978-1572305441

Teddy 99
witnessed personal triumphs, like graduating from high school and going
out on a first date. I walk a difficult line between knowing too much
and too little because my clinical perspective on their family life is so
limited. Typical teenagers have coaches, teachers, or Scout masters who
know them well and who can talk to parents with easy knowledge of
their child’s personality and temperament. It is perhaps a sad comment
that so few high school teachers take an interest in adolescents with
ASD that the residents at Woodview Manor have to make do with me.
Of course, as at many Christmas parties, Santa Claus makes an
appearance and distributes presents. The residents become incredibly
excited. Many shout with glee, some jump up and down and rock back
and forth. All of a sudden these formally attired young men and women
act like young children. They let down their guard, their carefully constructed
social armor recedes, and, for some, the autistic mannerisms,
long held in private check, return. One twenty-four-year-old young man
starts to repeat “It’s Santa Claus. It’s Santa Claus” over and over again
while rocking back and forth in front of the mirror. You would never
catch him doing that under usual circumstances. The effort required to
look “normal” is swept away by the excitement of a present from Santa
Claus himself. Do they know that Santa is actually Garry Stuart, the executive
director of Woodview, and that he does this every year? If they
do, this knowledge does not diminish their enthusiasm one bit.
My children are also excited, not only because they too get presents
from Santa but also because they can pretend to be his helpers. They
put on their elves’ caps and assist Santa as he reaches into his bag and
pulls out the presents. As each person’s name is called out, he or she sits
on Santa’s knee and answers some inane question before he gives that
person a present. Eventually I get called up, to the accompaniment of
much hooting and hollering.
“Have you been a good boy this year?” Santa asks me.
I blush and stammer out an equally inane answer. Everybody
laughs at the same jokes told year after year as we all participate knowingly
in this ritual of gift giving. It is the familiarity that is comforting.
Among the residents, though, the sense that this is a game seems to be
absent. They are genuinely thrilled to be sitting on Santa’s knee and receiving
a present from him. At some level, I’m sure, they know that this
Santa is not real, that he’s an excuse for a party. But their actions tell
more about their beliefs; they experience real enthusiasm and joy each
Christmas. No jaded comments from them on the commercialization of
Christmas. We, on the other hand, are self-conscious when we sit on