An Introduction

My son Tim is twenty-six  years old and he loves to chat to people when we go out. He’s very social and very polite, and always very happy. If we go to the shops, Tim heads straight for the counter to talk to the sales assistant.

‘Hello,’ he says cheerily. ‘How are you today?’

Before they have a chance to ask Tim how he is doing, Tim says, ‘I’m good, too!’ with a big smile on his face.

‘Are you having a good day?’ Tim says. Again, without actually waiting for the question, Tim will tell them he’s having a good day, too.

I don’t interrupt when these conversations are taking place. I hang back and let Tim do the talking, and I watch as realisation dawns on the face opposite  him. Something  about Tim is a little bit different. There is a slight monotone to his voice and he over-emphasises  some words. The intonation doesn’t rise on the right syllable. It’s like he’s been practising how to speak for a very long time, but he just can’t seem to get it right.

Usually, the person standing opposite Tim smiles gently and begins to speak very simply, because they think Tim might not understand them otherwise. But most people are taken by his cheery attitude and the conversation continues.

‘Have  you  ever  been  to  A merica?’  Tim  asks.  He’s  not particularly  interested  in the answer  but he’s very  eager  to share information about his own travels. ‘I’ve been to America four times!’ he announces, with quite a bit of excitement. Tim bounces up and down on his toes, his hands clasped restfully behind his back, and every half a minute  he pulls down on the left-hand side of his shirt. If Tim’s conversation partner looked closely at him, they would notice that although he is looking in the general direction of their face, his eyes will not meet theirs.

‘I’ve been to New York, Los Angeles, Washington DC, Chicago, Nashville, Austin Texas, Memphis and Florida, too,’ Tim tells them. ‘I went to Disneyland in Los Angeles.’

Most people are genuinely impressed that Tim has travelled so much, and that pleases him. Sometimes I can tell people are just being polite. Maybe they don’t believe him, but I can tell you that it’s true. If you think that’s good, wait for the next bit, I think.

‘I am a world-famous artist,’ says Tim.

It always makes me smile to see the look of surprise on people’s faces. How on earth did someone with autism become a world-famous  artist, they wonder. If I hadn’t raised Tim, I’d hardly believe it myself.

This is an edited extract from A DOUBLE SHOT OF HAPPPINESS by Judy Sharp, published by Allen & Unwin, RRP $32.99, on sale now.