CHIP AND THE DILEMMA i
(Autistic author)
As Chip stepped into the
kitchen, Karen looked up
from her recipe book, her
screen lighting up with a
familiar smile. Her apron
was dotted with flour. "Hey,
buddy," she said, wiping her
hands on her apron. "How
was your day?"
Chip shrugged, tossing his
backpack on the floor.
"It was okay, I guess." He
noticed the tantalizing aroma
of something baking in the
oven. "What's that smell?"
Karen chuckled. "Just a
little surprise for later. I
thought I'd make your favorite
- apple crumble. But first, tell me
about your day. Did you have
any interesting classes?"
Chip rolled his eyes. "It
was the same old, same old.
History was a snooze fest,
math was a headache."
He pulled a face,
but the hint of excitement
wasn't lost on Karen.
"And what about science?"
she prodded, knowing it was
his favorite subject.
"We started a new unit on
space," he said, his voice
picking up. "Mr. Jenkins said
we might even get to build a
model of the solar system."
Karen's smile grew. "That
sounds like fun!"
Chip hugs her and then
goes upstairs, looking
for Plankton, his father.
He opens the door to
his dad's room and sees
his father asleep, a
soft snore rumbling from
his chest. The room is a
mess of books and
papers, the pages of a
scientific journal open
before him. Chip chuckles
silently, tiptoeing closer
to peek at the title:
"Advanced Quantum
Measurements."
The sight of Plankton's
snoring form brings an
odd feeling to Chip’s chest.
He’s never seen his dad
asleep before!
He takes a moment to
study his dad's face, so
peaceful in sleep, a stark
contrast to the usual
whirlwind of energy. The
snore turns into a quiet
sigh.
Chip knows not to
disturb him, but he can't
help himself. He gently
nudges Plankton's arm.
"Dad, wake up," he whispers.
Plankton's eye shot open
in surprise, the book
falling to the floor with
a thud. "Chip? What is it?"
He sits up, blinking
quickly to clear his vision.
Chip stammers for a
moment before speaking.
"I-I just wanted to tell you
about my day and science
class," he says, knowing
his dad likes science.
Plankton's face relaxes,
but there's a hint of
self-consciousness in his
eye as he glances around
the cluttered room. "Ah, yes,
science," he says, clearing his
throat. "What did you
learn today?"
Chip's screen darts around,
picking up on his dad's
embarrassment. He quickly
summarizes his school day,
leaving out the part about
his classmates teasing him
for his love of science.
He doesn't want to ruin the
mood or make his dad feel
bad for missing out. Plankton
nods along, his mind clearly…
somewhere else?
As Chip finishes his story,
his dad's eye refocus. "A
model of the solar system,
you say?" He seems genuinely
interested, and the
tension in the room eases.
"Why don't we build one
together later tonight?"
"Really?" Chip yells, too
loud for Plankton.
Plankton flinches, his
autistic sensitivity to
sound making him wince. "Ah,
yes, really," he repeats, a
tiny smile playing.
What Chip doesn’t know? His
dad was born with a form of
autism, and only Karen knew
about it. He’s kept it a secret
from Chip, neither of them
having ever told.
The clutter in Plankton's
room isn't just laziness or
disorganization—it’s part of
his condition. Plankton's
autism means that his brain
processes the world differently,
and the chaos around him is a
comforting, familiar pattern.
But seeing it through Chip's
eyes now, he feels a pang of
embarrassment. He wishes he
could be like other dads, with
tidy spaces and simple
interactions.
"Yeah, really," Plankton says
again, trying to sound more
enthusiastic. He knows it's
important to Chip, so he'll push
through his exhaustion. "Let’s
do it later tonight." He's always
tried to hide his autism from
Chip, not wanting to bother him
with the challenges he faces.
But now, the clutter, the
unexpected touch, it all feels
like a spotlight on his
differences. But Chip's excitement is
apparent, though.
Chip nods eagerly, unable
to contain his joy. "That
sounds amazing!" He yells
as he rushes over to hug
his dad, not noticing the
flinch Plankton gives when
his body is touched
unexpectedly. Plankton tenses
up, his senses overwhelmed
by the sudden contact.
He's always loved
his son, but physical
touch, especially sudden
ones, are something he's
never quite gotten used to.
It's like an alarm going
off in his brain, sending
waves of anxiety through
him.
Chip feels the
tension in
his dad but
attributes it
to excitement.
He's always been
so focused on keeping his
condition hidden that he's
never taught Chip about his
needs. Now, as Chip's energy
radiates from the hug,
Plankton is left with the
weight of his secret. The room
spins around him, though, and
he’s unable to think.
"Dad, are you okay?" Chip
asks, pulling back slightly.
He notices the pale tint to
his father's skin, the way
his eye have gone a bit
glassy.
Plankton takes a deep breath,
forcing a smile. "I'm fine," he
says, though it comes out
slightly strained. "Just a bit
tired. Let's do the solar
system project after dinner."
Chip's face falls, noticing
his dad's discomfort. He's
not sure what happened, yet
he’s still not quite done with
the affectionate touching.
So when Chip reaches out
and touches his shoulder,
Plankton jolts like he’s been
zapped by a live wire. The
surprise is too much. His
body locks up, and he can't
help the flinch that crosses
his face.
"Dad?" Chip asks, his
voice full of concern. "What's
wrong?"
Plankton quickly recovers,
his smile back in place. "It's
nothing," he assures, though
his heart races. He's aware
his reaction wasn't typical.
“Oh ok, good,” Chip says,
once again touching him
as he pats his arm.
Plankton can't help but
flinch again, and this
time Chip sees it clearly.
"Dad, are you sure you're
okay?" he asks, his voice
laced with worry.
Plankton nods, his smile
forced. "I'm just tired,
Chip. Really."
"Are you sure you're sure?"
Chip asks, his hands grabbing
his father's. "You seem
kind of... off."
Plankton looks down at
their joined hands, and the
sensation sends another
wave of panic through him. He
takes a deep breath, trying
to compose himself. "I'm fine,"
he says, but Chip isn't
convinced.
"You can tell me if
something's wrong," Chip
persists. "I'm your son, I'm
here for you."
Plankton's eye darts to
their hands, then to Chip's
intense stare. He feels
himself getting disoriented.
"Dad, really," Chip says, his
voice softer now, his screen
filled with concern.
"You can tell me."
Plankton's chest tightens.
This is it. The moment he's
been dreading for years.
He looks at his son, his
face a mirror of his own
confusion and pain. How do
you tell a child that their
father is not like other
dads? That his quirks are
not just eccentricities,
but part of a complex
puzzle of the brain…
NO. He won’t tell him. He’s
kept it a secret, and Chip’s
not ready either. Not to
mention being to far gone in
the ringing of his ears to even
think up a coherent thought,
nor stay present any longer.
But he’s to far gone to move.
He feels his heart pounding
against his ribcage. His vision
starts to blur around the
edges.
"Dad?" Chip's voice cuts
through, adding to the static in his
head. "You don't look fine."
Plankton's mind races as he tries
to find the right words to say,
but his mouth won't cooperate.
"Dad, what's going on?" Chip asks,
his voice tinged with fear. "You
look like you're in pain."
Plankton's breaths come in
quick, shallow gasps. He's
having a meltdown. The touch,
the noise, the light—it's all
too much. He needs to get
away, find a quiet space,
but his body won't move.
Karen rushes in,
concern etched on her face.
"Plankton, what's happening?"
she asks, gently touching
his shoulder. But even her
touch is a thunderclap in
his overwhelmed brain.
Plankton jolts and pulls
away, his eye wide with
fear and confusion. "I-I can't,"
he stammers, unable to form
a coherent sentence.