Barbershops, Haircuts, and Harmony

A small independent barbershop in New Zealand, likely similar to the one my mother took me to

For any kid growing up, a major milestone in their life is the first haircut – for today’s kids, that might mean getting to sit in car shaped chair, while the hairdresser performs their magic. In some cultures, it’s a quite a big deal. For young boys in the Cook Islands, for example, it is a major ceremony where the boy sits on a chair draped with quilts while members of the community plaster him with money or other gifts.

Although the Cook Islands share a free association with my home country of New Zealand, my early haircuts carried none of those traditions – no quilts, no gifts, and no money. It was, however in my mother’s memory, quite a big spectacle. Although I have no memories of the “trauma” of getting my hair cut, I just screamed and screamed. They told my mother to bring me back on Wednesday afternoon, when it wasn’t so busy.

Suspenders were cool back then, and honestly a good pair is still more comfortable than a belt.

They were right – on Wednesday afternoon, it was not crowded at all. In fact, when my mother brought me back, she saw a sign on the door. What did the sign say? “Wednesday: Closed”. As a result, my mother decided to just cut my hair herself.

As I got older, I was better able to tolerate going to the hair dresser, but it was still not a fun experience. The hardest thing about getting a haircut for any kid (and especially a neurodivergent kid)? Holding still! Sitting in that chair for what seemed like hours while the hairdresser (who was usually a lady) would snip away at my bangs, making me look acceptable again while my mother would tell me to stop twisting and squirming. Finally, the hairdresser would hold up the mirror so I could see the back of my head – something that I did not care much for myself, but it meant the whole ordeal was over.

Throughout the 90s, I often sported a bowl cut, for various reasons – family legend states that my mother still has the bowl she once used – and I was occasionally picked on in school (as in, picked on more than usual) for it, but typical of people on the spectrum, I was hesitant to change. In high school, the bowl cut finally gave way to other styles, though I did not always participate in the decision making. For a while in my senior year, for various reasons, it even grew quite long and got in my eyes (which I absolutely hated) and I was often begging my parents to set me up for a hair appointment.

After high school, I was off on my own and in college, partaking in the activity known as “adulting”, such as preparing my own meals, knowing how to use a credit card, and of course getting a haircut. To this day a trip to the barbershop results still in that difficult decision of what style to get, especially when it involve going to a barbershop where “just the usual” is not always an option.

If you ask these guys to give you a haircut, they probably would instead tell you in perfect harmony to keep the whole world singing. Where? In your heart

Getting a haircut was just one thing I hated as a child, but what other things I hated. In a previous post I mentioned that I initially hated birthday parties, because of the singing, and what happens when you combine haircuts and singing? Barbershop music.

It was at an autism talent show hosted by the local Center for Autism and Related Disabilities office where I discovered that the local chapter of the Barbershop Harmony Society was performing, and among their members was a young man on the spectrum – he did not talk much, but he did know how to sing, and when it came to knowing the words and notes to every song the chorus performed, he knew it all. For those who were unaware, Barbershop is a style of four-part harmony that has its roots in the era when the local barbershop was a more than a place to get a haircut (and in the early days, medical procedures), it was a social hub.

Thinking that singing for others might actually be fun, I later went to one of their rehearsals. It was there that I met a bunch of fun-loving guys from all kinds of backgrounds who loved to sing and like a new student attending Hogwarts for the first time (Ravenclaw for life!), the director found that I fit well into the bass section. Amidst ringing chords, banter, and the occasional Dad joke, we had a great time . I even had the opportunity to sing in a quartet with that young man on the autism spectrum, including at subsequent autism talent shows and made some great friends doing it.

In conclusion, if you’ve looking for a way to make new friends in a supportive and inclusive environment – most chapters welcome ladies too) – as a “social hub” barbershop might be the answer. Just don’t ask any of them to give you a haircut, as they probably won’t do a very good job, and with that, on this April 11, I wish you all a happy National Barbershop Quartet Day!

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Making a Living: Working for a Moving Target

April 2 marks World Autism Awareness Day. The day was designated by the United Nations to increase awareness of autism and how it affects people. For many people in the neurodiverse community, it is also somewhat controversial due to it not always promoting acceptance (and even pride) as well as awareness. In addition, the “light it up blue” campaign makes many on the autism spectrum cringe due to its association with an organization that I will not name here (but many of you who are on the spectrum will know exactly what I am talking about).

One such alternative to “lighting it up blue”, is “red instead”, where those who support the cause will instead wear red. This was something I was able to do really well as I wore red a lot growing up, and little did I know that this was going to be an essential part of my first real job.

Job-hunting is a difficult task for anyone and as of this writing I am seeking a new position of my own after a recent company restructuring meant that I lost my previous role as a software engineer, and this takes me back to my first job search in my first year in college. The year was 2002 and I was home for the summer. While it would have been nice to stay at home playing Doom deathmatches with my brother all day and driving my parents crazy, I knew that it would be better to actually try and get a summer job.

The Backrooms: The magical place where anything that is not on the floor will appear if someone goes back and looks for it even when the inventory system says it’s not there. It might not be sensory-friendly, but working in the backrooms would mean not having to deal with customers

I applied at several places, including Circuit City (as I was a computer nerd who knew a lot about electronics and could also benefit from the employee discount) as well as Publix (a major supermarket chain in Florida who will hire people of any ability.) Being the shy introvert I was, I figured that I would do best in the backroom where I would not have to worry about interacting with people

Unfortunately, neither store got back to me, so I applied at other places. The next option was Target, a national retail chain known for being slightly more upscale than Wal-Mart and having stores where everything (including the employee uniform) was red. My brother had worked there and he did a reasonably good job there so I also had a good reference. Despite being an extremely shy introvert, the manager interviewed me on-the-spot and asked if I wanted to work in my brother’s position (the snack bar). I told him that I would prefer working in the back but was open to options.

Making trains with shopping carts came quite naturally to me

The following week, I went in for my first day of work. Not in the backroom under fluorescent lights on maximum hum-buzz or even in the snack bar, but out in front of the store in the sweltering Florida sun (and regularly scheduled thunderstorms) retrieving shopping carts – so much for not being around people – I was often the first person customers (or in Target lingo, “guests”) would see when coming to the store and the last person when they left. Training was very basic – I was assigned a mentor and he showed me the ropes on the first day and after that went into the store to help out on the registers leaving me on my own. The work was very strenuous, and while I did not have a driver’s license, I did get certified to use the cart machine, which did the heavy work – at least when it did work. The culture of that particular store encouraged pushing 60 carts or more at the same time (company policy was only to push 25).

As physically demanding as the job was, it helped me open up to people, as other duties of that rule also included helping load up vehicles and helping people who stopped me on the floor. My supervisor suggested that I get trained on the register to pick up more shifts, and I got quite good at it. I may have been a little bit “robotic” and could not sell the store credit if my life depended on it, but I became one of the fastest cashiers in the store (often having to wait for the slow POS software to catch up with my scanning) and was very accurate in making change. Running a register also exposes one to all the unique characters in society, such as cell phone zombies, people who think they are funny by saying “it must be free” when an item does not scan, and the occasional guest that modern society would label as a “Karen“. Welcome to Retail!

One of the downsides of retails is the unpredictable schedules and late nights, and even though I wanted full-time hours, I did not usually get them and I had to pick up shifts when they became available. As part of this, I ended up cross-training in a variety of roles around the store, including the snack bar (Food Avenue) and the sales floor. I also earned a reputation for my technical abilities, such as fixing computer equipment.

Actual photo of me working in the newly remodelled photo lab. Kodak may be a thing of the past, but I still have their tech support number burned into my mind. “For Pakon equipment, press 1…for online services, press 2…”

My knowledge of technology was helpful when I learned the photo lab – being an aspiring photographer myself who learned to develop film in high school, I was able to keep the customers happy and the equipment running. Film chemistry would go out of balance, computers would crash, and printers would jam, and sometimes this meant having to explain to customers why their prints were not ready. Unfortunately conflicts did sometimes happen as some of my supervisors did not understand the technology very well and some miscommunication after a piece of equipment briefly going down actually resulted in me suffering a mental breakdown. Unlike the classic autism meltdowns I sometimes had as a kid, as an adult I am much more likely to shutdown and withdraw. Ultimately this lead to me taking a couple of unpaid days off and transferring to a different department.

Several months later, with multiple university degrees in hand and another long job hunt, I was able to land a new job that better suited my skill set (and paid a lot more) and I clocked out for the last time. I still came to shop at the store on a regular basis and meet up with my former colleagues, especially the older gentleman who was cart attendant and loved his job. He was easily entertained and would crack up whenever I jokingly told him about that cart I saw next to the dumpster behind Wal-Mart on my way to the store that he needed to go and retrieve.

While the pay was marginally above minimum wage, shifts not always easy to obtain, and promotional opportunities rather limited, working retail did help me open up to other people, and it was my first real job that paved the way for other careers. It also got me through school and paid most of the bills. At the same time, I was able to work with many good people, some of whom I am still in contact with today. These days I almost never wear red, but April 2 is still a day for #redinstead

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Special Interests: Planes and Aviation

Air New Zealand 737-200 on the tarmac with airstairs extended
The Boeing 737-200 formed the backbone of the Air New Zealand domestic fleet in the 1980s and 1990s, and I have many childhood memories flying on this type, often as an unaccompanied minor. The highlight of the trip was often right before landing when the flight attendants brought around the basket of lollies as something to help relieve the pressure change in your ears. The airline still does that today
Image source: Wikimedia

For parents of neurodiverse kids, air travel can be a challenging endeavour. Planes are big and loud (though not as loud as in the early days of jet travel), and for the kids, it is an unfamiliar environment. Going to the airport, checking, going through security screening, as well as lots and lots of waiting, and that is all before even getting on the plane. I also recall having an unusual phobia of luggage carousels, but that is story for another day. Some airports even provide special facilities to assist with needs like this. The fact is, air travel can be test of patience for even the neurotypical.

My first time travelling by air took place in the mid 1980s, when I was still a very young toddler. It was a medium-haul trans-Tasman flight from Wellington to Melbourne. In this era, in-flight entertainment was also much more limited at the time – no WiFi, no movies on demand, and no seat-back trivia games. If you wanted music and the batteries in your Walkman ran out, you could listen to a preset tape via a set of pneumatic headphones that resembled a doctor’s stethoscope.

Economy class seats on an A330-300
This way for new adventures!

Although I was too young to remember that flight, my mother certainly did remember it. She had me sleeping on a sheepskin rug on the floor…at least that’s what she thought. In an era long before airlines charged an arm and a leg for checked luggage, people had less carry-on baggage and economy passengers were not packed in like sardines either. This meant that there was plenty of room down there to spread out and get some rest, but as you may or may not know, sleeping is something that neurodiverse people are not always very good at, and on waking up, I set out on an adventure to some place exciting, like the galley, the toilets, or maybe the cockpit (this was pre-9/11 of course). My plans, however, were foiled, as after crawling under several rows of seats, a flight attendant had found me, and brought me back to my mother.

My interpretation of an Air New Zealand jet when I was 8
A drawing of a plane from when I was about 8 years old. The blue and green cheat-lines, along with the koru (though done backwards) clearly indicate that this is an Air New Zealand jet. The square windows suggest an early De-Haviland Comet, but ANZ did not fly that type. The four podded engines suggest a DC-8 (as aside from the 747 with its iconic hump, that was the only quad-jet that ANZ flew). The DC-8, however, did not have a T-tail. Also, the #1 and #2 engines appear to be high-bypass turbofans, while #3 and #4 were either turbojets or low-bypass turbofans, a rather unusual configuration

I did have several toy planes growing up, including the Fisher Price jetliner, and of course, Lego. I recall once building a “plane” out of Lego with my dad that depicted my family flying to Christchurch to see Grandma – with me at the front as the pilot. Several years later, in school, one of our class studies was about going to the airport, and we even did a field trip there. A highlight, however, was at the age of 10, when I went on a Qantas flight with my brother from Sydney to Christchurch – once we had landed, I excitedly told my mother about how we flew in a “Boing[sic] 747″. Prior to that, the Queen of the Skies was something I had only seen in books and on TV.

The next major plane trip I embarked on was when my family moved to the US, which involved flying three legs on United, starting with a 12 hour leg on a 747 from Auckland, with layovers in LAX and Orlando. With a handful of Roald Dahl books, and my brother’s Game Boy, we travelled over 14,000 km (about 8800 miles) over the course of over 24 hours, and in true neurodiverse fashion, I did not sleep a wink.

Over the next few years, I did not get to fly very much aside from a short trip to the Bahamas (on a 737-200).

Virgin Atlantic "Hot Lips" 747-400 at Gatwick Airport
I spent eight hours with “Hot Lips“. It turned out to be a really good time

In 1999, I got to take a transatlantic flight for the first time with Virgin Atlantic (747s) and later with British Airways (777). The final leg on the return trip was on board a Beechcraft 1900, a small 19 seat turboprop that would make even a City and South London Railway tube train feel spacious.

Like other interests I had as a child, my interest in planes waned, but never went away. In fact, when I was in graduate school, the professor I was working with offered me a ride in his Piper Cherokee. Several days later, I was riding my bike out to the airport to meet with a flight instructor with his Cessna 172, and that is when things literally started to take off on my journey towards attaining a private pilot license.

On final approach to runway 29
Flying a plane is easy. Landing is a bit harder though

Unusually, piloting a small aircraft is something that’s just perfect for some types of neurodiverse minds – there are well defined processes and procedures – especially checklists – and flying with instruments requires a lot of precision and the ability to focus on the task at hand.

Flying, however, is as a rather expensive hobby, and while autism and mental health medications do not automatically disqualify one from getting an FAA medical certificate, they do create extra bureaucracy.

Although I have not piloted a plane recently due to the above reasons, I still have a fascination with these big machines, and in the event that a flight attendant asks “By the way, is there anyone on board who knows how to fly a plane?”, I might be able to help.

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Train Spotlight: The Northern Line

“Smell of a man, smell of a musk. The noise of the train, from morning till dusk”.

“The up escalator broken down…”

The opening line of “Something’s Gotta Blow“, the last song on Joan Armatrading’s 2007 album “Into the Blues”. The song depicts a journey on a crowded subway system and the frustrations that was pushing commuters to their limits amongst delays, a broken down escalator, and people overheating.

In an interview, Armatrading, mentions that this was based on her personal experiences travelling on the London Underground, specifically the Northern Line, which had a reputation for frequently having delays, and for a period, it was even known as the “Misery Line” for that reason.

If you want to go south, take the Northern line

For many Londoners, the Northern Line is just another line on the Tube (as the system is commonly known), one that happens to be shaped like a mutated chromosome on the iconic tube map. This means that a passenger intending to go to Wimbledon could take the wrong branch and end up at Battersea Power Station Station (yes, Battersea Power Station Station) instead. Distinct from the North London Line and the Northern City Line, it is also the only line that serves the southernmost station on the network at Morden.

Like many of the Underground lines, the Northern Line has a long history. The first section opened in 1890 with six stations as the City and South London Railway, and was the first of the deep level “tube” lines on what is now the Underground

Before “Mind the Gap“, there was “Mind Your Head”

The C&SLR, however, was very claustrophobic by today’s standards. With a tunnel diameter of about three meters (ten feet), the trains were smaller than the tube trains that run today, and even smaller than the trains that run in the 11 foot diameter tunnels of the Glasgow Subway. The logic at the time was that since there was nothing to see in the dark tunnels, the trains would not need windows and the gateman (conductor) would announce each station, leading to the passenger cars being nicknamed “padded cells”.

Despite the potential for passengers to go insane by being treated like the insane, the new line was very popular – unlike the competing Metropolitan and District railways, who ran steam locomotives through shallow tunnels below the surface (with plenty of extra holes dug for ventilation), it was one of the first railways to use electric traction, drawing power from a third rail – initially the plan was to use cables like they do on the San Fransisco cable cars, but that plan fell through. Electric traction meant no smoke-filled stations, and no need for ventilation – the Metropolitan and District railways followed suit and electrified their own railways.

The Underground is not a bus – it’s a series of Tubes

Over the years, the line continued to expand into the Northern Line we know today. The original tunnels were enlarged, stations were rebuilt, and the line was integrated into what became the London Underground. Even today, the Northern Line is being upgraded and extended. The current fleet of trains, the 1995 stock entered service in 1996, and underwent a refurbishment in 2015, and as of this writing, the newest section of the London Underground is the Battersea Power Station extension, which opened in 2021 with larger tunnels to comply with modern safety standards, and there are plans to extend it even further to Clapham Junction, one of the busiest interchange stations on the southern surface network. There also have been proposals to completely split the Northern Line to make the journey easier for those planning to see either a tennis game or flying pigs, though this would require extensive rebuilding of Camden Town station to do so.

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Childhood Memories: Birthday Parties

If there was one thing I could not stand as a child, it would be, believe it or not, birthday parties. Sure, for any neurodiverse person, they can be overwhelming with all those people and all that noise, but I hated birthday parties for a different reason – and not just they were usually for someone else.

That reason: The SINGING. Someone, usually (and hopefully) a parent, would light the candles and everyone would start singing that song that baffled copyright lawyers for decades: Happy Birthday to You and the birthday boy (or girl) blew out the candles. Thinking back, maybe I had good reasoning for hating birthdays. After all these were friends and family, not professional singers, which I will get into in a future post.

My fourth birthday was fairly low key with a family dinner at Cobb & Co with ice cream cake – I still have memories of that day. I was at home with my dad when my mother came in with a box of presents, including a “talking” teddy bear that could record short audio phrases. Despite my parents intention of getting the bear to help me become more verbal, the audio recording device (which could be accessed by a zipper on the bear’s bum) mysteriously went missing, resulting in the former talking bear becoming non-verbal. Verbal or not, that bear was well loved and I often would chew on its button nose.

Unit blocks. Image source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Two_sets_of_wooden_unit_blocks.jpeg

My fifth birthday, however, was another story. In New Zealand, a child will typically start at primary (elementary) school on his or her fifth birthday after attending kindergarten (or “kindy”) for a year or so. I was no different – kindy was a place where kids could do things that kids do – play with building blocks, make arts and crafts, and eat play-dough. My two teachers, Margaret and Diane, realized I was a little bit different from the other kids. After injuring myself with a stapler (children were allowed to be curious around “dangerous” office supplies without constant supervision back then), one of the teachers got one of the hand puppets and through the puppet challenged me to build them a house with the building blocks while the other kids were away, an activity I did not partake in because the other kids were always playing with them. She was amazed at what I was able to build and actually instructed the other kids to leave it standing during clean-up time.

Unfortunately, the inevitable came to be. I was going to turn five whether I wanted to or not. I had seen what happened to those who came before me and I dreaded that day. At kindy, when someone turned five and was going to start school, it was a big deal – the birthday boy or girl would decorate a cardboard crown (similar to one you might get at Burger King) with stickers and the teacher would bring out a plastic cake with candles to blow out. Everyone would sing Happy Birthday, and we would never see that person at kindy again…and it was going to happen to me.

Naturally, I was terrified at that prospect and had a bit of a mental meltdown, but the teacher intervened. She got out a small tray and some play-dough and got me to make a small “cake” with five candles. With the talent that only a good kindergarten teacher could have, she was able to calm me down and by the end of the day, the other kids were singing to me, and I was okay with it.

At the age of six, I got to have a “regular” kid’s birthday – despite having just recently transferred to a new school, I picked out a few kids in my class to be my “friends” and we went out for a birthday lunch at our favourite family restaurant. We had a great time, and unusually for a neurodiverse kid, I even got invited to their parties too, though I was a little uncomfortable going to the party where everyone had to dress up as pirates – cosplay is fairly popular among neurodiverse adults these days, but playing dress-up was something I did not like as a kid. I was also not very good at choosing presents either, as often I thought of getting things that I would like, rather what my friends would have liked.

That sixth birthday party was my first, and ultimately ended up being my last too. From the age of seven onward, birthday parties stopped being a thing for me. I did go to a few friends’ parties, but did not have any more birthday parties of my own. I believe there were several reasons for this. My family moved many times, and every move meant changing schools. For a neurotypical kid, this is no big deal – they just make new friends, get invited to their parties, and move on. For me, that was not an option – as the socially awkward “new kid”, being accepted by the other kids was hard, and getting them to become friends is even harder. I became somewhat of an outcast at my school, and was getting picked on even by kids I did not know. No kid would even want to play with me, let alone invite me to their birthday party.

Looking back, that might have even been for the better. I still got to celebrate birthdays, but usually as something low-key with family. There was usually cake involved (including a Thomas the Tank Engine cake when I turned seven that I remember fondly), and of course presents. As as adult, I actually frequently find many parties to be quite boring, especially when there’s a lot of people (especially those I do not know), alcohol, and so much noise that it’s impossible to hold a conversation with the person next to you.

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Three Minutes to Wapner: The Real Rain Man

“Have to get to K-Mart. 400 Oak Street. The sign said ‘Don’t Walk’. Have to get to K-Mart.”

Depending on who you talk to, mention the term “autism” and different things come to people’s minds. People like Temple Grandin or Albert Einstein. Film and TV characters like Julia on Sesame Street or Sheldon from Big Bang Theory. For years, however, people thought about Dustin Hoffman’s character Raymond from the 1988 movie Rain Man.

Raymond is depicted in the movie as being on the autism spectrum, lives in a mental institution, and has very strict routines. Maple syrup has to be on the table before the pancakes, and he absolutely must watch Jeopardy! at 5. He also has some unique savant abilities, such as being able to do complex calculations in his head and recall specific details in the past.

Kim Peek was neurodiverse, but probably not on the autism spectrum

Although the character in the movie is on the spectrum, he is actually inspired by Kim Peek, who was neurodiverse, but had a different condition. Instead, he had what was believed to be FG Syndrome, a genetic condition that resulted in a very abnormal brain structure, notably absence of the corpus callosum, the large bundle of nerve fibers that joins the two hemispheres of a “normal” brain. The condition is also associated with some physical deformities, especially relating to the GI tract. As with other types of neurodiversity, his brain formed neural connections differently from most people, resulting in a brain that had unique abilities and an excellent memory. He could speed read by scanning the left page with his left eye and the right page with his right eye and could recall precise details. He could also perform calendar calculations and tell people the day they were born given a date.

The movie’s producers did, however, draw inspiration from others as well, so Raymond was likely a mix of autism and Peek’s personality – there are definitely aspects of the character that draw from autism, and there are some aspects of FG Syndrome that also appear in autism.

The selection of underwear was rather underwhelming. I think I’ll go to Target instead.

While most people on the autism spectrum do not have savant abilities, they often have excellent memory and can remember precise details. Peek also had macrocephaly (larger than a normal head size) and that is commonly associated with some genes that can contribute to autism. It also makes shopping for hats a little more challenging – I personally recall an experience at the bike shop as a kid when we were shopping for helmets – my brothers needed to have extra foam pads in their helmets for a better fit, however I did not.

Raymond’s strict routines, such as watching certain television programs at a specific time, and only wearing underwear bought from Kmart are likely drawn from the producer’s work with people who were actually on the autism spectrum. The need for routines is more commonly associated with the autism spectrum than with FG syndrome.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a very shiny train to catch…and by the way, K-mart sucks.

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Childhood Fascinations: The Car Wash

Automatic car washes can be quite a sensory experience for a neurodiverse child and can evoke fascination or terror in any child. Image source: Wikimedia

One of the classic signs of being on the autism spectrum is fascination or even downright obsession with very narrow and specific topics. Sometimes it’s just the initial exposure to something interesting that triggers an obsession. Some of these obsessions may be completely off the wall, but others may be things that trigger the interest of any kid, though often at a much deeper level.

In the late 1980s, my family’s Ford Falcon station wagon was showing its age and it came time to sell it and get something that was a bit more modern and less rusty. The end result was a bright red 1980 Honda Accord sedan, and I still remember the day my mother and I took the train to a dealership in the Hutt Valley to buy it and then drive it to the therapy sessions I was having at the time. Strangely enough, especially for a four-year-old on the spectrum, for some time after that I did wonder if the salesman was going to miss “his” car after we drove it away. The car was equipped with everything a growing family needed – central locking, a tape deck for listening to Dire Straits, and ash trays for every seat – perfect for kids who fortunately did not smoke but still had candy wrappers that needed to be stashed away.

Being used to transport kids from place to place, the car would often get quite dirty, and while keeping the interior clean was often a challenge, keeping the exterior clean was an easier job – normally, we would just wash the car in the driveway with the garden hose and a bucket of soapy water, although when the kids were helping, it often required much more soap and water than normal and sometimes more time too. The same goes for self-serve car-washes, though the result is often includes a small fortune in quarters going down the drain.

Source: XKCD

The alternative, of course, is to get to an automatic car wash. My first experience was at a small fuel station outside of the town of Tawa. Going through a car wash is quite a sensory experience and can even be scary, especially for younger kids, but I was just more curious than anything – were those brightly coloured spinning brushes scratching my mother’s new car? The mitter curtains were also quite fascinating. After the whole ordeal, I though that going through the car-wash was one of the greatest things ever.

My next task: Go home, take out my Lego and build one of my own. It was fairly basic but I then realized the existence of set 6934, which included a car wash, but it was quite expensive. Further disappointment came on the day that Dad promised me that we would go through the car wash on the way home after picking up some beer, but the long line at the liquor store meant that it would be closed by the time we got there.

“boop boop boop, please drive forward…boop boop boop, please drive…bzzzz, place car in park”

As with other childhood interests, my interest in car-washes faded over time, but never went away completely. Even today, there is a self-service car-wash near where I work, and it is equipped with two “bay” washes – one with conventional spinning brushes and the other “touch-free”. In addition multiple “tunnel” car-washes have started to pop up around town, and those provided their own unique experience.

Finally, although I was never able to get Lego #6934 with its car wash, I still have an opportunity to get a Lego car-wash – the company still has such sets, including 60362 to fulfill my AFOL desires

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Train spotlight: Puffing Billy Railway

“Stand clear of the closing…oh never mind”
Image source: Wikimedia

In most parts of the world, it is expected that when riding the rails, one should keep their hands and arms inside the vehicle at all times. Riding on the outside of a railway carriage is generally discouraged, if not illegal. It is often very dangerous due to the risk of falling from a moving train as well as other hazards along the track, such as low tunnels, signal gantries, and high-voltage overhead line equipment. Yet people will still do so, for various reasons. It may be due to overcrowding, or it may stem from the desire to get some fresh air or to avoid having to pay a fare. Unfortunately, it also used as a way to get video views.

There are, however, some railway systems where this is not only allowed, but also expected. A classic example is the San Fransisco Cable Car, where passengers are allowed to cling on to the outside of the vehicle as it makes its ways through the city’s hilly terrain, but there is another railway that also allows, at least to an extent. For the Puffing Billy Railway, outside of Melbourne, Australia, keeping hands and arms inside the vehicle is optional, and the same goes for legs too.

12A ready for departure
Image source: Wikimedia

Within walking distance of Belgrave Station at the end of the Belgrave Line on Melbourne’s electrified 1600mm broad-gauge suburban network is a portal to another era where a journey on the Puffing Billy Railway begins. A stark contrast to the modern electrical multiple units on the suburban network, the trains here run on old-fashioned steam. Run and maintained by mostly volunteers, it attracts tourists from near and far, and in 1990s when my family lived in the area, we were among those tourists. We arrived fairly early, allowing us to witness our train chugging into the station consisting of a maroon 2-6-2 tank locomotive running cab-first pulling a rake of open-sided wooden coaches. The windows had nothing but metal railing, presumably to prevent people from jumping out, but we later realized they served an additional purpose.

Crossing the Monbulk trestle bridge can be a white-knuckle experience for the faint of heart.
Image source: Wikimedia

We climbed aboard and found our seats in the second car. Fittings were fairly minimal, including lights, which were not used because this ride was during the day. I later see and hear our locomotive run by us in the siding as it ran around to the other end of the train. A few moments later, we were on our way. The railway itself is a single-track 782mm (2ft 6in) narrow gauge line (this means the spacing between the track is less than half that of Melbourne’s main network) that winds its way through the wooded foothills of the Dandenong Ranges. Once one of five narrow gauge lines of the Victorian Railways, it is the only one that remains, having been reopened in 1962 after the original line was shut down. Along the way we get to take in much of the scenery of the line, including a narrow and very rickety-looking trestle bridge. It is during this journey that we discover the other unique aspect of the Puffing Billy Railway, and that is the tradition of people, especially children, sitting on the edges of the windows, letting their legs dangle freely, with the metal bars preventing them from falling out.

I was a bit nervous about sitting on the edge of the window, but my brother was able to do it for a while – I just preferred to watch the scenery from the safety of my seat. At the time, the end of the line was at Lakeside station, 14km from Belgrave. I wanted to get off and look around, but since our train was the last train of the day, we had to stay on board as our locomotive ran around to the back of the train ready for the return trip and if we were to alight, we would have to find another way back. With the locomotive at the other end of the train, I was able to get a better view of it as it huffed and puffed its way back to Belgrave.

Although I was only ten when we took that ride, it is one that I fondly remember, and even today, the Puffing Billy locomotives carries thousands of passengers on a daily basis along what is now a 25km line.

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Luka: Neurodiverse, not abused?

“I guess I’d like to be alone, with nothing broken, nothing thown”
Image source: Wikimedia

“My name is Luka. I live on the second floor. I live upstairs from you. Yes I think you’ve seen me before”. Those are the opening words to Suzanne Vega’s hit song, Luka, first released in 1987 on her album, Solitude Standing. The song reached No. 3 on the Billboard Hot 100 Worldwide, and made the charts in countries worldwide, even in my home country of New Zealand.

Despite its apparently upbeat melody and popularity, the song itself is actually about a very sensitive topic – child abuse. The character Luka talks about being “hit until he cries”, and keeps things to himself, most likely out of fear of being exposed to more abuse, as well as wanting to be alone.

Now although I was bullied a lot in school and still suffer from the scars of that as an adult, I at least had a safe and loving home to go to after school (unless you count the “forced eye contact” therapy they tried on me and even that in itself was not entirely traumatizing because at least I got to play with the train when the ordeal was over), but something that is very interesting about the song that Suzanne Vega herself has to say that I could relate to:

A few years ago, I used to see this group of children playing in front of my building, and there was one of them, whose name was Luka, who seemed a little bit distinctive from the other children. I always remembered his name, and I always remembered his face, and I didn’t know much about him, but he just seemed set apart from these other children that I would see playing. And his character is what I based the song ‘Luka’ on. In the song, the boy Luka is an abused child – In real life I don’t think he was. I think he was just different.

-Suzanne Vega in an interview for SongFacts
New York City and its people provided the inspiration and setting for Luka

Those last few words struck me – Vega herself says that Luka was based on a kid who probably was not abused – he was in fact “just different” and in a another interview, he was apparently doing okay for himself and even got himself a girl. Just as many people on the spectrum are “just different”. As neurodiverse kids, we often struggled to fit in with the other kids and their games and often ended up playing on our own. Perhaps Luka was in fact on the spectrum to some extent, and Vega just interpreted his mannerisms as being the result of horrible things happening behind closed doors.

That is not to say, however, that kids (and even adults) on the spectrum do not get abused. Just like neurotypical kids, they are still kids, and if born into a dysfunctional household, they may suffer from similar treatment, perhaps even more so due to them being more vulnerable and misunderstood, along with their increased sensitivity to certain stimuli. Then there’s the issue of school bullying, and that is a story in itself.

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Childhood Trauma: Sports and Gym Class

Do you remember your favorite subjects in school? Some might like art, others music. The nerdier kids might enjoy science or computer class, yet for many kids, especially young boys, their favorite school activities were anything related to sports. One might think that it’s common for people on the spectrum to be interested in sports, at least when it comes to knowing everything there is to know about them, whether it is a particular sport, such as baseball where every player has a set of stats, a family of sports, such as football (soccer, American football, rugby, Aussie rules, etc.), or a wide range of sports. I, however, am not one of these people. School actually taught me to hate sports.

An empty school gymnasium with a basketball hoop suspended in front of a stage.
The school gymnasium was the place to go for exclusion, confusion, and terrible acoustics. Image source: Wikimedia

At many schools, sports divide the kids into two groups: those who were really good at sports, competed with other schools, and enjoyed every moment of it and those who were not so good at sports, but get satisfaction out of playing. Where was I? I was in the third group: kids who were terrible at all things sports and hated every moment of it.

I was not a fast runner and having less than perfect binocular vision meant that I was more likely to get hit in the head by a fast ball than be able to catch it. There were also a lot of games that I did not play because I did not know how to play them and I did not have friends who could teach me. Instead of being out on the field playing cricket or in the playground playing tag with the other kids, I spent many lunch breaks by myself in the sandbox digging holes and building sandcastles, sometimes with the other outcast” kids.

This had all set in by the time I reached Std. 2 (roughly equivalent to 3rd grade in the US school system), physical fitness had become a regular part of each day – at the beginning of every day we were require to take off our warm jackets go outside into the chilly morning weather and run laps around the school grounds. It was as if the teachers got some sort of sick pleasure standing there in their nice warm clothes, watching us students suffer as we did lap after lap. Sometimes when they got fed up with the class’s behaviour, they would even send everyone out to run laps as a punishment. Just as high school English class ruined books by taking the fun out of reading (how was I supposed to know why the curtains were blue?), primary school fitness taught me to loathe running. They didn’t teach much about the health benefits of being physically active – only the pain and suffering part.

In the afternoons we would regularly go out for PE – usually this involved “sport” sports – cricket, T-ball, etc. and other times it was just athletics – relays, long jump, running races, etc. When it came to playing T-ball, I was often out by the time I made it to second base (assuming I was even able to hit the ball), and for the running races, I usually came in last. The teachers did not seem to care and I just came to accept that I was terrible at sports – being the “different” and therefore “uncool” kid anyway, getting picked last for everything was expected.

There was a bright spot, however – every year, the school held its cross country race, which involved an approximately 1.7 km (about one mile) course around the block and school grounds. Initially, I dreaded it because it meant even more running, but my parents offered me a few dollars if finished the race, and a few more dollars if I didn’t come last. This was a tall order for someone like me, but the promise of money motivated me. On the day of the race, I ran, and ran, and ran I was out of breath and sore, but I finished. Not only that, but I finished in ninth place (out of the fifteen boys in my class), and for me that was a win – plus I got five dollars out of it. I certainly did not start enjoying running, but at least it was over.

A running track
Give me train tracks over running tracks any day! Image source: Wikimedia

I went to middle school in the US, and in seventh grade, I had PE as one of my courses. Naturally it was my least favourite subject (behind even English class). The pain and suffering would start when the coach blew his whistle in the locker room (those hard surfaces made for less than pleasant acoustics) and like in primary school, there was lots of running, but with some flag football thrown in (also a game I never actually learned how to play, so I just usually stood around on the field playing with some leaves or watching an interesting looking bug I found in the grass). Getting points docked off my grade due to not being able to run fast enough did not help either. Fortunately at the beginning of the second semester, the coach took notice at my complete lack of interest in a game of dodgeball (something all the other kids were looking forward to) and sent me to the guidance office, where they transferred me to home economics where I instead got to partake in more interesting topics, such as cooking and especially home design.

While in middle school, I also joined a Saturday morning bowling league as my brothers were also doing it and while I was never as good at the sport as they were, I was not terrible either and even improved over the years, but my performance was often related to my mental state. I could be on a roll, getting a bunch of strikes in a row and then getting a gutter-ball. The resulting anxiety would create a circular anxiety feedback loop and resulted in me bowling terribly for the rest of the game. Team-mates deliberately bowling poorly and unsolicited “advice” from family members did not help much either.

The Melbourne Cricket Ground (MCG) in Melbourne, Australia. A rail yard is visible in the foreground
The MCG is a mecca for Aussie Rules footy fans. The best part of going to a game there as a neurodiverse person? Getting to ride the rare 4D train (running coupled behind a Comeng set) to get there. Image source: Wikimedia

While I did hate playing most sports, I actually got some enjoyment from watching sports, at least sometimes. Not on TV, but actually in a stadium with the crowds and noise. This is obviously something that would not normally appeal to people on the spectrum but I did have my limits. I went to a university known for one of the loudest NCAA stadiums in the country and knew it was not for me. We did go to rugby, ice hockey, and even Aussie Rules football games (we lived in Melbourne for about a year). The game itself I generally did not care much for – it was often difficult to follow (especially games with complex rules like American football), but I enjoyed the experience – going to the stadium, dressing in team colors, waving flags, etc.

Cyclists rolling out at the beginning of an organized tour
I want to ride it where I like…

After I finished school, I started cycling more – not so much for exercise, but out of necessity. I did not have my license (and therefore a car), but still needed to get around. I took this one step further when I realized that riding my bike was often quicker than taking the bus to get around town. Cycling was a sport that I was actually decent at, and when it came to just riding – it was less about winning or losing and just getting out and taking in the scenery at your own pace. I was not the fastest cyclist, but I completed several organized century rides (rides of at least 100 miles, or roughly 160 km).

To this day I still cycle fairly often, but since I have a car now it is no longer my only option for day-to-day transportation. The rest of my exercise needs are taken up by walking, which has numerous benefits – it is easier on the knees than running and can be done pretty much anywhere and at any time. I do wonder, however, how different life might have been if school sports was a little more friendlier to those on the spectrum.

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