“Can I be really honest with you? I absolutely hated every
minute of that party. I hated the awkward mingling in that room when we arrived
with so many people crammed in. I didn’t recognise anyone and everyone was
talking at once so I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying. I hated being
squashed onto that table and having to think of things to talk about with the same
few people for two hours. And I hated when the music started. That was the end
of the night for me. I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying, I got fed up of
saying pardon, I didn’t want to dance. I just hated it.”
These were Ethan’s words the morning after a 40th
birthday party last weekend. I know such things aren’t his cup of tea. I knew
he was unlikely to enjoy himself (although every now and then there are social
engagements that he enjoys - but he has to be in the mood and ideally there
should only be one or two other people that he is speaking to at any one time,
no interruptions between speakers and minimal background noise). I felt
slightly nervous in the run up to this 40th birthday party. It was
going to be full of friends from school whom I hadn’t seen for years and I
really wanted to enjoy it. I was worried that he’d be rude, disengaged, a
miserable presence or that, even if he wasn’t any of these things, I’d be on
edge all night waiting for one of these behaviours to manifest itself.
The fact is, he was none of these things. He chatted to
people, he smiled, he even danced briefly when backed into a corner. He didn’t
even moan privately to me (not even when I took too long to say goodbye to
everyone and we missed our taxi home!). No-one, not even me, would have guessed
how much he was hating it.
Amidst my demands for him to tow the party line, come along
to events he hates and to SMILE and converse his way through them (mostly for
my sake but also for his – when he’s made the effort, it does boost his
self-esteem, he does feel more a part of things and it does lift his spirits,
as long as he knows he can sit down by himself in a dark room afterwards!) –
but amidst all this effort from him, I wonder if I would – if I do – do the
same for him. Would I give up one of my precious evenings to play computer
games with him if it would make him happy? I switch off if he starts talking
camera-angles and lighting effects in films and I’ve never been to a technology
show with him.
To be honest with myself, I suspect that, rather than
meeting him in the middle, we meet ¾ of the way along, in my favour. Maybe
immersing myself in something he likes and I hate for an evening would give me
a valuable glimpse into his world. After all, it’s us who are meant to be good
at adapting isn’t it?!
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