I Was Somebody’s Dusty Son

At the heart of my adolescent turmoil, during those precarious years of middle school, there exists a chapter of my life that has remained— inscribed with indelible ink. To be honest every year leading up to, and since has had its own stand out moments. This is just a chapter I’ve often hesitated to revisit— not solely because of its intrinsic pain but because of the irrevocable mark it left on my self-perception.

I want to be clear.This is NOT a redemption story. Yet, as I embark on this journey of sharing and growing, I find myself compelled to shine a little light on this episode. It encapsulates a pivotal moment—one that shaped not only my perception of myself but also— and more importantly, my understanding of the intricate nuances of communication.

These were the years where innocence and the insatiable urge to fit in met the often triggering labyrinth world of adolescent emotions head-on. Friendships evolved into something— more complicated, and the unspoken rules of social engagement became as elusive as the breath from the morning mist. As abrasive as a steel scrubbing pad against a chalkboard. Somehow, still, I found myself amidst this tempest— at a crossroads that would forever alter my trajectory.

Seventh grade was a sea of emotions and uncharted social territories. I yearned for a greater understanding of the intricate dance of human interaction, to decipher the unsaid and decode the expressions that held more weight than words themselves. At the center of it all was a friend, a girl, and a momentary lapse of reason— judgement— sanity.

See me, always navigating life with caution, I would scrutinize every gesture before it left the harbor of my mind. Albeit, imperfectly of course. For someone on the autism spectrum like myself, communication was akin to charting never touched waters. The weight of each moment almost as if to shoulder the ocean itself. During one lunch period, when the chatter reached its peak, I made a fateful remark. My words, intended to halt the jesting/‘packing’, echoed with unintended malevolence through the stunned cafeteria.

The fallout was swift and relentless. Suddenly, I became a pariah in a community I had never truly felt a part of.

Reflecting on that moment, it was a culmination of factors. It was where my desire to fit in clashed with the complexities of being an autistic individual, struggling to grasp social subtleties. This chapter, shared with apprehension, isn’t a story of redemption but a story of reckoning and growth.

Navigating the seas of communication has been both my challenge and opportunity for growth. I invite you to embark on this voyage with me—a voyage into the complexities of language, intent, understanding, and ultimately, human connection.

Each day post-incident was a relentless journey through whispers, sneers, and guilt. My mother’s unwavering belief in redemption was what ultimately saved me. She advocated for me, speaking with the girl’s family and the school administration. Her own experiences had taught her the value of forgiveness.

I served a 44-day suspension, immersing myself in self-reflection, education, and ‘Gilmore Girls’. I devoured books on human interaction, empathy, and communication. Returning to school, I was transformed, humbled by my actions, and determined to approach social interaction with care.

As I recount this chapter, I do so to share the profound lessons it gave me. It is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and a reminder that in the darkest of times, there is potential for growth and transformation. This chapter has defined not only my perception of communication but also my understanding of the intricacies of human connection.