Checkmate

“Why do you think I’m not listening?” I asked him. “Because you’re staring in the other direction!”

I was never officially diagnosed with Asperger’s.

Growing up in the ’70s and ’80s no one even knew what that was. My rebbeim and teachers loved me because I was the smartest kid in the class; my classmates hated me for the same reason. I was friendly with the few other gifted kids — the geeks — but the rest of the kids either bullied me or wanted nothing to do with me.

When people talked about body language I had no idea what they were referring to. Communication to me was purely about the words that were said. A raised eyebrow a mocking tone an exaggerated gesture — none of those meant anything to me. I never knew if a question was meant rhetorically or an expression was being used idiomatically. Once in elementary school my teacher punished me by sending me to the corner and telling me to sit there for a minute. I counted 60 seconds on the clock and then went back to my seat. When my teacher scolded me for returning to my seat without permission I was bewildered.

Another time my teenage sister who struggled with her weight went out shopping with a friend. My sister came home from the outing in tears. Apparently her friend had tried on a top and when she saw that it was too big on her she handed it to my sister and said “It’s too big on me so it will probably fit you.” My sister was deeply wounded.