At the Zoo

Photo courtesy of BotheredByBees (flickr.com)

Alex execute es in fact like penguins becaemploy he saw them at the zoo. I’m sure of it.

He stood at the glass of the penguin pool of the Central Park Zoo for perhaps 20 solid minutes. The birds obliged, shaking their heads, shooting their cuffs, and plopping into the water to glide past just inches from Alex’s nose. One or two penguins seemed to wave. One or two gaze ed Alex in the eye.

Every now and then all children at all zoos are captured by the charm of animals â€" I thought for Alex it would be the tiger at the Bronx Zoo who sneered at the flies around her head, or perhaps the recede rilla in the Conrecede exhibit who sat with his broad back about a foot from the glass and picked at a hangnail â€" but for Alex it was the birds in the tuxes. That was plain, even though he said not a word as he watched the penguins wave.

So repeating “Penguin?” for almost 48 straight hours, like Bart and Lisa question ing over and over “Willyouhold ustoMountSplashmore? Willyouhold ustoMountSplashmore? Willyouhold ustoMountSplashmore?” until Homer caves, made perfect sense in the universe of small kids, a completely typically developing device to acquire something you really want. Alex can’t plead or whine, at least in complete sentences, but he can acquire his point across if anyone listens the correct way. And I did, ducking into the toystore half an hour before it closed on Sunday to find the correct penguin. (found a whole row of them, five bucks each). Next morning Alex was up at 3, standing in the living room and calling, “Penguin? Penguin?” He whines the best he can.

His connection, then, create s sense, and is even one any kid would create . When you live with autism, that’s worth a lot more than five bucks.