The words flew out of my mouth for the first time, “My son has autism.”

As a child, I could always count on a special day for my birthday. Growing up in a house full of children, days when the focus was only on you, were limited. On our birthday, we got a special cake, got to pick what dinner we wanted, and had ice cream made out of an old hand-churned ice cream maker.

This was something I wanted to make sure to pass on to my children.

Every year I take the kids birthday off work, and we plan a special outing. In December 2019 it was our daughter Nora’s first birthday. Winter in Arizona is filled with 70-degree weather, so a trip to the zoo was the perfect way to celebrate her day.

I braved taking both children out by myself hoping that since it was a weekday we wouldn’t be met with big crowds of children.

Managing a one year old and a almost 3.5 year takes extreme planning.

Our son, Nixon, had just received an “at-risk” for autism diagnosis, and we were still learning how to navigate a successful trip into a crowded public place. He was also still adjusting to the little sister that we brought home the year before.

As we walked into the zoo I was hopeful we would have a beautiful day looking at animals and walking around.

The zoo was fairly empty because we got there minutes after it opened. Off to the right of the entrance was a big treehouse that kids can climb in. Overtime I have learned that if we let Nixon guide our way, he usually is much more receptive to prompts to move on to the next activity. I let him run around the treehouse for about 20 minutes, and then we made our way down the path to look at the animals.

I immediately realized that there was a carousel down the path. Nixon caught it in his sight and I knew we were going to take a ride.

Nora was enjoying being out, looking at the carousel and taking in the sights. She was a very easy baby which made outings possible.

The three of us walked up to the counter, me blocking Nixon’s way through the gate as I struggled to get Nora out of the stroller and hand my credit card to the cashier.

A young girl, maybe 20 years old took my card, and I said, “Can we please pay for two rides.” I knew the 3-minute ride wasn’t going to be enough for any of us and that I would most likely have to carry Nixon off the ride once it was over.

The young girl explained, “If another family comes to ride, you will need to take both kids off in between rides so they can pick their animal.” I said “ok,” knowing there was no way I was doing that.

I slowly put Nixon on the leopard he picked and buckled both kids. We had our first ride. As it began to slow I saw a family of four walk up to the counter to pay for a ride.

The young girl came up to me and requested, “We are going to have to ask you to get off, so the people waiting can pick their animal.” I calmly said, “There are so many other leopards to pick from, and we can’t get off.”

What she didn’t know was what I could see was coming, having to carry Nora off the ride and buckle her into her stroller while watching Nixon from afar. The choices were to either have him stay buckled into the leopard or unbuckle him and let him run around the carousel, not wanting to get off.

This young girl, my guess without children, did not understand the amount of strength it was going to take to move on to our next stop on our zoo adventure.

Neither of my children verbal, both big for their age, and Nixon who would not understand that we had to make a quick walk from one door to the next and he could ride again.

The young girl, now with a youthful angst, said “I am going to have ask you to get off for a minute so this other family can get on.”

In that moment a surprise to me and to her I said, “My son has autism, and I am not going to carry him and my one year old daughter off of this carousel so one family can pick their animals.”

The young girl’s face immediately softened, a look I would become very familiar with as time went on, a misunderstood sympathetic split-second glance, which usually is followed by an immediate comment to lighten or soften the situation.

This young girl just said “ok” and walked away. It took me a minute to register what I had said.

I didn’t even know if that was the proper way to describe this beautiful part of Nixon.

I wasn’t even sure at that moment if he would get a full autism diagnosis, or maybe a part of me was hoping he wouldn’t.

At the end of the second ride, I unbuckled Nora and Nixon, Nixon began to run around the carousel, as I quickly tried to buckle his sister into her stroller. The carousel was fenced in, which was a gift to me because he could only exit from one swinging door. I then quickly picked up Nixon as he attempted to break free from my arms.

As we walked past the young girl, she said, “The zoo has some sensory bags at the front that they provide for free.” A sweet gesture of a young girl wanting to make our trip a little easier.

In that moment I didn’t want to have to explain why it would be such a challenge for me to navigate something so small as an exit off a carousel.

We ended up spending the day near the treehouse at the zoo entrance, we did not look at any animals, and both kids enjoyed themselves. As we drove home from the zoo, I had a glance into the future.

It would be up to me to help others understand Nixon, our adventures out might look different than what I had planned them to be, and the look I saw flash over the young girl’s face wouldn’t define the words that flew out of my mouth that day.

© 2020, Tabitha Cabrera. All rights reserved.