Allyship is a Perpetual State of Being, and My Autistic Son is Rocking It
- Dec 6, 2019
- 5 min read
by Shannon Frost Greenstein
My son prefers people of color.
He is four, and on the autism spectrum, and preverbal. He’s also uncannily bright, incredibly sweet, and effusive with affection. Now, you might be wondering, if he’s preverbal, how I have any idea about his preferences, but I counter: Any special-needs parent of a nonverbal child, or any parent of an infant who is still preverbal, knows intimately what their child likes, dislikes, adores, and detests, even without the benefit of language.
And my son, in his actions, in his facial expressions, in his eye contact, in his body language, tells me that he really just prefers PoC.
We live in a city, and he’s therefore been exposed since infancy to the entire spectrum of race, gender, orientation, ideology, nationality, and every other facet of the human condition that makes us what we are a species; he has been exposed to inclusivity and tolerance since the womb.
He is being raised in Philadelphia, within a paradigm that focuses not on the differences between the countless individuals he encounters in a day, but that which is the same: Love. Empathy. Maslow’s pyramid. We all need food and water and shelter and sex; we all need to feel safe and fulfilled. This is the benefit of city living, and because of this inclusivity of exposure, it was not very long before I began to notice his preference for PoC.
His preschool teachers were women of color, and the first ones who got him to smile, to listen, to pay attention when someone is speaking. When he was first diagnosed with autism, and we began to explore ABA therapy, it was his therapists of color to whom he would be the most responsive or vocal. In the play space at the mall, if I lost sight of him for a second, it was usually because he went over to a Latinx grandfatherly type and plopped himself in the man’s lap with no preamble.
Yes, this has literally happened more than once.
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The thing is, my son is being raised within a system that contains implicit bias against minorities, but he himself is not yet imbibed with that implicit bias. It’s not that he doesn’t see that which differs between us all; it’s that he really doesn’t care what anyone looks like or sounds like or speaks like, provided they are kind to him and play with him and get him crackers.
And that’s what’s really special about children. At first, they truly don’t see the contrasts between members of the human species; they have an innate sense of acceptance and compassion that transcends things like skin color or sexual orientation or religion. Every child is born with an ethical tabula rasa, and every child enters life bereft of prejudice.
It is their environment, however, which teaches children, in the most fundamental and innocuous ways, that there is an “us” and “them”; that there are people who are “the same” and people who are “different.” Implicit bias is insidious, fundamentally infused into our moral philosophy, and racism is learned; before long, the cycle repeats.
But then there’s my little boy. My little boy who is resistant to most things deemed typical or “normal.” My little boy who, for reasons of his own that I endorse fully, prefers people of color; makes more eye contact with PoC, smiles more, engages more, is more present and here. My little boy, who is an ally just by being, just by not caring about differences, just by treating everyone the same — we are all capable of getting him crackers, so wherein do the differences lie?
Time and time again, watching him not care what anyone looks like, not care why they may sound different, not care about what makes us “us” and them “them” has been teaching me; teaches me what to care about and how to show that care, teaches me how to rebuild my knowledge of the world on a more just, equitable foundation.
And while I do not think it takes autism to be a successful ally, I do think it takes a perspective that is slightly atypical, that goes against the grain; I believe the best allies are those who see the world slightly differently, because there is so much more to see that way.
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To be an ally is not to wear a rainbow pin, or to declare yourself a supporter of a cause and then move on with your life; it is not to make a single statement, or to help a single person, or to make a single donation. Allyship is ongoing and perpetual; it is dynamic and organic and complex. Allies must evolve as their environment evolves, because it is not enough to do something once. Allyship is constant, it’s a battle, an everyday siege, a moral imperative that requires work, because it requires even more work to be a minority in 2019.
In 2019, raising allies is more important than ever, and not allies for show, or allies for attention, or allies for college resumes; but allies who engage in the state of being that is allyship. Now, more than ever, we need allies who recognize they have privilege which other individuals do not, and that this privilege needs to be used for good, because it has been used for too long to justify ignorance and hate.
My goal, beyond raising children who will prosper and function well in society, is to raise children who are compassionate; accepting; tolerant of their fellow (Wo)Man in the many awesome varieties and forms in which (S)He comes. If my children do not see the humanity in their fellow humans, that is my error, because it is my responsibility to plant that seed of empathy. This responsibility, I feel, is on every parent of every child at every age throughout history; and in 2019, it’s particularly important.
But I’m finding, as I work to educate myself, work to model the correct behavior and language, that I do not seem to have to do much to plant this seed in my special-needs son; a good thing, too, because his disability is such that planting the seed for a specific behavior is far more complex than with neurotypical four-year-olds. And yet, one thing I am not worried about is that seed of empathy, because he seems to have it in spades.
My autistic son is rocking allyship, and I’m doing everything in my power for his sister to follow his example, as they both hopefully follow mine. But it is not enough to do that partially, or once, or without complete commitment, because prejudice is not stagnant. Allyship is active, a continual process, and we should all be so lucky as to have my son in our lives to remind us that, in the grand scheme of things, we are all capable of getting him crackers, regardless of our many differences.
But God help you if they’re not Extra Toasty Cheez-Its.
Shannon Frost Greenstein resides in Philadelphia with her children, soulmate, and persnickety cats. She is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee, a Contributing Editor for Barren Magazine, and a former Ph.D. candidate in Continental Philosophy. Shannon was awarded a writing residency through Sundress Academy for the Arts in October 2019. Her work has appeared in McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Crab Fat Magazine, Chaleur Magazine, Bone & Ink Lit Zine, Rhythm & Bones Lit Mag, trampset, and elsewhere. Follow her on Twitter at @mrsgreenstein or her website: shannonfrostgreenstein.wordpress.com. She comes up when you Google her.
