I recently bought a set of electric hair clippers with attachments from a store known for its low-price (but also low-quality) merchandise. I wanted to try them on Anthony so that my wife would not always have to be the one to cut his hair. I know that, if worst comes to worst, Anthony will not complain about a bad haircut.

Well. . . the clippers died about ten minutes in to the haircut. What to do now? Try the scissors. How hard can it be? Oh--that cut was a lot closer to the scalp than I anticipated. Oh--that one was too. And. . . the next one was as well. Hmmm. Buzz cut it is.

Since the clippers were unavailable, I used the trimmer attachment on my electric razor to finish the task.

No, Anthony hasn't shown displeasure at his Buddhist monk look. That is one of the few positives about autism. I wasn't sure if he even noticed at first; he was still making his goofy faces in the mirror. Shortly thereafter, though, I saw him momentarily intrigued by the new sensation as he patted his head.

I am giving just the slightest consideration to sticking with this look. My wife and I have both separately been surprised, however, at seeing a stranger in the shadows of a newly-darkened room after the blinds have been closed yet again.

I am rather "run down" lately. I know different factors are involved, but a sizable one is dealing with Anthony every day. I recently mentioned many of his obsessions. I also generally have to feed or otherwise assist him to eat all of his dinner (or expect to be awakened at night because he is hungry). On top of that, I habitually deal with him going to the toilet a minimum of three times a day--upon awakening, after returning from school, and at bed time. A fourth precautionary trip is often added after dinner.

I also shower with him most evenings, and brush his teeth. Showering of course involves washing areas I really don't want to wash on an adult-sized person. Then I need to dry him off, including those same areas. I get (or my wife gets) out his clothes and ensures that he changes himself, morning and night. At bedtime, his bed sheet usually needs to be tucked in again because he pulls it out some time before he falls asleep, or in the morning when he wakes up. All told, I estimate that I easily spend at least 45 minutes to an hour of every day dealing with Anthony in some fashion.

The time spent doesn't tell the whole story, though. As I mentioned with the showering, most of dealing with Anthony is not pleasant. Most of what I need to do is negative, if only a little. But little negatives here and there add up.

My wife has offered to help me with Anthony, but I really don't want her to. I understand that it would be even less pleasant for her to deal with him in the bath; I would be even less happy dealing with an autistic child if the child were female. My wife worked for a short time as a Certified Nursing Assistant in a nursing home, where she had to tend to similar needs for older patients. Knowing this does not make me more willing to push Anthony on to her; she does enough for our family, including things that I might otherwise do, as it is.

When I was a child, I occasionally saw families with teenage children that were not normal--the ones with "something" wrong with them. I'm certain I still paid attention to such families well into my adult years as well. Everyone is interested, if only from a standpoint of curiosity. Sometimes it can be with a sense of sympathy for those with the unusual child.

My perception is now understandably different. My wife and I have become "other people" as in the phrase, "that only happens to other people". So I know that eyes will be on us when, for instance, Anthony and I come out of a public restroom stall after he has been making his random noises, or at least certainly when they see me washing his hands.

I don't look at the people looking at us, because I know that is just how it is, and I don't view it negatively. They are probably wondering the same things I wondered about others before we had Anthony. I frankly also still pay attention to families with special-needs children--perhaps more discreetly than many would--but I do so now from a fairly unique vantage point. If the child appears to be autistic, especially if he or she is younger than Anthony, and if the opportunity is there without being intrusive, I will let the parent know about my own child. Most people find comfort in meeting others in their situation.

Anthony has lately begun to take items lying on counter tops and put them into the garbage. That would be fine if the items were meant for the garbage.

I was to go out today to pick up Anthony's prescription refill and discovered that the medicine bottle could not be found. My wife suspected that Anthony had thrown it away and, after some searching, verified that to be the case. He combined this new obsession with the longstanding one of sticker removal, so that the bottle was useless for refill purposes. We located another prescription paper to take to the pharmacy.

Later this evening, I opened the garbage pail and saw a $20 bill lying on top of the pile! Anthony had opened an envelope intended for our daughter's birthday, removed the card, and evidently viewed the green paper with the numbers on it as superfluous.

Anthony doesn't have the ability to speak, and that might imply that he is mute. Certainly, he goes extended periods without a peep. However, he does have vocal chords, and often uses them precisely at the most inopportune moments. Despite a seeming lack of recognition for much of his environment, it is apparent that he knows he should not be making noise in certain situations, and he uses that awareness to force us to change our plans, particularly when those plans involve waiting in line or sitting in a group.

If I were to describe the variety of sounds he makes, I would establish a spectrum with Michael Jackson's falsetto "ee-ee-eeee" on one end and Chewbacca's guttural roars on the other. Anthony's vocalizations fall between those two extremes!

Speaking of making noise when I don't want him to, last night was yet another for me without full rest. I was finally sleeping soundly this morning when I was awakened by Anthony while he was in the bathroom, with the door to the bedroom open. My wife would normally shut the door to muffle the sound, but she happened to be downstairs and didn't hear him. Just one more reason to have a bigger house--I would put him as far away from us as possible.

Dealing with Anthony's obsessions is a daily, constant feature of our lives.

He dumps out water in a little flower vase that my wife has sitting on a ledge over the kitchen sink. If we don't notice it quickly enough each time, the life of the flowers is shortened considerably. In the most recent example of this, the flowers in question were a pretty wildflower we hadn't noticed growing in our garden before, and don't know when we will see again. I did leave another like it outside hoping it will go to seed to try to gather for cultivation.

Anthony locks any doors that are unlocked, so that if I go out of the house for a couple of minutes, I am surprised if I can come back in without yelling through the door for someone to open it up. He is usually loitering within hearing distance of the door, and at least understands enough to unlock it. We have learned to take keys with us if everyone is outside, however, because of his propensity to slip back inside and lock the door. We once spent twenty minutes determining how to get into the house when he had locked the doors and gone into another room.

I have mentioned before that he closes open windows or plays with the blinds. In the evenings during the summer, I try to open the windows and turn the blinds so as to bring cooler air from outside into the house. Anthony of course turns the blinds the opposite way.

Finally--well, this list never seems to be final with Anthony--he turns off outside lights that have been turned on. Naturally, he does this when I am outside trying to water plants before going to bed. I will go back to the door, shout to get it unlocked if need be, and then ask someone to turn on the lights for me so I don't have to remove my work boots. But last night, as soon as the lights were turned back on and I went out, they were off again.

Once in a while, I allow myself to snap. I say "allow", because the decision to do so is somewhat calculated. I have found that losing my temper with Anthony does little good and can even be counterproductive. Occasionally, though, I want to see if I can get his attention. So this time, I slapped him in the back of the head, dragged him over to the front door light switches, showed him the difference between "on" and "off", and said in quite certain terms that I wanted them left on.

I am guessing that I will be dealing with this again soon, however.