CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS iii
(Autistic Author)
With a deep breath, Plankton nods.
Karen heads upstairs and returns with
Chip, his eyes wide and hopeful. She
sits beside Plankton, her arm around
him, offering silent support. Chip takes a
seat on the floor, his legs folded under
him as he stares up at his dad.
"Donât just stare at me like that!"
Plankton yells, his voice echoing
through the small room, causing Chip to
flinch. Karen's grip on his hand tightens,
a silent plea for patience.
Chip's eyes fill with tears as he looks up
at his father, not understanding why he's
being yelled at. "I'm sorry, Dad," he
whispers, his voice trembling. "I just
wanted to know if you're ok."
Karen's heart breaks as she sees the
hurt on her son's face. She turns to
Plankton, her voice firm but gentle.
"Plankton, we need to talk to him. He's
scared, and he loves you."
Plankton's eye softens at the sight of his
son's tears. He takes a deep breath,
visibly fighting the urge to retreat into his
anger. "Okay," he murmurs. "Okay."
Karen squeezes his hand, her silent
support a lifeline. She looks at Chip, her
eyes filled with love and hope. "You
remember when we talked about how
everyone is different, and some people
have challenges that others don't?"
Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his
father's face.
"Well, Dad has something called
neurodivergence," Karen begins, her
voice calm and steady. "It means his
brain works differently than ours.
Sometimes it's like he needs a little
break, to reboot."
Chip nods, his eyes never leaving
Plankton's. "But why does he get so
mad?" he asks, his voice small but
earnest.
Plankton's antennae quiver with
irritation. "Why do you think," he snaps.
"You just don't know when to leave me alone."
Chip's eyes widen, his bottom lip
trembling as he tries to hold back his
tears. "I just want to understand," he
says, his voice shaking.
But Plankton's anger is a storm that
doesn't easily pass. "I don't have to
justify myself to you," he snaps, his
antennae quivering with agitation. "So,
don't ask me about it again."
Chip's eyes well up with tears, his voice
small and trembling. "But, Dad..."
Karen's heart breaks at the sight of their
son's pain, but she knows that
Plankton's anger is a defense
mechanism, a way for him to cope with
his fear and confusion. She tries to
interject, but Plankton beats her to it.
âWell guess what Chip, the world doesnât
revolve around your curiosity,â Plankton
snaps, his antennae standing tall with
indignation. âSome things are just
private, ok? Just like how I donât ask
you why you think youâre entitled!â
Chip cries. âBut thatâs not fair to me, IâŠâ
Plankton's face contorts with
annoyance, his antennae twitching
erratically. âFair? Lifeâs not fair, kid. Get
used to it. You think youâre perfect?
Maybe you should go live in a sitcom
where everythingâs wrapped up with a
neat bow at the end of the day.â
Karen winces at the harshness of
Planktonâs words, but she knows her
husbandâs bark is worse than his bite.
Heâs hurting, and his defense is to lash
out. She opens her mouth to speak, but
Chip beats her to it.
"Father," Chip says, his voice shaky but
determined. "Iâm trying..."
"Oh, I know you're trying," Plankton says
with a sneer, his antennae waving in the
air like he's swatting at an invisible fly.
"But you're trying to make this about
you. You wanna try something? Well
how about you try to start understanding
that sometimes people need space,
huh? Maybe then you'd get it."
Karen sighs, her eyes never leaving
Chip's face. "Plankton, please," she
says, her voice a gentle reprimand. But
Plankton's on a roll, his words coming
out in a rush of bitterness and pain.
"You want me to sugarcoat it for you,
son? Tell it's all rainbows and
sunshine?" His antennae are a blur of
agitation as he stands up. "You wanna
know what it's like? Imagine the world's
loudest, brightest, most obnoxious
parade happening in your head all day,
every day. And you can't turn it off, no
matter how much you want to. That's
what it's like for me. So, don't you dare
make it about your feelings, Chip!"
Karen's chest tightens, her eyes
flickering between her husband and son.
She knows Plankton's frustration is a
product of his condition, but the words
are harsh, and the sting is real.
"You know what, Chip?" Plankton
continues, his voice dripping with
sarcasm. "Why don't you go live in a
world where everyone is just like you? A
perfect little bubble where everyone
thinks the same, feels the same, and
Neptune forbid, doesn't 'zone out'." He
makes air quotes with his fingers, his
antennae still twitching with agitation.
Chip's eyes are red-rimmed, his cheeks
wet with tears, but his voice is steady.
"But Dad, I just want to know why you
get like this. I want to help.."
Plankton's sarcasm turns to a cold, hard
edge. "Help? What can you do, huh?
You think a pat on the back and a 'good
job, Dad' is going to make everything ok?
News flash, kiddo, it doesn't work
like that, so stop acting like you know
anything!"
With that, Plankton storms out of the
room in frustration. The door to his
bedroom slams shut with a resounding
thud, leaving Karen and Chip in the
quiet wake of his anger.
Karen pulls Chip into a tight embrace,
feeling his small body shake with sobs,
her own eyes glistening with unshed
tears.
"Chip, honey," she says, her voice soft
and warm as she strokes his back.
"Daddy's condition isn't something he
chose. It's called Autism."
Chip looks up at her with wide,
questioning eyes. "What's that?"
"It's a way his brain is," Karen
says, her voice gentle and calm. "It's
something he's had since he was born.
It makes it harder for him to deal with
certain things, like noise and touch. And
sometimes, it's like his brain goes on a
little vacation without him knowing it."
Chip looks up at her with a frown. "But
why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes
misting over. "Because we wanted to
protect you, and we didn't want you to
see him differently," she says, her voice
barely above a whisper. "Plankton was
diagnosed after we'd already fallen in
love. We didn't want to define him, or for
you to think of him as anything less than
the amazing person he can be when
happy."
Chip sniffs, his grip on her tightening.
"But why does he get so mad?"
Karen's gaze follows Plankton's
retreating form, her heart heavy with the
weight of their conversation. "His
condition can make him feel
overwhelmed," she explains, her voice
gentle. "Sometimes, it's hard for him to
control his emotions. When that
happens, he says things. It's not
necessarily you personally, honey, it's
about him trying to deal with his own
frustrations."
Chip pulls back from the embrace. "But
why doesn't he like to be touched by me,
but meanwhile hugs you the same way I
tried to?" he asks, his eyes searching
hers for answers.
Karen takes a deep breath, trying to find
the right words to explain something so
complex to a young mind. "Daddy's love
is different, Chip," she says, her voice
gentle. "He shows it in his own way.
When I know he's had a hard day, I don't
just come up and hug him. I look for
signs, like if he's been more quiet than
usual, or if his antennae are drooping.
That's how I know he might need a hug
or just some space."
Chip's frown deepens. "But how do you
knowâŠ"
"I've learned to read him," Karen says,
her voice filled with understanding.
"When he needs a hug," she adds with a
sad smile, "his eye gets this soft look,
like he's asking for it without saying the
words."
Chip nods, trying to process this new
information. "But what about me?" he
asks, his voice small. "How do I know?"
Karen sighs. "When he's about to get
irritated," she begins, "it can be like he's
bracing for something. That's a way I
can tell."
Chip nods, his curiosity piqued. "How
does his face look?"
Karen takes a moment, her eyes
reflecting on her years of experience.
"When Daddy's about to get irritated,"
she says, "his eye tends to narrow, just
a bit."
Chip looks confused. "But why does he
have only one eye?" he asks, his voice
innocent and curious.
"It's a condition called cyclopia, which
runs in his family."