Wake of Echoes

“Wash your hands for dinner!” Drew comes toward the sink and then takes a step back. “Mom.  I can’t.” I look at the faucet, covered in soap suds. “Hang on,” I say, liberally dousing it with water until the bubbles are completely gone.  “There you go.” He steps up to the sink and washes his hands. Bubbles.  He can’t even stand the word.  The sight of them makes his stomach twist.  He forces himself to tolerate hand soap, but prefers hand sanitizers that don’t create suds.  I shudder to think about how he washes his hair – or doesn’t.  There was a time when I would have tried to understand – tried to rationalize it for him.  They’re just bubbles.  He likes clean things – what’s cleaner than a soap bubble? I don’t do that anymore.  I’ve learned that sometimes it’s best to jump on the spectrum with him. How can I say that?   Isn’t drawing him toward a typical life view the best thing for a kid who’s so “high” on the spectrum tha...