Less than a month ago, a parishioner and I were walking in the sub-basement of the school during Fish Fry talking about the chaos in the room. His wife came down and while he continued to look at it (he’s compared our storage spaces to Beirut, presumably during wartime, which isn’t necessarily an inaccurate description), we talked about school and life. She called what I do my true vocation, which it kind of is: if I am doing anything outside the house, this was it. I felt the most “right” and at peace with working here. She and I are on the same page on a lot of issues, though she’s in my mom’s generation, though a little younger, so one could say we were verging on friendship.
Autistic friendships: all the older and younger people you want, but never people in the same generation (aargh).
I suspect it helps she has many Deaf siblings (a lot of Autistic culture owes much to the Deaf community; they started this whole idea of we do have a language and a culture and you all are the weird ones, which we in the Autism world appreciate so much). She’s quirky, likely because of navigating the hearing and Deaf worlds, and because, like me, it sounds like she didn’t get involved with too much in the way of office politics and focused on her work more than average.
Also, like me she doesn’t do small talk and, like me, loves to talk politics and religion and really doesn’t care what the Kardashians are doing. It limits her friendships with her neighbors.
Anyway, we went out to lunch yesterday, and it ended up being a five-hour experience, talking about all kinds of things.
A highlight of the conversation, of course, is what I should do next.