The figures in history whose behaviors allegedly corresponded to what may now loosely be within the bounds of an autism diagnosis—men like Henry Cavendish, Isaac Newton, and Charles Darwin, don’t much resemble the autistics we see today.
These historical figures were reported to be introverted and solitary—their intellects logical and brilliant. They don’t look a bit like today’s “level 2 and 3” autistics who sit glued to screens, earbuds planted firmly in ears because the slightest noise will trigger a meltdown.
Was there a cadre of autistic lesser characters who didn’t make it into the history books? A quiet contingent of autistics who sat rocking in living rooms and classrooms with the same frequency as young autistics today? Any honest person over age forty will answer that question with a resounding no. Any school teacher who has been teaching for over twenty years will say absolutely not.
I’m only 41-years-old, but I can assure you I was usually the only child with blatantly autistic behaviors at any of the five densely populated urban and suburban high schools I attended. My behavior was so far outside of the norm that staff had no idea what to make of me. They’d never seen a child who acted like me before. I’d become so overwhelmed by my surroundings that I’d opt to sit in hallways rather than enter my assigned classrooms. I’d likewise refuse to enter the cavernous and intimidating cafeterias. In the 80s and 90s, I was the only child like that out of hundreds of children.
At home, I’d sit and throw light bulbs and glassware against the wall of my bedroom. I’d lapse into a meltdown at the least disruption to my environment. At the home of my only friend, I’d hide away upstairs, face buried in a book, because the play of other children downstairs overwhelmed me. Read more here.