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.

The Long Silence, Part 5: Getting Affirmation from My Parents

Besides the gender roles/expression issue, there were other ways I needed affirmation from my parents Most were in terms of the way I perceived and still continue to perceive certain situations. Let's look at a few:

1) There was the situation in which I told Mom that one of my non-camp friends, Jenna, was into Wicca. For some reason, Mom was always wary of Jenna (but oddly enough not the "friends" from middle school who had stabbed me in the back and ultimately ditched me), but Dad had liked her. Mom had never had a kind word for Jenna, saying that she "lived on the fringe" and was a "lost soul", and this was long before the Wicca incident. Mom's disapproval of Jenna haunted me for years. Sadly, Mom doesn't remember Jenna, so I have no idea what she thought she was seeing when she looked at her. As a teenager, this really confused me. I thought, well, Mom is an adult so she theoretically must know better, so why can't I see what Mom is seeing? Years later I told my parents that Jenna had understood me. Mom said, "Well, you probably never told me that." Well of course I didn't! What difference would that have made? It would have raised more questions than answers. Besides, how do you tell your own mother, who doesn't understand you in a very profound way, that a friend of yours does? I don't think it would have been taken seriously. 

2) In terms of the Wicca incident, I didn't believe and still don't believe that, as far as religions go, Wicca is particularly dangerous. I have my own opinion in general of religion, but I won't go into it here. I think that if anything Wicca is among the least harmful religion, not necessarily because of the beliefs but simply because very few people follow it. Large herds are dangerous. 

2) I still don't see what was wrong with my drawing violent Addams Family cartoons at age 11, as long as I didn't draw them in school (which I didn't). But my parents, Mom especially, were so damned sure that what I was doing was simply wrong and needed to be stopped. 

4) Not voluntarily showing Mom any of my creative work (drawings and writing) until college because I did not know what to expect from her, whether or not she would blow up. 

5) Thinking that people were fucking with me, while my parents (again, usually Mom) were skeptical. Even as an adult, I still say that I was right 99 times out of 100.

6) Not telling Mom about my crushes because I knew she'd bring my gender expression into it, saying, "If you would dress more feminine they wouldn't be so put off by you." And yes, when I did start confessing in my early 20s, that is pretty much how she reacted.

Recently, I discussed all these issues with my parents. In a real twist to the whole, "Mom was right" cliché, my parents have admitted that they were not just wrong, but profoundly wrong and made a lot of mistakes in the past. Mom said that I was right about Jenna, and she said this because now she finally listened to what I said about Jenna. Mom and Dad admitted that Mom probably freaked out about the Wicca incident because she knew nothing about Wicca, not because she was right and had adult experience that I didn't. They also have said they were wrong to prohibit me from drawing my cartoons during my Addams Family phase. They also said that they were usually wrong when they thought people weren't fucking with me when I knew they were. This was something I especially needed to hear from Mom; Dad generally was more able to see when people were fucking with me or screwing me over in some way.

Then Dad and I had this conversation, which was something I really needed:

Me: Dad, isn't it understandable that I didn't show Mom much of my writing and artwork until college because I never knew how to expect her to react?

Dad: Yes, absolutely.

Me: Isn't it understandable that I wouldn't tell Mom about the crushes I got because I knew she'd flip out and lecture me about my gender expression?

Dad: Yes, of course.

So how and when did things finally change? In 2009, at age 28, when I was visiting my family in Pennsylvania, Mom and I got into, yes, another fight about clothes. And it was a screaming fight. She was screaming, "I'm sick of your tears! For fifteen years I've been telling you what you need to do to make your life easier, but you won't listen!" I told her I was fed up with her treating me like I was a little kid, and she insisted she wasn't. We were in the car at the time, and as soon as we got home, Mom went upstairs, and I left the house to go for a walk. I was shaking, and I took out my cell phone to call my brother and to call my shrink. Neither were available. After about ten minutes, I heard a honk. I turned around, and there was Mom in the car. Very calmly, she told me to get in. I told her I'd only get in if she promised not to scream at me. She promised.

We drove around in silence. Mom apologized. She said she had just had an epiphany. She realized that she hadn't been treating me like an adult, and that she had been blind to the fact that I was an adult. She said that she had also been blind to the fact that my reality, even if different from hers, was real and not just some immature view of the world. We started of what became a series of conversations and my coming out-- as I've said in many posts, there's a lot of coming out with Asperger's-- that still continues to this day. I have been slowly telling her and Dad things that I haven't before. Even though I know now that Mom won't flip out-- that she can't flip out, because I'm an adult--  I still am gun shy about my idisyncracies. I have to have a talk with myself and remind myself that Mom and Dad have evolved, and that Mom won't scream if I have a thought that is odd or a perspective she doesn't agree with. In fact, their evolution sometimes seems too good to be true because, as I've said, there's that old "When I was a teenager I thought I knew everything" and "Mom was right" cliché. Besides, after decades-- formative decades-- of hearing that you are wrong about everything? This new affirmation still feels too good to be true. And sometimes I don't even know which of my parents' perspectives have changed and I have to check in with them on that.

For example, in 2011 I got interested in Dr. Jack Kevorkian, less because of his euthanasia work but more because of the brilliant man he was, a unique and fiercely independent man who taught himself several languages to fluency; a man who was a writer, an artist, a musician, an inventor, a historian, and a philosopher; and a man who I was (and am) near certain had Asperger's Syndrome. It had only been two years since Mom had her epiphany, so I was still a little gun shy about how she'd react to this interest. Fortunately, she didn't give it a second thought. Then when Dr. Kevorkian died, I had tears in my eyes. Because I was so used to getting feedback that my idiosyncratic feelings were wrong, I felt like I had to come up with excuses as to why I had tears in my eyes. But then after talking myself down, so to speak, I realized that my parents wouldn't freak out about it, and I decided that if they did that it was their problem not mine. I was 30 years old, and I shouldn't have to justify any of my feelings to them. In fact, once I showed my mother this video of Dr. Jack Kevorkian:

I pointed out the intensity of his facial expressions, saying, "This is one reason why I think he had Asperger's Syndrome." Mom said she wasn't sure if his expressions indicated anything about Asperger's, but she commented, "He's someone you can identify with in a lot of ways." And boy was that something I was glad to hear. Had I been interested in Dr. Kevorkian as a teenager, Mom would have freaked out, no question. But just little affirmative comments like that, which I wasn't used to hearing? I really needed that! It's nice to know, too, that I can draw pictures of Dr. Kevorkian, have all of his books, and have prints of his work hanging in my apartment without my parents wondering why.

When I got fired from my past two major jobs, Mom said things like, "You deserve better than life has given you." Years ago, she and Dad would have been up all night wondering where they'd failed as parents. Again, it's these little things, these little changes. They make not just my life easier but my relationship with my parents better.

One thing my parents tell me is that hindsight is 20/20. Except a lot of what I am telling them now that they say is me looking at the past with 20/20 hindsight (the ridiculousness of conformity=maturity, the absurdity of social roles based on your genitals, etc) is what I tried to tell them years ago at the time these things were happening. They just hadn't listened much.

I do feel better these days about my relationship with my parents, and some people might even think I should feel victorious that the world is beginning to affirm things I've been saying for years. But I don't feel victorious. Why? To quote Al Pacino as Dr. Jack Kevorkian in the biopic You Don't Know Jack, "This isn't a victory for me; it's just common sense!"

What I Knew Part II: A Lot More Than You Think!

My previous blog post talked about the perception of people with Asperger's as gullible and how, if anything, I was more vigilant than most people need to be. The thing is, I knew and understood a lot more than many people (including my own parents, of course) gave me credit for, and I don't just mean in the realm of knowing when I was being manipulated.

Looking back, it seems that adults thought of me as so detached from reality, almost as if they saw me as a goldfish swimming aimlessly through a bowl and repeatedly hitting my head on the side. It seemed that they thought that I didn't know that I was hitting my head, let alone know that most goldfish don't do this. But I knew. I knew and understood much more than they realized. And despite what they thought, I was very aware that I was different.

By the time I was eleven, I had some vague idea that I was being looked at, that something was going on behind my back, that adults were talking about me. I was well aware that my parents thought there was something psychologically wrong with me. So around that time when I started seeing a psychologist, Dr. Klein (not his real name), I knew I had a lot to be suspicious of. My mother usually talked with Dr. Klein alone for five minutes before my session started. But one day she was in there for almost the entire hour that was supposed to be mine. After I realized that a long time had passed, I knew that something was going on, that they were talking about me. I did what any suspicious eleven-year-old would do: I sat outside the door and eavesdropped. 

I remember Mom saying in exasperation, "She doesn't tell me what she wants." I knew exactly what she was referring to. One day (maybe the same day; I don't remember) before school I was looking for my bra. I had just started "developing", so needing a bra was a new and embarrassing thing for me. Like any adolescent girl, I didn't want my father to hear me talking about it. I found my mother and whispered, "I need my bra." She couldn't hear me. "What?" she had asked in a very loud voice. "My bra," I whispered again.  She still didn't hear me. She kept talking more and more loudly. Not wanting Dad to overhear, in a normal voice I said something like, "My... you know." Mom didn't figure it out. So there she was that afternoon, telling Dr. Klein that for some reason something was preventing me from communicating a simple request. The fact that it hadn't occurred to Mom or Dr. Klein that I would eavesdrop and the fact that Mom couldn't figure out that I had been trying to tell her without Dad overhearing that I was looking for my bra speaks volumes: It shows just how little adults thought I knew and understood. 

Around the same time, I had started drawing violent Addams Family cartoons. I knew not to draw violent pictures in school. But Mom forbade me from drawing them at all because for some reason she was inordinately convinced that I was indeed drawing them in school. Of course I knew at age eleven that there were certain activities appropriate for different contexts! I may have had trouble with some of these, but not all of them as my parents thought.

When I was turning eighteen, I was friends with a girl, Jenna (not her real name), who was fooling around with Wicca. When Mom found out, she yelled at me to stay away from her. Recently I got back in touch with Jenna (as detailed in "Why Do You Keep Dredging These Things Up"?) and I mentioned the Wicca incident to my parents. Neither of my parents remember the incident or even who Jenna was. Mom said that she was likely scared that I would join a cult (I do remember this being the case; Dad and I had had a conversation shortly after the incident). I recall feeling insulted that Mom would think I would be stupid enough to do something like that. When I brought up the incident a few weeks ago, Mom mentioned that I was a "kid with problems" and that was why she had reacted the way she did. I was a month shy of my eighteenth birthday at the time. Of course I knew that cults were dangerous! The Heaven's Gate suicide had happened a little over a year before, and I remember thinking that it was horrible and that it was amazing how easily people could be indoctrinated. And my parents knew that I had had these thoughts because we'd talked about it at the time (the absurdity of thinking that trying out Wicca is a direct pathway to a cult is another tangent I won't get into here). 

I often missed social cues, but I was also better at reading between the lines than many people gave me credit for. In the summer of 1998, when I was seventeen and in the C. I. T. program at Camp Negev, my counselors told me on the first day that they were not letting me work with kids. When I asked why, they said that they wanted me to do "a special job". Suspicious that there was something else going on, I forced it out of them. "It" was that they were not comfortable letting me work with kids. Did they really think I wasn't going to know that there was something they weren't telling me? Did they really not think I would force it out of them? Throughout the day, I was quite upset and went to one of the head staff about it. When I asked her why I was being kept from the kids, she told me that people "had concerns". But I had had enough experience to know that someone telling me that they "had concerns" was a euphemism for something more serious. I had enough experience to know that it could mean, "You're weird", "We see you as a problem," "We don't want you here", or all of the above and more. Long before that, I knew when people were keeping something from me, or not telling me the entire story. "Forcing it out of them" is something I have long since had down to an art. Why wouldn't I, if experience taught me that a lot went on about me behind closed doors?

SEX! Now That I Have Your Attention, Read this Blog Post!

If you've landed here because of the word "sex", I'm sorry to disappoint that this is not a blog post meant to titillate you. But hey, the title got your attention, right? And that's exactly the point. Sex is something that is so heavily ingrained in our society, penetrating both the conscious and unconscious bits of our brains. In fact, that is the point of this long blog post: it is a huge part of everybody's lives. 

Well, almost everybody's. Believe it or not, there are exceptions to the rule.

Only in the past ten years (or less, perhaps) has society begun to accept the notion of life being on a spectrum. There's the autism spectrum, of course, which this blog was created to address. Even more recently-- I think in 2007 specifically-- did we begin to learn that gender exists on a spectrum, well beyond the binary that humankind has believed it to be (in most cultures) for thousands of years. I identify as a tomboy, somewhere in the middle of that gender spectrum. And finally, sex is found to exist on a spectrum, and I don't mean the gay-straight spectrum (though that is another spectrum that is becoming more accepted). It's a spectrum that includes being very sexually inclined at one end to being asexual at the other end.

The funny thing is that many of the same liberal, open-minded people who accept the autism spectrum, the sexual orientation spectrum, and even the gender spectrum-- one of the most difficult ideas for people to accept-- have an enormously difficult time accepting the sexual/asexual spectrum. Some people-- including professionals-- don't accept that it's a spectrum, believing that it's unthinkable that anybody could not have an interest in sex or at least a reduced interest in sex unless they have been abused in some way or unless there is something psychologically wrong with them. Sometime in the past decade, many people have been coming out as asexual. Yes, that's right. These are people who have no interest in sex. Some of them are interested in romantic relationships without sex, but some are not even interested in romantic relationships.

Then there are the demisexuals, who are in the middle of the spectrum. They're not sexual in the conventional sense, nor are they asexual (however, some people consider demisexuality to be a subset of asexuality). What is demisexuality? Well, before I define it, let's look at how most people experience romantic infatuation. First, a woman (or a gay man) might see a man and find him attractive. "Hey, that guy is cute. I'm going to go over and say hello". They say hello. The man might be interested in the woman (or the other man) because he finds her (or him) attractive. They know nothing about each other, but they continue to talk, trying to get to know each other as lust intensifies and tension builds. Depending on their inclinations and personal beliefs, they might have sex that very night. Or they might date first and have sex a few days, weeks, or months later. If infatuation usually didn't work out that way, many of us would not have been born.

Demisexuals experience infatuation in the exact opposite way, the way that I experience it: I am a demisexual. First I meet a guy and start talking to him as a friend. Nothing else is on my mind except that we're just talking, getting to know each other as friends. After I start to get to know the guy, I might find something attractive in his personality and then develop a crush. Only after I become infatuated with the guy as a person do thoughts of, "Wow, he's really cute!" enter my mind. And only sometime after that do the lustful thoughts finally surface. For this reason, online dating would never work for me.

For years I had chalked up my experiences to part of having Asperger's Syndrome, but only a few months ago did I learn that there was a term for my sexual orientation: demisexual. I have only experienced eight crushes (the last was in 2008), and only one reciprocated, back when I was 18. We did not "officially" date, let alone have sex: he was from Germany and only in the U.S. temporarily. We were friends with (limited) benefits, meaning we "fooled around" a little and that was it. I wasn't ready for sex at the time, and he didn't push me. If we had met more recently (I'm 33), I might have felt differently.

Last week I was at a Boston-area Meetup for people who identify as asexual and demisexual. Some of these people have had sex, some haven't yet, and some never will. One guy there had Asperger's Syndrome (many people with AS are asexual or demisexual), and another was a transgender man. The group was a nice blend of people, some representing more than one spectrum. We all found it cathartic to talk about our experiences: we all grew up wondering why everybody was always obsessed with getting dates and getting laid and why our parents-- sorry, our mothers-- were so worried about us. 

All of us had eerily similar stories about invasive questions our mothers had asked us. For example, when I was fourteen, my favorite actor was Alan Arkin and I was obsessed with some of his movies. Oh, so of course I must have had a crush on the then-sixty-year-old man. At least in my mother's perception. One night we rented Catch-22. My mother said, "We're going to watch Catch-22 with Alan Arkin-- sexy Alan Arkin." Then my mother suddenly asked, "Julie, what traits do you find attractive in boys?" Years later, when I told Dad this story, he told me, "You should have said 'Mom, you have the subtlety of a hand grenade.'" Other awkward, hand grenade-subtlety questions and comments from Mom included, "Look at [insert male celebrity's name here]. He's so cute. Don't you think?"; "Have you ever had a crush? Are you sure you haven't?" which later became "Have you ever had a crush? Are you sure you have?"; and "Are you sure you're not gay?". These questions made me feel worse, like there was something wrong with me. Others in the group felt the same way.

All of us in the group had one very specific experience in common: Growing up we were very uncomfortable with the topic of sex. It has been my experience that kids on the autism spectrum (and, according to psychologist Tony Attwood), girls especially are very uncomfortable with the topic of sex. These asexual/demisexual people, on the autism spectrum or not, had also been very uncomfortable (we eventually got over it). None of us could articulate why. But I have two ideas: 

1) Parents of kids with Asperger's sometimes get very uncomfortable with the things their children are obsessed with. My mother was very uncomfortable with my obsession with The Addams Family movie when I was 11-12. This was because she didn't understand why. Isn't it natural that people for whom sex is not on their radar, if at all, feel uncomfortable that the whole world seems to be obsessed with sex? 

When our mothers had tried to figure us out, they only made things worse. Universally, our mothers told us what a beautiful thing sex is between two people who loved each other. All of us had had the same reaction: "I don't feel the same way, but I'm expected to. And Mom is practically demanding I feel this way. There must be something wrong with me. And I must be narrow-minded for not feeling this way!"

2) For girls specifically, I think the pervasive objectification of women in movies does not help. In movies, sex is often depicted as a service that women give to men. And often women in movies are love/sexual interests first, characters second. I don't believe in censorship, but I think this aspect of movies is an important issue to discuss (perhaps in another blog post) and how it affects girls with Asperger's in particular. I think as a kid I must have thought on some level that I was supposed to eventually be like these women. It's harder as a kid with Asperger's to sort out these messages. 

At the Meetup, all of us recounted dealing with misunderstandings about asexuality/demisexuality in our adult lives. The women, myself included, were tired of going to their OB/GYNs and having to explain, "No, I'm not repressed; no, I wasn't abused; no I'm not religious; it just hasn't happened yet and I'm not losing any sleep over it." Likewise, we women also expressed frustration at the inevitable, patronizing response to this comment: "Oh, that's wonderful! You're waiting for the right person," as if our not-having-yet-been-laid status is due to discipline rather than a different set of inclinations. It's like praising a skinny person for being disciplined when the reality is that she may just not be as interested in food, not because she is a hardcore athlete.

And no, we're not afraid of sex, nor are we narrow-minded about it. Narrow-minded is an educator at the LGBTQ center in Manhattan telling me that I must have some "issue" because I can count on my fingers the number of crushes I've had.

Oh, and another misunderstanding is that we have some moral agenda. No, we are just differently inclined. We respect the inclinations of others as long as consenting adults are involved. We are sex-positive people who are just not as into sex as most others.

Coming Out

Whoa, it's been almost 6 months since my last blog post! Sorry about that! They will be more regular from now on, promise!

Today I want to talk about coming out of the closet, and I don't mean as gay: I'm not gay and there is already plenty published on that subject. No, instead I want to talk about coming out about the "thoughts" that I had growing up that I felt were somehow wrong; these thoughts were generally related to my obsessions. In fact, they were usually my obsessions themselves that I felt were wrong. My parents didn't openly question the obsessions I tended to have with movies and television shows until I hit adolescence, but long before that I was aware that such persistent and constant thoughts about one thing were not "normal."

For example, when I first saw Back to the Future and Back to the Future Part II at age 9, I was hooked immediately. Obsessed. Couldn't get my mind off the movies. The day after seeing them, I just wanted to talk about them non-stop. But because I was so aware of how strong and unrelenting this desire was to intensely revisit these movies the day after seeing them-- and how odd such a desire was-- I barely spoke two words about them. 

As another example, when I first saw The Addams Family movie at age 11 I became obsessed with it, much in the same way I was with the BTTF movies. Uncle Fester was my favorite character (Doc Brown was my favorite in the BTTF movies; I think Christopher Lloyd's frenetic characters just appealed to me!). On a children's radio show that I was listening to, a girl who called in mentioned in passing that she did not like The Addams Family. (For those of you not familiar with the plot, please read this article in Wikipedia before continuing reading the blog entry). The girl stated that the Uncle Fester that was in the movie turned out to be an impostor. Instead of laughing it off, I obsessed over this for several months until my older cousin cleared it up for me. I think it bothered me because I felt that the "parallel universe" in which my obsessions lived was at least in my control, but this girl's statement threatened that control. The idea of my being that grossly wrong in my comprehension of the movie was unacceptable. 

My next obsession, from ages 12-14, was the Cold War comedy The Russians are Coming! The Russians are Coming! I always greatly enjoyed the background music composed for the film, particularly the scene in which the Russians first come ashore. Of course, the soundtrack was not available. One day, when I was 13, I set up a tapedeck next to the television to record when scenes with the soundtrack came on. I did this one day when I was home alone. Why? Even though my parents wouldn't have given it a second thought, I thought it was weird that I wanted the music from a film so obscure to my generation. Let's not forget the fact that I knew that being obsessed with this movie was bizarre. Whenever I listened to the music, I did so on my Walkman so my parents wouldn't hear it and ask what it was. 

If I, as the person experiencing them, had a hard time accepting these weird thoughts as "normal," why in the world should I have confided in my parents about them? Eventually I did come out of the closet, but very slowly. At age 14, I began talking to my Dad a little about my obsession with The Russians are Coming! The Russians are Coming!, but I didn't talk to him about recording the music. At age 16, I began speaking to my parents (usually through tears) about my obsessions in general and how "wrong" I felt they were. They tried to assure me that nothing was wrong but I knew that they were just trying to make me feel better. They had no idea what obsession meant, at least as I defined it.

When did I finally come out about my obsession over Uncle Fester's authenticity? At age 18, nearly SEVEN YEARS after the incident occurred. I was THAT embarrassed about it! Keep in mind how long seven years is when you were a kid. In tears, I confessed to my dad about how long this weird concern had, well, festered inside me and how I knew that it was "abnormal." My dad asked me, "Why didn't you just ask us if it was the real Uncle Fester or not?" Why? Let's put it this way: My parents were concerned about my obsessions in general. They-- especially my mother-- would have been freaked out had I asked them 3 months or so after seeing The Addams Family whether or not it was the real Uncle Fester. And I'm not being paranoid. Even as a kid, I was fully aware that they thought there was something psychologically wrong with me. Years later, Dad may have thought that my asking the question was a non-issue, but I guarantee in the context of my 11-year-old self he would have wondered why I needed to ask that question.

Well, that's coming out, Aspie style. I suspect these stories are more common than one would think. Anybody who has similar anecdotes, please tell them!

P.S. I have since obtained from eBay a tape of the soundtrack from The Russians are Coming! The Russians are Coming! My parents are not only aware that I have it but that I also imported it into my computer so I can listen to it on my iPod.

List Your Obsessions!

Since the past couple posts have been a bit dark, I figured this week's post ought to have more levity. I invite you to list the things you've been obsessed with over the years. Now, one important thing to realize is that everybody defines "obsession" differently. I personally have a very extreme definition of what constitutes obsession. By the way I define it, I stopped getting obsessed with things in the summer of 1995 when I was about to turn fifteen. After that, I got obsessed with people on whom I had a crush (that will be the topic of next week's post). That can be a royal pain, so let's focus on the obsessions that have been mostly fun and harmless.


Here is my list!

• Fall 1986- late 1987 (age 6-7): Sesame Street
• Fall 1986- late 1988 (age 6-8): Tom & Jerry
• Winter 1986 (age 6): Santa Claus: The Movie and anything related to Santa Claus.
• Late 1988- Late 1989 (age 8-9): DuckTales
• Late 1989- Spring 1991 (age 9-10): Back to the Future trilogy
• Spring-Fall 1991 (age 10): The Simpsons
• Fall 1991-Summer 1993 (age 11-12): The Addams Family movie
• Summer 1993-Summer 1995 (age 12-14): The Russians are Coming! The Russians Are Coming!/Anything related to actor Alan Arkin
• Summer 1994 (age 13): The Rocketeer (another movie with Alan Arkin)