The Disconnector
By Claire Savage
Editor's note: The opinions expressed herein are those of the author exclusively.
By Claire Savage
Editor's note: The opinions expressed herein are those of the author exclusively.
I stared at my brother, feeling the frustration on my face. Caleb gazed serenely out the window, mouth slightly open, eyes far away.
"Caleb." I said sharply. "Mom said you had to have your work done by the time she gets home."
He didn't seem to hear me, but he must have. In one ear and out the other?
"Hey Claire guess what?" the words came out quickly. "Did you know that toys, they have brains, too? They think just like us. It's true."
"Okay. Do your work" I said, struggling to regain control over my annoyance. He looked out the window. I heaved a sigh. Caleb was disconnected, and autism was the disconnector.
I got up and looked through the teacher's daily report on Caleb's behavior, my duty while babysitting.
Caleb was sent to the office today, it read. Had trouble controlling his anger at recess.
"Caleb!" I cried sharply. "Did you get sent to the principal's office today?!"
"Yes," he said, matter-of-factly. "I hit James."
"You WHAT?! Caleb, oh my GOD, that's really bad! You know, kids can get kicked out of school for fighting!"
I was angry, so angry. All my life I'd struggled and pushed to be the top of my class, to earn flawless grades. All my life I'd been stricken with guilt should I get in trouble or do something wrong. All my life, I'd be frustrated if I wasn't as good as the other kids in gymnastics or swimming, then work my butt off until I made it to where I wanted to be. I cared.
And here he sat, not knowing or caring that he was failing language arts, had atrocious handwriting, never minded getting in trouble, and never bothered to do his homework or brush his teeth because it didn't matter to him. His peaceful expression infuriated me.
"Who'd you hit?" I hissed.
"James, I told you!"
"James who?" I asked through gritted teeth.
"James Samson.”
"You hit James Samson?!" My voice went up three octaves and the breath whooshed out of my lungs. I knew I was being selfish, but Jenna Samson was the second most popular girl in my school. If she ever, ever, found out my little brother beat up hers, what then?
"I can't believe you Caleb." I said in a clipped voice. His face scrunched up. I ran up stairs, not caring whether he did his homework or not.
My dad came home from work an hour later. He knocked on my door.
"Did you know Caleb hit someone today?" I asked, still furious.
"Did you hear the whole story?" He replied, raising his eyebrows.
I sat still in stony silence, waiting.
"You know Caleb's friend, Brian? He's pretty popular, but he has an ear implant. Caleb knows him from speech therapy. Brian's the only friend he has in school, and, well, James is not very nice to Caleb."
I waited.
"Apparently, this James kid was teasing Brian about something little, and, well, you know your brother."
Hot shame filled my stomach. I was close to tears. I had thought Caleb was disconnected, but I was dead wrong. He was probably more connected than the rest of us, with morals, values, love, family and friends. He may not care if he failed out of school or placed last at a swim meet, but he knew what was really important – supporting a friend. He always knew, in the end.
"Caleb." I said sharply. "Mom said you had to have your work done by the time she gets home."
He didn't seem to hear me, but he must have. In one ear and out the other?
"Hey Claire guess what?" the words came out quickly. "Did you know that toys, they have brains, too? They think just like us. It's true."
"Okay. Do your work" I said, struggling to regain control over my annoyance. He looked out the window. I heaved a sigh. Caleb was disconnected, and autism was the disconnector.
I got up and looked through the teacher's daily report on Caleb's behavior, my duty while babysitting.
Caleb was sent to the office today, it read. Had trouble controlling his anger at recess.
"Caleb!" I cried sharply. "Did you get sent to the principal's office today?!"
"Yes," he said, matter-of-factly. "I hit James."
"You WHAT?! Caleb, oh my GOD, that's really bad! You know, kids can get kicked out of school for fighting!"
I was angry, so angry. All my life I'd struggled and pushed to be the top of my class, to earn flawless grades. All my life I'd been stricken with guilt should I get in trouble or do something wrong. All my life, I'd be frustrated if I wasn't as good as the other kids in gymnastics or swimming, then work my butt off until I made it to where I wanted to be. I cared.
And here he sat, not knowing or caring that he was failing language arts, had atrocious handwriting, never minded getting in trouble, and never bothered to do his homework or brush his teeth because it didn't matter to him. His peaceful expression infuriated me.
"Who'd you hit?" I hissed.
"James, I told you!"
"James who?" I asked through gritted teeth.
"James Samson.”
"You hit James Samson?!" My voice went up three octaves and the breath whooshed out of my lungs. I knew I was being selfish, but Jenna Samson was the second most popular girl in my school. If she ever, ever, found out my little brother beat up hers, what then?
"I can't believe you Caleb." I said in a clipped voice. His face scrunched up. I ran up stairs, not caring whether he did his homework or not.
My dad came home from work an hour later. He knocked on my door.
"Did you know Caleb hit someone today?" I asked, still furious.
"Did you hear the whole story?" He replied, raising his eyebrows.
I sat still in stony silence, waiting.
"You know Caleb's friend, Brian? He's pretty popular, but he has an ear implant. Caleb knows him from speech therapy. Brian's the only friend he has in school, and, well, James is not very nice to Caleb."
I waited.
"Apparently, this James kid was teasing Brian about something little, and, well, you know your brother."
Hot shame filled my stomach. I was close to tears. I had thought Caleb was disconnected, but I was dead wrong. He was probably more connected than the rest of us, with morals, values, love, family and friends. He may not care if he failed out of school or placed last at a swim meet, but he knew what was really important – supporting a friend. He always knew, in the end.
The author, Claire Savage, is 14 years old and has a younger brother who has autism.
If you have a story you wish to share about your personal experience with autism, please send it to
editors@autismspeaks.org.
Autism Speaks reserves the right to edit contributions for space, style and content. Because of the volume of submissions, not all can be published on the site.
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