Claire Finlayson - Dispatches from Rays Planet

Dispatches from Rays Planet

Copyright Claire Finlayson 2020

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Text and cover design by Vici Johnstone

Edited by Betsy Warland

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Caitlin Press Inc. acknowledges financial support from the Government of Canada and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the British Columbia Arts Council and the Book Publishers Tax Credit.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Dispatches from Ray's planet : a journey through autism / by Claire Finlayson.

Finlayson, Claire, 1957- author.

Canadiana 20200222783 | ISBN 9781773860305 (softcover)

LCSH: Andrews, Ray. | LCSH: Finlayson, Claire. | LCSH: Andrews, RayFamily. | LCSH: Finlayson, Claire, 1957-Family. | LCSH: Autistic peopleCanadaBiography. | LCSH: Autistic peopleFamily relationshipsCanada. | LCGFT: Biographies.

LCC RC553.A88 F56 2020 | DDC 616.85/8820092dc23

A Journey through Autism

Claire Finlayson

Caitlin Press 2020

For Writing Man

I grew up in a large family and only found out later in life that one of my brothers is on the autism spectrum. This is my account of our mutual struggle to understandor should I say, try to understandeach other. I had no formal knowledge of Aspergers syndrome (as it was once called) or autism spectrum disorder (as it is presently called) when I began writing this book. I had no idea that I was considered neurotypical, or indeed that other neurotypes existed; my ways of thinking and behaving were simply the correct ways. Ray just had to stop treating everyone to his unfiltered observations. He needed to be more sensitive to the feelings of othersfor their sakes and hisand I offered my well-meaning help in that regard.

I have since come to believe that I was torturing him.

I love my brother. I have stopped trying to remake him in my own image. I do not censor him, and I will not apologize for him. He has suffered enough for his unwitting social sins already. He and I both hope that his difficult journey and his raw and eloquent account of it on these pages will smooth the way, just a little bit, for the next generation of neurodivergents and those who love them.

Maybe one day nobody will have to dream of a world somewhere out there on the edge of the galaxy where they can safely be themselves. Maybe one day this will be everybodys planet.

Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each others eyes for an instant?

Ray was at it again. We were sitting in the high school cafeteria one day during lunch hour, and he was expounding loudly on the treacherous games people play and how he loathed them. On my planet, he said, gesturing skyward with what remained of his peanut butter and jam sandwich, sugar-coating the truth is an insult. Do I have spinach in my teeth? Thanks for letting me know! Did something I said offend you? Oops! Sorry about that! Glad to have the feedback; how else would I do better next time? He tossed the crust into his brown paper lunch bag, crumpled it with both hands and pushed it toward the middle of the table.

Id heard this speech one too many times.

I was fairly certain that my older brother was the child of earthling parents just like me and our four younger siblings, and I was sick of hearing how much better things were on his planet. I rolled my eyes and sighed.

Decades have gone by since that day, but in spite of all the things Ive forgotten along the way, I still remember exactly what I said to him: You know what, Ray? I swear Im going to find out what planet you come from.

It would be thirty more years before I would make good on that vow.

Goongbalong. That is the word Ray invented to describe the game that humans play among themselves. Its the game of tact, social niceties, subtle hints, little white lies, polite chit-chatmanoeuvres that have eluded him all his life. To him, those things amount to a lot of people working very hard to not say what they mean.

Its not only master manipulators who play the gamewe all do. Anyone who says, Are you sure you cant stay for dinner? when shes grateful youre leaving and hopes never to see you again is making a nice Goongbalong pass. Anyone who pretends he doesnt notice the wart on your nose or your lazy eye is playing just a little.

The rules of Goongbalongor The Rules, as Ray calls them, always with air quotes for emphasisare unwritten, and yet somehow everybody else seems to know them. The consequences of flouting them are swift and severe. Ray spells it out to me in an email:

There is a certain kind of persona woman, usuallywho can come to hate me so much that they seem to be on the brink of insanity. It would be a Great Moment in my life if I could come to understand why this happens. This hatred can, on occasion, blossom almost instantaneously. I commit some Goongbalong foul that seems to entail absolute and permanent expulsion from that persons social circle. It can happen anywhere, anytime, which is why Im in a state of constant terror when Im around other people.

Constant terror? Rays use of such a potent phrase takes me aback. We grew up in the same house, and I, only sixteen months his junior, have never detected a mote of fear in him. I always thought of him as, if anything, a little overconfident.

Surely youre just being paranoid, Ray, I write back. It cant be that bad!

But Ray, who insists on using my long-obsolete childhood nickname, assures me that it is:

Yes, Babs, its that bad. Some of them have erupted in spitting, stuttering, purple-faced rage. One example was my dentists receptionist back in West Van. I only saw her once every six monthsand that was at the beginning and end of my appointments. For the love of God! How much did we have to do with each other?? What on earth could one say to a receptionist to piss her off to such a degree?

Ray answers his own question:

I didnt really do anything; I just emit the wrong magnetic field or something. Im mostly always terrified and maybe people can smell fear the way a dog can. Maybe fear smells like arrogance.

And unfortunately, theres no opting out:

You are not permitted to sit out the gameyou *are* playing all the time, whether you like it or not.

Goongbalong. It doesnt roll easily off the tongue. And thats just the way Ray wants it: its hard to say because its hard to play. Every time someone has to pronounce my word, he tells me, they are forced to do something unnatural and counterintuitive. Thats my life. My word is my revenge.