People Being Hurt By the Trump Administration

In case you've been fortunate enough not to have been adversely affected by the Trump administration's policies slashing funding for social safety-net programs, and wondering whether anyone you know personally is feeling the effects --

-- well, for example, there's me. My food stamps have been discontinued and then continued again, back and forth a couple of times. Currently they've been cut off for a few months. And now the Social Security Administration informs me that they intend to discontinue my disability benefits as of next month. My Medicaid would be gone, and I might owe the government some money for years' worth of benefits they are now alleging that I was not eligible for.

A paralegal at the legal firm which represents me says that the threat to drop me from Disability and Medicaid is a simple mix-up and will be straightened out without too much trouble, internally, within Social Security, without having to take my case to court, and I shouldn't worry. I'm trying not to worry. As far as my food stamps are concerned, they're not sure whether or not those will be continued. They're looking into it.

And I'm doing a lot better than many disability recipients in that I have a lawyer. I can picture someone getting letters like the ones I've been getting from Social Security and having no idea what they mean (I had no idea what they meant, the paralegal had to explain them to me) or what to do about it.

I'm pretty sure I know what the Trump administration would like us to do about it -- die in the streets like dogs, after they've seized everything we have. That's what they'd like us to do.

Like I said, I'm trying not to worry. I hope that paralegal knows what she's talking about. I'm hoping I'm wrong when it feels to me that is Trump appointees coming after me and everything I own (it's not much), and that it's very, very personal.

13 Minutes and 31 Seconds

40 years ago -- yes, just about exactly 40 years. It was the spring of 1978 -- I ran a one-and-a-half-mile cross-country course in 13 minutes and 31 seconds. Well, I actually didn't run the whole way. About halfway through, for a short stretch, I and a couple of others walked. I think I may have spotted someone ahead of me slowing from an agonized jog to an unhappy walk. That may have been what it was which gave me the idea to do the same. I didn't do it for very long. I could vividly picture being spotted walking instead running, and being yelled at by an authority figure, the gym teacher or someone else. In retrospect, I don't know what the authority figure would have done to me, besides yelling, if he had spotted me walking. At the time, though, I was scared enough of it to limit the walking to only a short stretch, and on the part of the course where we were farther away from the school and disapproving adult eyes.

I did not do this running (and walking) by choice. I was forced to do so, in school, in gym class. We had gym 3 times a week in high school. 3 times a week, and the beginning of every period of gym, we were required to run five laps around the gym, which came out to a half-mile, and to make a round on some Nautilus weight-training apparatus. I don't remember whether we ran first and then did the weights, or the other way around.

In the 9th grade, once during the school year, we did the 5 laps, the half-mile, as a timed race. 5 of us ran at once, and everybody's time was recorded. And then in the 11th grade came the outdoor mile-and-a-half.

Before the start of the 9th-grade half-mile race, I had assumed I was going to do pretty well. I had thought that I had been more into the 3-times-weekly half mile run than many of my classmates, and that I was in good shape. I remember that there was one other student in our group of 5 whom I assumed I would beat easily. I don't remember his name or much of anything about him, but I remember that, when we were lined up for this half-mile race, he looked puny and pasty and no threat to me.

Then the starting whistle sounded, and it was as if all 4 of the others were at the first turn before I had taken a step. I had assumed that I would be going at considerably less than top speed for this half-mile, but I had to run as fast as I could the whole way, just to stay a considerable distance behind all of them. As I was finishing the final lap, surprisingly, many of my onlooking classmates began to yell, "Go, Steve!" and "C'mon, Steve!" and things like that. It was surprising to me that they knew my name, and even more surprising that they were expressing goodwill. I responded by finishing the half-mile to the absolute utmost of my ability, and crossed the line to a big round of applause. I don't remember my exact time. I remember that it was between 2:45 and 3 minutes, and, if not the slowest time in the class, it was 2nd or 3rd from the slowest at best.

In the 11th-grade mile-and-a-half cross-country, the other boy I remember walking also seemed puny and pasty. And then, approaching the finish line, with most of the class having finished and recovered enough breath to yell, there was a puny and pasty boy a little way ahead of me. I don't know whether it was the same boy who had walked, but he or both of them were definitely not the small pasty boy who had trounced me in the 9th-grade half-mile. I ran faster, trying to catch the other boy, and, again to my amazement, I was cheered on by thunderous applause and shouts of "Go, Steve!" and "C'mon, Steve!" I dug deep, and although the other boy sped up greatly as soon as he figured out that someone was gaining on him, and seemed to be taking this contest with grim seriousness and to be very upset, angry, even, when I caught and passed him, I won the duel and crossed the line at 13:31. A few other boys came in later. (A 5k is a little bit more than twice as long as a mile and a half, and the 5k cross-country world record is well under 13:31.)

I remember them cheering for me in both races. I don't know whether at the time I noticed any cheering for anyone else, but if so, those memories are long faded and gone.

Maybe everybody was cheering everybody. Or maybe -- and this has occurred to me only very recently -- the other boys had noticed that I had been absent from school for long stretches, and had heard something about the psychiatric facilities I had spent time in, and had concluded that I was disabled -- "special" -- and therefore were giving me extra encouragement because they had concluded that I needed extra help, and these two races were the only times when I had noticed the help. In retrospect, it seems to me that I was so oblivious to what was going on in the other student's minds that either possibility is quite plausible.

Coming To Grips With The Fact That I've Got Some Fundamental Problems Because I'm Autistic

In 2007, at the age of 45, I was first diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, a diagnosis since confirmed by several other diagnosticians. Since 2007 I have begun to learn a little bit about this condition, and I have taken to referring to myself as autistic, not Asperger, because I believe that Asperger's is autism. Some people agree, some do not. Almost all would agree that Asperger's is on what is called the autistic spectrum.

Back in 2007 I did not really yet know how autism is generally perceived. To give you an example of how out of touch I was with the popular images of autism, after 2007 I actually applied for a few jobs by telling the hirers that I was autistic, assuming that they would take that to mean that I was quirky, but also an awesome genius who could do great things for their company or organization. And I don't think I was wrong in seeing myself as a quirky genius. But I know now that many people don't define "autistic" anywhere near that way. The job applications turned out to be extremely awkward and embarrassing, as I got a glimpse the huge difference between how I saw myself and how other people typically saw me if I wasn't trying hard to hide how I really am and blend in.

But just a glimpse, I think, because the difficulty in understanding goes both ways. In some basic ways, I can't understand most people. Never have been able to. I've guessed my way through encounters with other people, and I continue to do so.

I saw my neurological condition, and I still do, as a difference, a mutation away from the usual homo sapien neurology, resulting in some unusual abilities and some weaknesses compared to the average human mind, but that some of these weaknesses are just a matter of the two groups, neurologically typical people and autistic people, not understanding each other, and that greater understanding will lead to great improvements in the relationships between the groups.

But whether I'm right or wrong to be optimistic about great improvements coming due to neurologically-typical people understanding autistic people better and vice-versa, I can't deny that many great misunderstandings remain.

So whether you choose to look at autism as a disability or a disease (I don't), or as a difference from the typical brain which is not necessarily bad in and of itself (that's how I see it), the fact remains that, at least at the present time, it is often very difficult for autistic people to understand and deal with the majority of people, and it is often very difficult for that majority to understand and deal with us.

So. I hope I didn't offend any autistic people or relatives or friends of autistic people with the headline of this post. I'm not saying that there's necessarily anything wrong with me, I'm not saying I'm disabled in every sense of that term. I definitely do not want to be "cured." I definitely DO want the extraordinary abilities of autistic people to be more broadly recognized and appreciated. I think that some things have improved in the lives of autistic people in the past few decades, because of greater understanding on both sides, and I think that future improvements may well be immense.

But in the meantime, just the fact that I have this one big difference, a big difference and still poorly-understood, in the way my brain is put together, from 99% of the general population -- that is, at least for the present, a disability, in the sense that it presents me with obstacles, and presents others with obstacles if they have to deal with me. It's hard for us to understand each other. That's a big obstacle. Huge.

It's hard for me to admit that I constantly face these obstacles. I've really spent my whole life denying it. But I just can't deny it any more. And I'm sorry if it offends some other people, because they think I'm presenting a negative image of autism. But I have to, as Zimmy says, try my best to be just like I am.