A few days back a few of the Spotters and I worked an AutismSpot table at a big autism walk. Thousands of people were there and we had the opportunity to meet with several of them. We exchanged stories about our lives with autism, and we told them about AutismSpot and what it had to offer. There were many wonderful sweaty people out there showing their support in the Texas heat. It was truly inspiring.

The End.

Ok, so that was the big picture. I’m sure you’d be very disappointed with me if I didn’t fill you in on the miscellaneous irrelevant irreverences (or perhaps irreverent irrelevances). So here goes.

First off, from an outsider’s perspective, the walk seemed extremely well organized, with our own Joey constantly on the move, radio in hand, pointing, coordinating, and taking care of some serious business. I was impressed.

Second, the national anthem was sung by a completely capable singer. The problem was that no one told her that super-amplified soprano vibrato to a child with sensory issues is like flashing disco lights for people with photosensitive epilepsy. Translation: probably not a good idea. But I didn’t see any hands fly to ears, so maybe it wasn’t a big deal.

I did however see hands flying to ears when the rockin’ kids came out. It was literally a rock band consisting entirely of kids singing alt-rock songs from bands like Linkin Park, among others. They were really good for their age. But they were young… I’m just saying! Enough of that. The acoustics were tough out there.

Several groups of walkers had matching shirts with the picture of the person who they were walking for. Very cool.

Lots of smiles on faces (where else?). Lots of happy families and friends.

On a darker, somewhat funny (to me, at least) note: one of the vendors was prowling around trying to sneak their own printed materials onto other people’s tables, targeting the ones with the biggest crowds, even though their service might have nothing to do with the table under siege. At our table, Kent patiently explained to the interloper that we needed to be familiar with the organization before we’d distribute their information, and the man huffed in anger and promptly outerloped (not a word, but should be).

One lady who approached us was a tough nut to crack. She wasn’t interested in signing up for a free membership on the spot, so we suggested that she just check out the site for herself first; she could always sign up there. “No computer,” she said. “How about the public library? They have computers,” one of us suggested. “They ask for personal information to get on the library computer,” she countered. “I don’t give out personal information.” “Uhh, how do you get electricity and gas service at your house?” I wanted to ask but wisely did not. I can speak of this without fear of offending her because, well, go back and reread the previous few sentences (e.g. the “no computer” part). Even so, we did our best to explain what we did so that if she ever did decide to get plugged in, she could scoot on over to our site.

In general, I had a hard time succinctly describing what we did at AutismSpot, even though it’s pretty simple. I would hear the other Spotters and say to myself, “Wow! That’s how you describe it.” Then I’d try to copy them, but I’d normally just say something like, “AutismSpot is really awesome. We have a lot of videos… that stream… streaming videos. A bunch of them! And they just stream.” Then the people would look at me with confusion and perhaps a bit of pity, and I’d add, “Therapy! I forgot that part! The videos are of therapists and doctors and teachers and parents and not any of me except for my MySpot spot. But my eyes are a bit big and scary in that one so you don’t really want to look too close at that one and… hey! Where are you going?” Okay, so not quite that bad, but not so good I’m sure. I’d like to offer all of you out there who met me at the table my apologies; I do better writing than speaking. It’s easier to rewrite than to respeak.

As I spoke to one lady, her eyes grew wide and I thought she was about to scream. I thought with a sigh, “Here we go again.” But then I heard a crash behind me. The wind had just blown our sign and its holder down. If I had been just a few feet further back, the massive 10-20 ounce pvc pipe frame might have slammed into my head and knocked a chip of hardened gel out of it. But, luckily, tragedy was averted. That sign frame, like AutismSpot itself, was awesome; it just needed something solid to anchor it. We and the rest of you Spotters out there are doing our best to do just that.