CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS x
(Autistic Author)
Karen's heart squeezes as she sees the
vulnerability in her husband. She
reaches out and takes Plankton's hand,
giving it a comforting squeeze. "We're all
learning here," she says. "And we'll keep
figuring it out together." Then, Chip speaks
up again, his voice a little stronger.
"Daddy," he says, "I still want to show
you affection."
Plankton looks up, his antennae
twitching with a hint of sadness. "I know,
buddy," he says. "And I appreciate that.
But sometimes, my brain needs a
different kind of love."
Chip frowns. "But I
don't know how," he says.
Plankton's antennae wiggle as he thinks.
"How about this?" he suggests, his eye
brightening slightly. "You can make me a
'love rock'."
Chip's eyes light up with excitement, and
Karen nods encouragingly.
"You can
pick out a rock from the beach or the
yard, and every time you feel like giving
me a hug but know I might not be able
to handle it, you can give me the rock
instead. That way, I'll always know
you're thinking of me."
Chip nods eagerly, already imagining the
perfect rock in his mind. "I'll find the
biggest, smoothest rock," he says, his
eyes shining with purpose.
Plankton's antennae rise slightly, and he
manages a smile. "That's my boy," he
says, his voice a little less strained.
“I’ll go look in our backyard right now,”
Chip says as he does so.
Karen watches him run off and looks at
Plankton, her eyes filled with emotion.
"You ok?" she asks, squeezing his hand.
Plankton nods, his antennae still. "I think
so," he murmurs. "Thank you, Karen."
Karen squeezes his hand in return, her
eyes filled with understanding. "You're
doing great," she whispers.
As Chip rummages outside, the sound
of his little feet pattering on the ground,
Karen and Plankton sit in the quiet
kitchen, the weight of their conversation
still hanging in the air. Plankton's
antennae droop slightly, but there's a
newfound openness in his gaze.
"Do you think he'll understand?"
Plankton asks, his voice still raw from
the previous night's emotions.
Karen squeezes his hand, her eyes filled
with warmth. "He's a smart kid," she
reassures him. "And he loves you. He'll
get it."
They sit in silence for a moment,
listening to the distant sounds of Chip's
exploration. Then, Plankton speaks up,
his voice tentative. "What if I have
another meltdown?" he asks.
Karen squeezes his hand, her gaze
unwavering. "We'll be there for you," she
says. "We'll help you through it."
The sound of the back door opening and
closing echoes through the house, and
Chip returns, holding a rock that fits
perfectly in the palm of his hand. It's
smooth, with a slight shimmer in the
light. "Here it is!" he exclaims, holding it
out to Plankton. "It's your love rock!"
Plankton's antennae lift, and a genuine
smile spreads across his face as he
takes the rock. "It's perfect," he says, his
voice filled with emotion. He can feel the
warmth from Chip's hand still lingering
on the stone. "Thank you, buddy."
Chip beams, his earlier fears forgotten in
the excitement of the moment. "Can we
go to the park now?" he asks, hopeful.
Karen looks at Plankton, who nods
wearily. "Sure," she says, pushing her
chair back. "But let's take it slow, okay?"
The park is a familiar place, filled with
the sounds of children's laughter and the
distant hum of the city. As they walk,
Chip chats away, his voice a balm to
Plankton's nerves. Karen notices the
subtle changes in her husband's gait,
the way his antennae twitch with every
new sound or sight. She knows he's
trying hard to stay present, to not get
overwhelmed by the sensory onslaught
of the outside world.
When they reach the playground, Chip
runs off to the swings, his love rock
clutched tightly in his hand. Plankton
watches him, his gaze a mix of pride
and concern. He knows his son's energy
can be too much for him sometimes, but
he doesn't want to miss out on these
moments.
Plankton takes a deep breath, his
antennae wiggling as he gathers his
courage. He approaches the swing set,
his eye scanning the area for any
potential triggers. The chains of the
swings glint in the sun, and he can
almost feel the sway of the seat beneath
him. He hasn't swung in years, not since
before Chip was born.
Plankton sits on the swing by Chip.
The metal is cold and hard beneath him,
but as he starts to push off with his foot,
the chains begin to squeak a comforting
rhythm. The motion is familiar, almost
soothing, reminding him of a time when
the world was simpler, less stormy. He
watches Chip, his heart swelling with
love as his son's laughter fills the air.
As they swing side by side, Plankton's
antennae twitch with every movement of
the breeze, every giggle that escapes
Chip. The wind rushes through the
playground, and he feels the rock in his
pocket, a reminder of their newfound
understanding.
The rhythmic motion of the swing starts
to work its magic, and Plankton's
beginning to relax. The gentle sway
feels like a lullaby for his overstimulated brain.
Plankton smiles, his antennae waving in a way that
says everything is ok.
They swing in silence for a while, the
steady back and forth a comforting
metronome to the chaotic symphony of
the playground around them. Plankton
can feel the tension in his body slowly
uncoiling, the squeak of the chains
becoming a familiar melody that soothes
his frazzled nerves.