The Real World of Autism: Paris Patterns

by Chantal Sicile-Kira

I always wanted a kid that was different. But not this different. I wanted one that appreciated design and art; a kid that was creative. Trouble is, I was misunderstood. I asked for artistic, but I got autistic instead. I have to admit though, my son Jeremy does have an eye for detail.

This attention to detail was first noticed when he got up and took his first steps after months of physical therapy to teach him how to walk. We were living in Paris and had this great big Persian rug, a beautiful blue background with wonderful swirls and patterns repeated over and over. When he took his first step, Jeremy stood up, looked down on the rug and started following the patterns on the rug. Other people might have taken this as a sign he was autistic. However we were living in Paris at a time when autism was not easily recognized. Two of our best friends, Pierre and Bernard, antique dealers in the Marais (an area of Paris equally habited by Orthodox Jews and gay men) were visiting us the day Jeremy first pulled himself up and walked on his own. “Oh look,” cried Pierre, “he’s admiring the way the red swirls contrast against the cobalt blue.” “Nonsense,” retorted Bernard, ‘He’s noticed the mistake the rug weaver made; see where he skipped a tiny leaf in repeating the pattern over here.” Thus the expectation of our son becoming a quality control technician in a Persian rug factory was born.

As time went on, Jeremy’s attention to detail became legendary. As we took our daily walks in different neighborhoods of Paris, we passed in front of many cafes. Jeremy would stop at each one and inspect the ‘Visa accepted’ sticker as well as the ‘Orangina’ decal. I often wondered what he was noticing. Was he confused because the same stickers appeared on different backgrounds, unlike the patters of the rug? Was he thinking how nice to see a familiar pattern and enjoying the visual stimulation provided? Or was it like being high on drugs with no connection to anything but a feeling of being high when looking at that pattern.

The question arises when you have a kid and you live in Paris, where do you take them when it is cold and rainy? The apartments are too cramped and kids need exercise. Being mother to a child with an eye for detail who liked checking out patterns, I discovered the cathedrals and entry halls of buildings as a great place to take my son for exercise while I got a little break. These areas were warm, dry, clean and enclosed, and offered exquisite mosaic tile patterns admired by my son. Cathedrals were especially nice as they were quiet, too. I could sit in a pew and watch the top of Jeremy’s head pass by, knowing he was intent on one particular pattern or another. I knew he wouldn’t wander from the pattern so I would not lose him. Sometimes autism does have its good points. Of course this gave me a warped knowledge of the city. People would call and ask for advice on what to see in their two days in Paris while they were doing Europe in 10 days. “Well, it all depends,” I would reply. “Are you interested in gothic or Victorian patterns?

My specialized knowledge of Paris was expanded somewhat when Rebecca was born. The last few weeks of pregnancy I caught toxoplosmosis and for a year Rebecca had to undergo drug therapy and twice a week blood tests. The drugs affected her immune system and so I was under strict orders to keep her away from germs. After a few months, I was allowed to take her out, but again, I had to stay out of crowded areas. Thus, walks on non-rainy days outside were OK, rainy days meant we stayed inside or took the bus during non-commute hours and headed for large indoor uncrowded spaces that also held some interest for my pattern loving boy. Cathedrals were off because this is where all the homeless and clochards would congregate when in rained and I was taking any chances about them being germ-free.

This is when I began to spend a lot of time in the large museums with my children. The museums did not usually have tile patterns for Jeremy to follow, but they all had the skinny red rope placed a foot off the floor that ran the length of all the walls to keep art lovers and visiting American tourists form touching the paintings. Jeremy just loved to follow the rope around the room. When friends visited us from different places in the world, I could impress them not only with my knowledge of Cathedrals and floor patterns, but also my expanded knowledge of the Parisian museums.