also provided him some compensation for the extreme difficulty he had in developing personal relationships.

In the 1970's, he became the electronics expert for the band KISS, and the person responsible for making technically possible such trademark aspects of their act as the band's smoking and flaming guitars and its concert pyrotechnics.  He went on to become an engineer (still without a high school degree) for the Milton Bradley game company, helping to develop some of MB's earliest electronic games.  Despairing of the politics of corporate life -- each promotion up the corporate ladder at Milton Bradley removed him further from his areas of competence -- he opened his own auto repair shop, specializing in repair of very high quality (and very expensive) automobiles.  He married, and has a kid whom he insists on calling Bear Cub. 

All of this happened by the time he was 40 -- the age he was first diagnosed with Asperger's.  Sometimes it's a relief to know there's a name and a reason for the ways in which you feel you're different.

All my life, I had felt like I didn't fit in.  I had always felt like a fraud or, even worse, a sociopath waiting to be found out.  But the book told a very different story.  I was not a heartless killer waiting to harvest my first victim.  I was normal, for what I am.

Even before learning of his diagnosis, Robison had been learning to relate to others in an increasingly normal way, just by trial and error.  Now, he had a clearer picture of what he'd been doing wrong.

I trained myself to respond in a manner that is only slightly eccentric, rather than out-and-out weird.  When someone says, "Hey, John, how's it going?  How have you been?" I can answer, "I'm doing okay, Bob, how about you?" instead of "I have just been reading about the new MTU diesel engines that American President Lines is installing in their newest container ships.  The new electronic engine management system is fascinating."

And now, he can make himself look you in the eye!

And now I know it is perfectly natural for me not to look at someone when I talk.  Those of us with Asperger's are just not comfortable doing it.  In fact, I don't really understand why it's considered normal to stare at someone's eyeballs.

Which of us hasn't kind wondered about that, at one time or another?

Robison concludes his Prologue:

It took a long while for me to get to this place, to learn who I am.  My days of hiding in the corner or crawling under a rock are over.  I am proud to be an Aspergian.

Robison's story is filled -- in Aspergian fashion -- with perhaps more technical details about the musical and electronic game industries than we'd hoped to learn.  But his tale gives great insight into the way his mind works, and in how he overcame so many hurdles to reach the success as a human being that he's achieved today.

Many parents of Asperger's children have complained that Robison is an unusually high performing Aspie, and that his book leaves the impression that all such children should succeed as he has.  I don't think so.  I think Look Me in the Eye is a very specific story of one particular individual.  It's the story of how he overcame not only the difficulties posed by his own Asperger's symptoms, but the difficulties created by his dysfunctional family life.

Robison's little brother, whom he persisted (and persists) in calling "Snort" (and later "Varmint"), but who is known to the rest of the world as Augusten Burroughs, has written a foreword to Robison's memoir. Burroughs wrote his own best-selling memoir (predating Robison's), entitled Running with Scissors. Burroughs's book describes the boys' toxic upbringing (and discusses his problematic relationship with his brother) from his own perspective.

Running with Scissors resulted in a well-publicized libel suit by the family of the unreasonably eccentric psychiatrist who had treated both boys at one time or another, and who later -- not surprisingly -- lost his medical license.