Autistic Partygoer

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Autistic Partygoer
The author and his autistic son would love to come to your kid's birthday, thanks. Here's how to make everyone feel right at home.
By Paul Collins

Our friends' birthday party for their daughter Zoë was going wonderfully. The cupcakes were out, dogs romped in the yard, and all the children were blowing bubbles around the abstract bronze sculptures in the garden. All of them, that is, except my son Morgan. He'd retreated to their attic office.

"It's okay," my wife, Jennifer, explained after she came back down. "He's on Amazon, looking at guitars."

Our host took it in stride—she knows Morgan's autistic. These days, that term pops up across a whole spectrum of kids, from a bit geeky to profoundly withdrawn. Morgan, 10, has the classic midspectrum symptoms: He makes little eye contact, repeats phrases, sticks to yes-and-no answers, and is just generally in his own world. He can repeat every Gibson guitar model number but can't tell you what city he lives in. His special-ed classmates with related conditions like Asperger's syndrome can be too conversational—they'll lecture you for an hour on dinosaurs—but they share the same lifelong neurological difficulty in grasping social interaction.

Since autism is by definition a socially awkward condition, how do you square it with that most social of activities, a kid's birthday party? As diagnoses rise—the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention now estimate 1 in 150 eight-year-olds nationwide—it's increasingly likely that your guest list will include an autistic child. Inviting us to a birthday (or any gathering) takes some extra insight and the tiniest bit of planning. But we'll thank you for it—and so will our kids, in their own way.

Our RSVP: "Yes, please."

Birthday parties are an ideal way to introduce an autistic kid and his parents to your home. A child like Morgan doesn't necessarily understand social calls or more elaborate outings, but playdates and birthday parties are things families like ours cherish. They're the stuff he finds logical: presents, cake, things to climb on. What's not to get?

Pardon our picky eater.

Autistic eating habits aren't exactly a food pyramid; they're more like a food obelisk. (Our obelisk is made of peanut butter.) Some autistic kids also have digestive difficulties that require dairy- or gluten-free diets, so ask if your guest has any favored foods. Don't worry; the parents probably won't take you up on it. And no one will expect you to whip up a gluten-free cake. But they might want to bring some treats themselves, so don't take single-serving Tupperware as an affront.

Put away the Fabergé eggs.

Autistic children have little concept of "don't touch." But they don't always beeline for the breakables. In fact, they may discover some unlikely sources of joy in your home: Morgan considers a refrigerator's in-door ice maker, for instance, to be one of humanity's great achievements.

Sensory overload happens.

When the outside world gets overwhelming, autistic kids need a familiar realm to retreat into, and that's often TV or games. Our best visits have been to friends' houses that have a home office with a computer. Still wearing his party hat, scarfing a cupcake, and watching Nora the piano-playing cat on YouTube, Morgan becomes the very picture of contentment.

It's okay to ask us about autism.

Really, we don't mind. We're a family, not a tragedy, so we don't need comforting—but autism's clearly part of who Morgan is, and it's apparent as soon as you meet him. While some parents shy away from speculation about autism's causes or their child's future, matter-of-fact questions are fine: "What's his day like?" "How does he get along with his siblings?" And best of all, "What does he like?" Many autistic kids have a consuming fascination with something, just as Morgan does with guitars.

It's okay to not ask us about autism.

Honest—as long as you're not pretending Morgan isn't there or acting like he's a nuisance. It's a soiree, not a seminar.

Have an explanation for other kids.

If Morgan doesn't react to other kids, I tell them, "Morgan's autistic. He's not ignoring you. Autism means he's sort of daydreaming—like he's watching a movie that other people don't see. And he might not want to play with you, but he loves to watch what you're doing and play next to you."

Small talk is a big challenge.

Autistic kids' conversations are often of the "I want" variety—although, because they frequently reverse pronouns, they may say, "You want a glass of water." They'll also repeat random phrases from songs or TV, or repeat your words back to you. Try asking them about what they're doing or looking at. If they don't respond, don't take it personally. They may not be ready to talk to anybody at that moment.

He may not get in line for the piñata, but he's still having fun.

Following instructions and turn-taking don't come easily to Morgan; he often doesn't see the point. Includ­ing him in an egg-and-spoon race is worth trying—he may not show any interest, or he may have a blast. But if an autistic kid doesn't take to a game, don't fret. He'll find other things interesting. It may not be how you or I experience a party, but it's still a party to him.

A meltdown is a meltdown.

Occasionally autistic kids have meltdowns that can bring everything to a screeching halt. But they're not so different from toddler tantrums. Ask the parents if there's anything you can do, then move along and let them calm their kid down. The child will get over it, and so will your party.

Pat yourself on the back.

Having an autistic kid over can be almost thankless—while you'll get our fervent appreciation, there'll be at most a mumbled thanks from Morgan. But here's the thing: He notices. Months after Zoë's party, he kept surprising us with all the details he remembered, and he's still asking to go again. Of autism's many paradoxes, now you know its greatest one: Your kindnesses may not be acknowledged, but they're always felt.

Cookie Magazine article

This is kind of funny, seeing as how in my childhood it was always the NT children that were breaking things (from running around, playing with each other). To single out autistic kids is unfair in this example.

I hate Cookie magazine. It's always been the most superficial, trendy, consumeristic parenting magazine out there. Their clothing suggestions are always like some $800 burberry coat. Their lifestyle suggestions always assume you have a nanny, private cook and night nurse to help out.

I can tell you about birthday parties for a kid, because I was a kid once too. They're for NT kids only. I don't care if she thinks her son Morgan was having a good time. There's nothing about unwrapping gifts in front of 30 people, having people around you don't know, and performing mindless activities in front of others that is fun.

No it's not. She makes it seem like we're hallucinating. It's just when 30 people at a party are talking, it sounds like a jet engine that's roaring so loud you can't hear yourself think.

Birthday parties only became worthwhile by late elementary school, when parents switched from doing the chaotic invite-everyone-in-the-class-and-their-parents style party game crap to the lazy, invite-6-friends-and-eat-pizza type party. This I could deal with. A few other kids, some food, some cake, and watch movies and talk about boys until 2am.

I will NEVER do an NT style big party for my kid, because I know how miserable I was at them and I don't want to inflict it on him.

I read that whole article with very mixed feelings. I don't want anyone to shun my child, but I also think it's ridiculous to assume he wants to be in situations he can't handle. Still, having parties and going to parties CAN make a very young child feel "normal" and wanted, so at certain ages it can be very good for them to go - when my son was in preschool he was a total party hound. Now that he understands his own sensory issues better, he doesn't go - but he still likes to be invited.

So ... it's complicated. As a sales piece to ask parents to invite, I guess it's good. But as piece validating that our kids want to attend and should attend - not good at all.