CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ix
(Autistic Author)
As Karen heads back to her own bed, her mind is a
whirlwind of emotions. She can't help but feel a twinge
of anger at the cruel hand life has dealt Plankton,
making something as simple as expressing love a
monumental challenge. But she quickly pushes it aside,
focusing on the love she feels for her husband and the
determination to help their family navigate through this.
The night passes slowly, filled with restlessness
and worry. When dawn breaks, Karen is already preparing
breakfast, hoping that the routine might offer a semblance
of normalcy. The smell of pancakes fills the house, a silent
promise that today will be better.
Plankton emerges from the bedroom,
his antennae drooping slightly, evidence
of his fatigue. He meets Karen's gaze,
and she offers him a soft smile. "How
are you feeling?" she asks, her voice
gentle.
He shrugs, his antennae twitching
nervously. "Tired," he admits. "But ready
to talk to Chip."
Karen nods with a mix of concern and
admiration. "I'll get him up," she says,
heading to Chip's room.
When they all gather at the breakfast
table, the tension in the air is palpable.
Plankton sits stiffly, his antennae barely
moving, as if afraid to break the delicate
silence. Chip looks between them, his
eyes wide and hopeful.
"Chip," Karen says gently, taking a deep
breath. "Remember what we talked
about last night? About Daddy's
meltdowns?"
Chip nods, his eyes darting to Plankton,
who's pushing his pancake around with
a syrupy look of dread.
"Daddy?" he says, his voice tentative.
Plankton's antennae twitch, and he
looks up, his gaze meeting Chip's. The
fear and confusion in Chip's eyes is
almost too much to bear, but he steels
himself. "Yes, buddy?" he asks, his
voice hoarse from the previous night's
outburst.
"I made you this," Chip says, pushing a
plate of perfectly formed pancakes
towards his father. "To make you feel
better."
Plankton's antennae perk up slightly at
the gesture, his eye focusing on the food
with a hint of curiosity. "Thanks, buddy,"
he murmurs, his voice still thick with
sleep.
Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his
heart pounding in anticipation of a
reaction. "Do you like them?" he asks,
hope blooming in his voice.
Plankton nods, his antennae waving
slightly. "They look delicious," he says,
and there's a hint of a smile in his voice.
He takes a bite, chewing slowly. The
room holds its breath, waiting.
"They're great," he finally says, and
Chip's face lights up. The tension in the
room eases ever so slightly, the
sweetness of the maple syrup mingling
with the salty scent of fear that still
lingers.
Karen watches the exchange, her heart
swelling with pride for both of them.
Plankton's effort to engage, despite his
exhaustion, is clear. Chip, for his part,
seems to understand the unspoken
rules of their new reality. They're all
learning together, stumbling in the dark
but finding their way through the maze
of neurodivergence.
"Daddy," Chip says after a moment, his
voice filled with courage. "I know you
have meltdowns sometimes. But I still
love you."
Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his
chewing slowing. He looks at his son,
his single eye filled with a mix of
emotions: love, regret, and a hint of fear.
"I know, buddy," he whispers. "And I
too."
The room remains quiet, the only sound
the soft clinking of silverware against
plates. Plankton clears his throat. "Chip,
I need to tell you something."
Chip looks up, his eyes wide and
expectant. "What is it, Daddy?"
Plankton takes a deep breath, his
antennae fluttering. "I have something,"
he says slowly. "It's like... it's like my
brain works differently than yours and
Mommy's."
Chip's eyes never leave his dad's,
nodding slightly. "Ok," he says, his voice
steady.
Plankton's antennae twitch, and he
looks down at his plate, his voice
quivering. "It's called Autism," he says.
"It means that sometimes, I get really,
really upset, and my body reacts in ways
that might scare you."
Chip's expression is a blend of confusion
and curiosity. "But why do you
get upset, Daddy?" he asks.
Plankton's antennae wiggle as he
searches for the right words.
"Sometimes, things that don't bother you
or Mommy can feel really, really big to
me," he explains. "It's like when you're
scared of a thunderstorm, and the
thunder feels like it's right next to you."
Chip's brow furrows, and he nods. "But
you're not scared of storms, Daddy," he
points out.
"It's different, bud," Plankton says, his
antennae stilling for a moment. "It's
like... sometimes my brain gets a storm
inside, and I don't know how to make it
stop."
Chip nods, his eyes never leaving
Plankton's. "But you're ok now?" he
asks, his voice small.
Plankton nods, his antennae moving in a
way that Karen knows means he's trying
to be brave. "I'm ok," he says, his voice
a little stronger. "But I might have more
storms. And when I do, I might need
some space."
Chip looks at him seriously, his young
mind working to understand. "Ok," he
says, his voice a soft echo of Plankton's
earlier apology. "I won't make it stormy
for you, Daddy."
Plankton's antennae twitch with a mix of
love and relief. "Thank you," he
murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.
"That means the world to me."
Karen watches them, her heart swelling
with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this is the
start of a new understanding.
"And you know," she adds, her voice
gentle, "Whenever you have questions
or if you're scared, you can come to me
and/or Daddy, and we'll explain as best
as we can."
Chip nods, his gaze still focused on
Plankton. "But what if I don't know when
I’m irritating you?"
Plankton's antennae droop, and he
sighs. "That's the hard part," he admits.
"Sometimes I don't know either. But we
can learn together, ok?"
Chip nods, his eyes still on his dad's.
"Ok," he says, his voice a little shaky.
Karen pours them both a glass of juice,
hoping to lighten the mood. "Why don't
we talk about what you can do to help?"
she suggests, handing a glass to Chip.
Chip takes a sip, his eyes still on
Plankton. "What can I do?" he asks, his
voice earnest.
Plankton's antennae twitch thoughtfully.
"Well," he says, "sometimes, all I need is
a little space, like when I'm in the middle
of a big idea."
Chip nods, remembering the times when
Plankton would get so focused on his latest
contraption that the slightest
disturbance would send him into a tizzy.
"I can do that," he says, his voice filled
with determination.
Plankton's antennae lift slightly. "And
when you do freeze, Dad," Chip
continues, his voice soft, "How can I tell
if you need a hug or if you just need me
to sit with you?"
Karen's eyes fill with pride as she
watches her son's bravery. Plankton
looks at Chip, his antennae moving in a
way that she knows means he's trying to
find the right words. "If I freeze," he says
slowly, "it's ok to just be there, to wait
until I come back. I might not be able to
hug you right then, but I'll know you're
there."
Chip nods, his grip on his juice glass
tightening slightly. "What about
meltdowns?" he asks, his voice
quivering.
Plankton's antennae droop, and he
takes a deep breath. "Those are harder,"
he admits. "But if you can give me space
and maybe some quiet, it'll help me calm
down faster."
Chip nods solemnly, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "I'll try," he says, his
voice barely above a whisper. “Dad,
what types of touch do you like and what
types of affection do you dislike?”
Plankton's antennae twitch, and he
looks at Karen for a moment, unsure of
how to answer. She gives him a gentle
nod of encouragement. "Well," he starts,
"I'm not a big fan of surprise hugs or
pats on the back, especially when I'm
working or thinking hard. But a hand on
my shoulder or a quiet 'I love you' is
always nice."
Chip nods, processing the information.
"So, like when you're stressed, I should
just tell you I love you?"
Plankton's antennae wobble with the
weight of his nod. "Yes," he says. "That's
right. Just remember, buddy, everyone
shows love differently."
Karen's eyes are filled with hope as she
watches the conversation unfold. It's not
perfect, but it's a start. A start to
understanding and acceptance.
"And if you need more than that,
Daddy?" Chip asks, his voice small but
earnest.
Plankton looks at him, his antennae
moving in a way that Karen can't quite
read. "If I need more than that," he says,
"I'll tell you. Or Mommy will help you
understand."
Chip nods, taking another sip of his
juice. "Ok," he says, his voice small.
"But what if I don't know what to say?"
Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly, and
he looks down at his plate. "That's ok,
Chip," he says. "Sometimes, just sitting
with me is enough."