"More Musings About Having Been Born in the Wrong Decade" or "How to Raise Your Consciousness"

For those of you who read my Born in the Wrong Decade series that I posted last month, I have some more thoughts about an incident I wrote about in the first installment of the series. 

If you recall, I talked about being very self-conscious about my focused interest in Back to the Future, which started when I was nine years old, and how my childhood efforts to hide it backfired spectacularly. I then related a story from when I was ten, in which Back to the Future Part III was released on video on the same weekend of the Bar Mitzvah of the son of a family friend. I wanted to leave the after-gathering at the boy's family's house so that I could go home and watch the movie, but I felt guilty for even thinking this way. Ultimately, a war broke out in my head between the Whims of My Mind and Doing What was Right, but this time the Whims won: I told my parents that I needed to do my Sunday School homework, which was a lie; I simply wanted to watch the movie. But then I was, once again, wracked with guilt. From the original post:

I've always hated lying, and I realized that I needed to confess my true motives. Following my mother upstairs... I told her the truth. She made a noise of disgust. Already ashamed of myself, I wasn't sure how to react, so I said, "You're angry?", but in a tone that made the question sound more like a statement. The next two seconds, where I looked aimlessly around the room, seemed much longer. Finally, she broke the awkward silence and said, "I'm disappointed. I can't believe you would give up someone's good time just for a movie." I was already self-conscious about my hyperfocus on Back to the Future, and hearing the disapproval from my own mother further cemented the idea in my head that it was wrong.

I then commented on how I think there might have been some unconscious bias on my mother's part, pointing out that it's not uncommon for little boys-- neurotypical little boys-- at gatherings that they find boring to say things like, "This sucks! I wanna go home and play video games!" Despite the fact that what I said to my mother was essentially a guilt-ridden confession of my "thoughtcrime" rather than an unconsidered demand, she still reprimanded me as if what I had said contained the subtext of the latter. And thanks to emerging efforts in the twenty-first century to encourage others to check their implicit attitudes, I am sure I am not the only one who would note the gender bias. Focused interests are more tolerated in boys, and there is also the expectation of girls to always consider others' wants and needs. An appropriate response from my mother at the house gathering would have been understanding, coupled with a reminder about how I needed to be patient and that a Bar Mitzvah is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, whereas you can watch a movie at any time.

However, I strongly suspect that had the circumstances been slightly different, my then-40-year-old, early-'90s-era mother would have been more understanding, once again, due to unconscious bias: there is one type of focused interest that is historically tolerated well in girls, and that is having a crush on a male celebrity. Mom now knows that I love the Back to the Future series because of the time travel element and, not insignificantly, that I find Doc Brown to be a strangely relatable character (as a kid I had no idea why, but as an adult it became clear when I eventually "headcanoned" him as autistic, but that's another quirky in-depth discussion for another day). I don't know if she knew about this back then, or even if she even questioned why I loved these movies so much, but I guarantee she wasn't laboring under the delusion that I had a crush on Michael J. Fox-- or any of the other actors for that matter. 

But what if I had had a crush on Michael J. Fox, and Mom knew that I wanted to go home and watch Back to the Future Part III so that I could ogle over Fox dressed as a cowboy? Or what if, like a lot of the girls in my fourth-grade class, I was into the then-popular boy band, The New Kids on the Block? What if a new NKOTB album had been released that weekend and I wanted to go home and listen to it because I had a crush on one (or more) of the members and listening to them was like a siren song for my on-the-verge-of-adolescence girl brain? I hate to say it, but in both cases I think Mom would have been more understanding, and her response, sans the disgusted edge to her voice, would have been more along the lines of what it should have been: that I needed to be patient. Similarly, also when I was ten, I relentlessly begged for a remote-controlled hovercraft. Why? Because it reminded me of the flying DeLorean in Back to the Future Part II. One day, after what was likely dozens of requests and audible brainstorming about how I could find a way to get this expensive toy, Mom told me that my "obsession" with getting the hovercraft was "obscene." But again, what if the thing that I had wanted so badly was related to a teen idol that I had a crush on? What if I had had a crush on the New Kids on the Block and there was a $129 statue of one of the members that I wanted so badly?* 

It is cliché for adolescent girls to have crushes on male celebrities, and back then plenty of girls were intensely infatuated with the members of The New Kids on the Block. One girl in my class-- I'll call her Karen-- swore the she was going to marry Joe McIntyre when she grew up. I suspect most parents wouldn't have been "concerned", let alone thought it was "obscene," which is strange because I would think a ten-year-old girl's repeated declarations that she would one day marry a male celebrity almost twice her age could be unnerving: what if she eventually developed a similarly-hyperfocused crush on a teacher or another adult male in her life, and it turned out one of those men was a pervert who would take advantage of her feelings and sexually abuse her? I don't think most parents of that era were cognizant of the disturbingly prevalent occurrence of adult male child groomers, but I suppose that's another illustration of how much more ignorant society was back then. 

As I keep reiterating, I was born in the wrong decade. I was born into an era in which phenomena like unconscious bias weren't discussed like they are now, and in which priorities were skewed. It was an era in which atypical behaviors were, at best, seen as superficial actions and, at worst, the result of brattiness, bad parenting, lack of discipline, take your pick. What they weren't seen as were the manifestations of a brain that was wired differently and was doing its best to get through life. As a result, I took many severe blows, even from well-meaning people like my mother who honestly and sincerely thought they were helping me learn to "get along" in society, not aware of the emotional cost of these lessons. My therapist has told me that he's heard countless similar stories from autistic people who grew up in my generation and earlier.  

If nothing else, I hope I have raised your consciousness here. Please go and think about it, especially if you are raising an autistic girl. You will save her a lot of emotional turmoil.

*This is roughly what the hovercraft cost-- in 1991. After adjusting for inflation, this translates to about $295 in 2023.

Born in the Wrong Decade Part 2: Thoughtcrime

In the previous installment of this series, I talked about how by the age of nine I realized just how different my internal experiences were from the people around me. This was crystalized in my mind when Back to the Future became a focused interest and I felt a strong sense of shame and "wrongness" from the intensity of it. As my childhood continued, I developed focused interests in other movies and television shows, such as The Simpsons and The Addams Family. The shame gradually became less intense as I became more familiar with this pattern, but it was still there. Whenever a new focused interest grabbed my attention, I felt an impending sense of dread-- dread that I was becoming obsessed with something. 

I was aware of the term "obsession" by the time I was eleven, and I even recall how I learned it. My mother had made a passing comment about someone being "obsessed" with something. When I asked her what it meant, she said, "It means it's all the person thinks about or talks about." The negative subtext inherent in her explanation was clear: what could possibly be acceptable about someone thinking about and talking about only one thing? Growing up, I questioned a lot of the common wisdom inherent in society-- such as that it's somehow worse when a girl tells a dirty joke than when a boy does-- but for some reason I did not question the idea that "obsession" was a bad thing. Perhaps if I hadn't already felt a sense of shame before others began commenting on my propensity to hyperfocus on certain movies and television shows, I would have questioned it.

In an assignment for my English class during my Freshman year of college, I wrote about the overwhelm of emotions I felt the day after my introduction to the Back to the Future films at age nine, the urgent feeling of wanting to watch them again so badly. It was my first time writing about this moment in my past, which I looked back on with a lot of self-criticism: liberally using the word "obsession," which I described as "ludicrous." I wrote about my brother growing tired of my watching the films so often, and the undertone in my piece clearly implied that I had been responsible for his irritated reaction. Not once did it occur to me that if he was so put off by my viewing habits he could have just left the room instead of making it about me. I accepted that I was the Problem, and my obsession was the root. When I wrote this essay in 1999, I believed that I had overcome this "Problem". After all, if I hadn't, it meant I was immature, out of control, and perhaps even, somehow, unethical. Only recently has it occurred to me that it was fair to describe my brother's reaction as "immature"-- after all, he was a child, too.

The real Problem is that inherent in everything I describe is a lot of question begging: that is, I began with the conclusion that what other people called "obsession" was wrong and that it was something I needed to learn not to do, that it somehow violated them in an egregious manner. If someone told me I was "obsessed" with something, it meant I had failed in some way and I had to figure out how to fix the Problem. It honestly occurred to me only a few years ago that I was looking at this through the wrong end of the telescope. Ironically, it was because of a conversation I had with my mother, who has evolved in her thinking over the years, especially in light of how autism and its quirks are understood in the more-enlightened 21st century. She admitted that it simply took her a long time to understand my internal experience as a fan geek, and that there is nothing wrong with enjoying something with such an intense focus. While it is, of course, important to be mindful about whether the other person you are talking to is interested in the topic, that is a completely different issue than whether it is "wrong" for someone to be hyperfocused on something. More recently, I have realized that the only thing I was guilty of was the social "sin" of thoughtcrime. It is now clear to me just how pervasive societal shaming of "thoughtcrime" is.

Take being LGBTQIA+, for example. Up until very recently LGBTQIA+ people were expected by an overwhelming majority of society to hide their thoughts about same-sex attraction, feeling like they were a different gender than what the world perceived them as, and even a lack of interest in dating and sex. Yes, thoughts that people didn't have, or at least had less frequently than most of the world, were something to be hidden. This type of "thoughtcrime" can at least easily be explained by the fundamentalist Christian-based attitude that has shaped many parts of the world, including the United States, for centuries: any sex act other than the missionary position between one cis man and one cis woman is a sin against God. 

But what, then, of other "thoughtcrime," such as a focused interest on a movie? I think what it comes down to is people being unable to acknowledge their own discomfort around something they don't understand, even if it is not rooted in a social taboo such as non-hetero-cis-normative sexuality or gender identity. A lot of autistic fan geeks know this and, like me, have expressed frustration about people angrily telling them, "You're obsessed with that!" Additionally, I have observed a lot of quirks in other fan geeks (many of which I suspect are on the spectrum) that I don't understand, and I realize I need to be okay with not understanding. 

For example, a lot of fan fiction writers create stories where the main focus is graphic sex acts between their favorite characters. One popular "shipping"-- as such relationship-creating for these characters is called-- is Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. I don't have an issue with someone writing about one or both of these characters coming out as gay, but why would they want to pair characters that hate each other? Why on earth is scene after scene of graphic sex the focus of these stories? A friend of mine, a fellow Back to the Future fan-- who is, incidentally, a phenomenal writer-- wrote a graphic story about Marty and Doc going at it (thankfully, Marty was written to be eighteen, the age of consent). I told this person, "I just read it. That was HILARIOUS!" and they said, "It wasn't meant to be funny." Well, I don't get it, and that's okay.

I don't know why so many fan fiction writers focus on stuff like this, and out of curiosity, I asked my friend about it. My friend said that they aren't "getting off" on it, but rather it's some type of "curiosity" for them, like they're watching to see where the scene will go. I suspect that other people actually are "getting off" on it, but I guess everyone is different. With the exception of a few sporadic and unremarkable attempts to write "how-Marty-met-Doc" origin stories, I don't write fan fiction. But even if I did, I can't imagine a time or a place where I would have written something like this. I've also come to realize that if I'm uncomfortable with others writing it, that's my problem. To make it about them is akin to policing thoughtcrime. Why do so many fan fiction writers create stuff like this? Does it matter? As long as they're not, say, stalking the actors who portrayed the characters, they're not hurting anybody. 

I guess what I've learned over the years is that people are just weirder and more complicated than we've historically acknowledged. More people are opening up about their quirks, essentially declaring that the emperor is naked. 

And the emperor IS naked.

Born in the Wrong Decade Part 1: Tears of a Baby Fan Geek

I have long told people that I was born in the wrong decade. 

I'd even go so far as to say the wrong century because, ideally, I wouldn't have been born any earlier than 2005.

Unfortunately, I was born in 1980, and the final two decades of my native century were not a welcoming era for autistic people, who were largely unidentified.

The world has come a long way since then, and the 21st century is far more enlightened. Today, autistic children of a variety of presentations are routinely identified, and adults who spent years thinking that they were "defective" are also able to find answers. I am one of those adults, diagnosed in spring of 2003 at age twenty-two.

I always knew there was something different about me, and between being a little kid and being a little kid in the 1980s, I didn't have the vocabulary or even the point of reference to describe what was somehow also excruciatingly clear. I constantly found myself feeling like I didn't belong, realizing that not only did people perceive me as "different" but also that my internal experiences diverged vastly from that of my family, my (few) friends, and my peers.

I began to realize with greater clarity just how unusual my internal experiences were when I was nine years old and saw the first two Back to the Future films for the first time, just after Back to the Future Part II was released. I saw both movies on the same day, and I was immediately hooked; it became my "focused interest"*. I was extremely fascinated with the idea of time travel, with the hoverboards in Part II, and with the wonderfully bizarre character of Doc Brown. Throughout my childhood, I had gotten very single-minded about other movies and television shows, so this was nothing new. But for some reason, my focus on Back to the Future was more intense than any I had ever experienced before. I recall the day after seeing the first two movies in the series that I wanted to watch them both again so badly that it practically hurt. It also saddened me somewhat that I would have to wait several months for Back to the Future Part II's release on video as well as the theatrical release of the already-promised Part III, a trailer for which was teased at the end of Part II. Although I was only nine, I knew that what I was experiencing was strange. I was aware that my parents and brother were no longer thinking about these movies and the fact that I was, let alone so intensely, was odd. It didn't take long before I began to feel like there was something wrong with me, and I quickly grew self-conscious about this unknown weird thing that was going on in my head. 

My self-consciousness about my focus on Back to the Future reached the point that I would break out into a sweat if I overheard someone talking about it. I was acutely aware, too, that this physiological reaction was abnormal. To this day, I don't know why it happened. When I tell people about this, I often end up saying, "I can't even explain it; it's like trying to describe what the 5th dimension looks like." However, my suspicion is that I felt like I had been "found out," for lack of a better way of putting it. The more this internal turmoil unfolded, the more I felt like I was harboring a shameful secret that I shouldn't reveal to anybody. I hate the word "obsession," but even then I didn't at least have that word to describe what I was feeling.

My self-consciousness about this Weird Thing in My Head reached a point where I was waging war against my own brain: One part of my brain "wanted" to think about, talk about -- and watch-- Back to the Future all the time, but another part of my brain said, "No, this isn't right. You need to hide this." Back then I managed to rarely bring it up in conversation, probably because my self-consciousness stopped me from doing so (This would sound strange to people who know me today, as I have since mostly stopped caring what people think, and talk openly about whatever interests me-- Back to the Future or otherwise-- no matter how intense the focused interest is.**). I ultimately made a compromise with the two conflicting parts of my brain: I would only watch movies in the Back to the Future series every three months. In my nine-year-old mind, that was infrequent enough not to arouse suspicion of my family, lest they think there was something wrong with me. Of course, three-month intervals seemed a lot longer to me than to other people, and my older brother had no problem drawing attention to this reality when walking in on me watching the films: "This again?" he'd quip with a pronounced roll of his eyes. 

After Back to the Future Part III at last arrived in theaters, I was once again in the position of having to wait several months for it to come out on video. The eventual video release was, unfortunately, on the weekend of the Bar Mitzvah of the son of a family friend. I recall asking my mother if we could rent the movie after the Bar Mitzvah. "We'll see," she had said. At the service and the party that followed, it was all I could think about. Once again, I was engaged in warfare with dueling mindsets: the one that wanted so badly to watch this movie again, and the one that was aware that I was at an important event and that wanting to leave was inappropriate. During the party, I asked Mom if we were going back to the house of the Bar Mitzvah boy's family. I felt that it was wrong to want to leave just to watch a movie, so when I repeatedly asked my mom if we were going back to the family's house-- we hadn't decided yet-- I made it sound like I wanted to go. I think part of me also wanted to convince myself that this was true. I also recall repeatedly finding one of my parents and asking what time it was so that I could have an idea of how long it would be until I could finally watch Back to the Future Part III again; I normally wore a watch, but as it was a digital sports watch, it was deemed too casual for this event.  

We did end up going back to the family's house after the Bar Mitzvah party. I was acutely aware of the passing time, knowing that the video store could close before we got home. I suppose by then I had surrendered to the whims of the part of my brain that I tried unsuccessfully to silence, because I told my parents I needed to get home and do my Sunday School homework for the next day. It wasn't entirely a lie; it wasn't done, but I rarely did my Sunday School homework anyway. My intent, of course, was to be able to go home and rent Back to the Future Part III. I think at some point one of my parents commented that I should have thought about that during the week. Eventually, I was frustrated that my ploy didn't work and wracked with guilt for lying to them-- I was also wracked with guilt about my hyperfocus. I've always hated lying, and I realized that I needed to confess my true motives. Following my mother upstairs (I have no recollection of why she was going up there), I told her the truth. She made a noise of disgust. Already ashamed of myself, I wasn't sure how to react, so I said, "You're angry?", but in a tone that made the question sound more like a statement. The next two seconds, where I looked aimlessly around the room, seemed much longer. Finally, she broke the awkward silence and said, "I'm disappointed. I can't believe you would give up someone's good time just for a movie." I was already self-conscious about my hyperfocus on Back to the Future, and hearing the disapproval from my own mother further cemented the idea in my head that it was wrong.

Keep in mind that I was nine and ten years old when I was going through all of this. Was my focus on Back to the Future a bit extreme? Sure. Was it out of the realm of some of the weird things kids do? Not if they're autistic. But I think the level of self-awareness and self-consciousness I felt about it-- especially to the point of the mental warfare and guilt coursing through my mind-- is unusual for a kid that age. I had absolutely no point of reference for what was going on, and, as all of this happened between 1989 and 1990, neither did my parents. Had I grown up in the 21st century, I could have avoided this inner turmoil, these feelings of having committed some protracted abstract thoughtcrime. In terms of the situation at the Bar Mitzvah, a parent raising an identified autistic kid today would have responded to my confession with something like, "I understand that you're disappointed. But you will watch the movie again. You just have to be patient. Let's make a family movie night of it next week and we'll all watch it together," rather than reprimanding me for something that, unbeknownst to my mother, I was trying in vain to control. A parent today might even say to the kid, "I know it's hard to wait, and I know that this gathering here might be overwhelming for you. Why don't you go off in another room and draw the characters, or write a story about them? Won't that be a fun thing to do before you can see the movie again?"

I would also like to point out that I think my mother might have been reacting to my confession with some level of unconscious bias. How many times do ten-year-old boys-- ten year old neurotypical boys-- complain about how boring some event is that their parents dragged them to and say they want to go home and play video games? I think that people expect girls, even little girls, to be sensitive to the needs of others in social situations. I feel like things such as focused interests typical of autistic people are largely more tolerated in boys, just as are social imperfections. It is true now, and it certainly was truer back then.

What it really comes down to is that I was an undiagnosed autistic who, like a lot of kids on the spectrum-- especially girls-- was in the process of growing up to be a fan geek. Just so there's no confusion, my distress over my focused interest in Back to the Future wasn't caused by the interest itself, or even its intensity, but rather by my own perception that it was wrong, which was compounded by people's reactions to me. Unfortunately, to this day I still am occasionally at the receiving end of aggressive and dismissive accusations to the tune of, "Julie, you're obsessed with that!", and my childhood self-consciousness resurfaces. Some people in my generation still don't yet understand the reality of what it is to be autistic and thus react with 20th century sensibilities.

I was truly born in the wrong decade, the wrong century. Even being born in 1990 instead of 1980 would've been an improvement in terms of the kind of childhood I would've had, but what a universe of difference it would've been had I been born in or around 2005. Experiences like mine are no longer unheard of, and are less frequently ones that people believe they have to feel shame about. In fact, thanks to the Internet, highly-focused autistic fan geeks regularly find each other online and have in-depth discussions about their favorite books, movies, and television shows. They post fan art, write fan fiction, and intensely debate how to interpret certain scenes of their favorite stories. Had I grown up in this more enlightened and open era, I would've been spared accusations-- from others and from my own tormented brain-- of what amounts to the absurd social sin of "thoughtcrime."

"Thoughtcrime" will be the subject of the next post in this series.

*I find the oft-used term, "special interest" for the subjects of intense focus of autistic people to be patronizing and infantilizing. I also abhor the word "obsession." I would like to propose the term "focused interest" as an alternative to both of these.

**Yes, I realize that I should be mindful about whether the other person is interested in talking about any of my focused interests, and if the person tells me that they aren't interested, I'm happy to change the subject.