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Date:         Mon, 17 Aug 1992 20:45:00 EST
              <AUTISM@SJUVM.BITNET>
From:         Speed Bump <DNWIEBE@OWUCOMCN.BITNET>
Subject:      Thanks for the congrats...

        Lauren and I appreciate them.  We'll probably get married in
December, in Lauren's church under a chupah with my rabbi presiding.
(I think I mentioned the fact that I'm a Mennonite Christian in a
Messianic Jewish congregation.)  Lauren's rector (she's Episcopalian)
will also have a role.
        I had an interesting autistic experience awhile back that I thought
I'd relate, in case it struck any chords or stimulated any questions in
anyone.  This is a good example, because Lauren can give you the non-
autistic viewpoint as an eyewitness.
        A few weeks ago, Lauren and her two girls and I went to West Chester
PA for a week to stay with her parents.  I've met them before, several times,
but always in Ohio rather than at their place.  Also, they didn't officially
know until this trip (or shortly before) that Lauren and I were considering
matrimony.
        The trip was scheduled to coincide with Lauren's dad's 75th birthday,
and (since her family enjoys such things) she elected to take him out to a
fancy restaurant for his birthday.  (The Lion's Share, for those of you who
may know it.)  We got there on Saturday, and his birthday was the following
Friday.
        Lauren's parents seem to think I'm a reasonably decent guy, but they
are both very well-bred and sophisticated, and their major problem with
the idea of me marrying Lauren, aside from the age difference (she's twenty
years older than I), is the fact that I'm a bit too uncouth for their taste,
having been raised out in the boonies on a farm by a set of hick parents
doing heaven knows what all day.  (I may be being slightly unfair to them
here; it's frequently difficult for me to completely understand the socialite
point of view.  If I am, I apologize; Lauren can probably straighten me out.)
        I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I *hate* fancy
restaurants, most especially those in which I have never before eaten.  There
are two kinds of reasons that I hate them; if they aren't immediately obvious,
I'll describe them later.  But they do make me very very uncomfortable.
        Perhaps you can see the potentially explosive situation shaping up
here.  I have to get dressed up in a suit (which I never wear; fancy clothes
bother me almost as much as fancy restaurants), go to a fancy restaurant
I've never seen before with a totally unfamiliar menu, socialize acceptably
with Lauren's parents who are predisposed already to think of me as uncouth,
and, as it happened, ride to the restaurant in a closed-up, max-A/C car
sodden with the reeking stench of perfume and deal with the consequent
pounding headache.  (I was under the impression that the wearer of the
perfume was Lauren's mother, and didn't know of a polite way to tell her that
I was rolling down the window and letting in the heat because she stank.)
Also, I have a whole week to fearfully anticipate this situation (except for
the perfume).
        I think that for the most part I was able to monosyllabically answer
direct, simply-stated questions, but for the rest of the time I was all but
catatonic and white-knuckled.  At one point, I felt something black and
ominous bubbling dangerously close to the surface, so I excused myself and
figured that I'd go to the bathroom to try to collect my frazzled wits; but,
it being a fancy restaurant, they were using a disinfectant with a heavy,
sweetish, cloying odor, and I couldn't stay in there for more than a few
seconds.
        I ordered something called chicken Monterey at Lauren's suggestion;
I remember that much, but I don't remember what it looked or tasted like,
or how much of it there was.  I do, however, remember the baked potato in
the tinfoil that sat on my plate and stared mockingly at me, daring me to
try to figure out how to eat it in a mannerly fashion under the burning
stare of Lauren's parents.  (They probably weren't really watching me that
closely, but it felt like they were.)  It terrified me, and it took me
probably ten minutes of tentatively reaching for it, losing my nerve, and
snatching my hand back before I was able to open it up and start eating.
The iced tea was similarly served in an unfamiliar fashion, and starting
in on it was almost as bad.
        It was unqualifiedly and without reservation the most traumatic
social experience I've ever had, even counting the 3rd-of-July broadside
fiasco in downtown Columbus.  Given that she took me there in the first
place, Lauren was awfully sweet to me once we were there and made a
number of things a little easier for me (such as selecting from an
unfamiliar menu).  If she hadn't been there, they would have had to take
me home in a little sack.  Sara, Lauren's eldest daughter, was also quite
concerned about me and kept offering to show me where the restroom was.
It was kind of humorous, actually: after it was all over and we left,
she was full of suggestions about things that might make it easier for me
next time.  She's a very sweet girl, and I love her as if she were my
own, but *next time*?
        Does this sort of thing happen to the rest of you autistics out
there?  Is this as difficult for you normals to understand as it seems to
be for Lauren's parents?
        Talk more later.  Gotta scram.

Shalom,
Dan
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