GREAT CHIP i
(Autistic author)
"I'm home," Chip
exclaims. His mom
Karen looked up.
Plankton, his dad,
is in the middle of
an absence seizure.
Plankton only let
Karen know about
his autism, and she
knew their son Chip
may eventually find
out about it.
Chip notices his dad's odd
unresponsive stare at
the wall, unblinking. "Dad?"
Karen knew Plankton's in
sensory overload and needs
to wait the absence seizure out.
But Chip starts to come closer.
"Chip, don't touch him," Karen
instructs quickly, her voice
sharp with urgency. "Dad's just
having a moment. He'll be okay
in a bit." She tries to distract him
with a snack. "Why don't you go
eat some chum from the kitchen?"
Chip pauses, curiosity piqued.
He's seen his dad zone out before,
but never like this. He looks
at Karen's tightened expression,
then back at Plankton's glazed eye,
sensing something serious.
He nods reluctantly, backing away
and heading to the kitchen.
The sound of the fridge opening
and shutting echoes through the house,
his mind racing. He eats a piece
of chum, but then comes back.
"What's wrong with Dad?" he asks,
his voice cracking with fear.
Karen sighs, bracing herself
for a conversation she's been dreading.
"Your dad has something called
autism, Chip. It's like his brain
sometimes gets overwhelmed by things
we don't even notice. That's why he
zones out. It's called an absence seizure."
Chip's eyes widen, trying to process
this new information. "But why
isn't he talking to me?"
Karen's eyes soften with empathy.
"It's not because he doesn't want to,
sweetheart. When he's like this,
his brain just needs a break.
It's like when you're watching
a movie, and everything else fades
away for a moment. For Dad, it happens
without his control."
Chip nods slowly, watching his dad
still frozen on the couch. He wonders
what it must be like, to be trapped
inside your own mind like that.
"Does he know I'm here?" he whispers,
his voice barely carrying across the room.
"I'm not sure, but
let's give him
some space," Karen says
gently. "It's important
not to startle him
when he's like this.
It could make things
worse."
Chip nods again, his
mind buzzing with questions.
He watches from a
distance.
He's never seen anything
quite so... strange.
"What do we do when
he has one of these?"
he asks tentatively,
his voice quivering.
Karen takes a deep breath.
"Just stay calm, and wait.
It's like he's in another world.
We can't bring him back, but we
have to be here for him when he returns."
Chip nods, trying to understand.
"But when it ends, how will he be?"
"It's hard to say," Karen admits.
"Sometimes he's a bit confused,
sometimes he's tired, sometimes he doesn't
remember what happened. We just need
to be patient and let him come back to us."
Chip's curiosity
doesn't wane.
"But why
does it happen?"
Karen sighs, choosing
her words with care.
"It's part of his autism,
his brain processing
things differently.
Sometimes, it's too
much for him,
and his body takes
a break."
Chip nods, his gaze
never leaving his dad.
"But can he hear us?"
"I think so," Karen says,
trying to keep her tone calm.
"But it's like he's in a deep
daydream right now. He might
not be able to respond or even
understand."
Chip watches his dad,
his curiosity morphing
into concern.
"Can't we wake him up?"
Karen shakes her head.
"It's not like sleep, Chip.
We can't force him out of it.
We just have to wait."
Chip nods, but his curiosity
is insatiable.
"Does Dad like being autistic?"
Karen considers the question.
"It's not about liking or not liking.
It's just who he is. Sometimes it's
hard for him, but he's also really
good at things because of it. Like fixing
those gadgets of yours, or knowing
so much about science."
Chip looks at his dad's unresponsive
form, then at his mom. "But what sets
it off? What makes him zone out?"
Karen sighs, her gaze lingering
on Plankton before returning to Chip.
"It's different every time. Sometimes
it's too much noise, other times it's
a moment of déjà vu.."
Chip frowns. "But does he remember
what happens to him? Does he know
about the seizures?"
"Well," Karen starts, her voice measured,
"his brain doesn't always keep those
memories. Sometimes it's like a blur
to him. It's like when you forget a dream
right after you wake up. But he's aware
that something happens."
Chip's gaze shifts to his dad's
hand, resting gently on the armrest.
"Does he like hugs?" he asks, his voice
smaller now, quieter.
Karen nods. "He does, but not always.
Some days he needs them more than
others. Sometimes, it depends on the
person.."
Chip thinks about this, his screen
still on Plankton. "Can I...
try giving him a hug now?"
Karen looks over, studying her son's
innocent expression. "I don't think so,
not right now. We have to respect
his space."
Chip nods, his curiosity not waning.
"But when can I hug him?" he asks.
"Is there a right time?"
Karen looks over,
her screen reflecting
a mix of pride and
sadness. "There isn't
a perfect time, but when
he's out of his seizure,
and if he's in a good mood,
try asking. Just remember,
his senses are really
sensitive. Sometimes,
his body needs space
more than others."
The house remains
silent, save for the
steady tick of the
living room clock.
Chip's eyes never leave
his father's frozen form,
his mind racing.