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A -Am I

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rsiz;

The kid inside B

needed -to do something about
myself and do it quickly, or at
least I felt that way at the time.
I had to learn how to grow up and I
had to do it fast.
I was 13 years old and about to
enter high school, so I had plenty
of other things to worry about than
Asperger's syndrome and how
to suppress it. I felt that the most
important thing at the time was to
be strong, be tough, show no weak-
ness and act at all times like you
know what you're talking about.
Most importantly, though, I could
not let loose the Asperger's boy who
asked nothing but dumb questions,
acted sillyand had a wide-eyed view
of the world. He was a different
kind of a kid, he was immature, shy
around people, but he always said
what was on his mind, which often
got him into trouble. That kid was
me, he was never anything but me,
but I looked at him and was embar-
rassed because people thought he
was peculiar and nobody took him
seriously. He was everything an
adult couldn't be.
In my high school I was one of

three white kids in my graduating
class. While this situation made me
self-conscious at the time, it helped
me in my quest to conceal my inner
self. I was able to pass myself off in
the simple role people wanted me to
fill. I wasn't like most of the other
kids but in this case I didn't have
to be. I was a "normal" kid who
got good grades and seemed well-
socialized enough, but when I went
home I knew I had to face that kid I
had subdued all day.
There were psychiatrists who
filled prescriptions, and in front
of them I acted like a polite adult,
while deep inside the kid was cry-
ing for attention. I was happy to
oblige him in some cases, though
not for his sake. I joined the drama
club to learn how to act and the
school newspaper for a mature
hobby. Eventually, I grew confi-
dent enough to tell a close friend
about my Asperger's syndrome, but
I never told him that it made me act
like a child.
The child was desperate for
attention, but I was too cold to let
him have it. I felt there was no time

for such childish things such as song me, but whenever they acknowl-
and dance, which would become edged whatI was doingI lashed out:
outlets for him when I came to the "What are youlooking at?" Sponta-
University. Of course, he slipped neous performing was supposed to
help methrough a tough time in life,
but it was really just the desire to
return to my childhood out of fear..
 AcceptingGradually, I realized that my
my Asperger differences shouldn't immediately
bar me from society. I got tired of
syndrome - tics making excuses for my behavior.
a dal Tired of covering up my Asperger's
syndrome. I learned to value having
a brain that processes things differ-
ently. Along with Asperger's often
out once in a while to do his thing. comes higher I.Q. and the ability to
During my teen years, he would pop take a project or hobby all the way.
up in my subconscious and make However, I was still rationalizing
his presence felt by singing for no my pro-Asperger's attitude as a dis-
reason other than to be heard. In engaged adult. I felt like there was
the last several years, I've had a ten- something missing from my argu-
dency to sing "Somebody Got Mur- ment, as if my heart wasn't fully in
dered" by The Clash in a dramatic it. Then it hit me, almost literally.
fashion, varying the volume of my Studying last week, I was talking
voice or singing it in a bizarre croon to myself at the same time. Talking
reminiscent of Jim Morrison. to myself in public has been a pas-
Every time somebody caught me time of mine for a lorig time. This
dancing or singing, I simultaneous- time it was different; I was angry
ly got a thrill of excitement and a jolt at myself for letting that kid show
of shame. I wanted people to watch himself and the kid was mad at me

for repressing him for so long. I had
been making excuses for his behav-
ior when I should have been proud
of him for being so different.
The kid ran towards a tree and
started to smack it with a win-
ter glove - then I realized what I
was doing. I knew I couldn't just
say, "What are you looking at?" to
passersby. I had a problem. I was a
hypocrite for talking about accep-
tance yet not accepting myself. I
had donned the outer persona of the
Asperger's advocate, but inside the
war of personalities waged on.
Then I cried. I didn't sing like I
normally would. I just cried because
I didn't know how to accept that
fact. I'm 21 years old and I have a
wide-eyed 13-year-old kid buried
inside of my psyche. As much as part
of me would want it, he's not dead
and he's not silent. He emerges from
time to time and if I'm really going
to embrace Asperger's syndrome I
have to learn to embrace him too.
-Charles Clinton is a Daily
sports writer and an associate
producer for WOLV-TV