Sometimes as I write, J. will look over my shoulder and wonder aloud why there isn't more mention of the elusive "J" in my posts. The truth is, he's there all the time. He is the author and architect of the concept of "QAP." He plays with Isaac with an abandon and delight that makes me want to be a child all over again. In fact, one day a woman approached him near a bus stop in San Francisco. She was a retired occupational therapist, and told him, in a tone of awe, that she'd never seen a father play with a child like that in her experience. Ever.
Now I have to say that I have seen some damn fine play in my time. But there is a challenge, as we all know, to finding the right kind of play for a child on the spectrum. And J has always known exactly how to reach Isaac, even when others saw only disinterest.
I took J. for an overnight to a hotel last night. We swam, we read in the sun, and I bought him a massage. We went to a terrific dinner, and this morning swam again. When it was time to leave, we went to a local deli, bought two enormous, freshly-made sandwiches, and ate them in the park as a young man played guitar and sang lovely, haunting Spanish songs. His baby daughter was asleep on the shoulder of the older man sitting next to him--his father? His wife took photos. A lovely tableau and a perfect day.
When we got home, Isaac grinned coyly at us and informed us that he wanted more cake. Seems that he and his babysitter had baked a simple yellow cake and decorated it with colored sugar and icing. It was still a little warm. Yum.
Happy Father's Day, my love.