Triumph Over autism

by Matthew Edwards

Rote sayings, endless repetitions, and patterns are the benchmarks in my son’s life. When he stopped talking at two years old, we feared he had damaged his hearing, but the truth was he was autistic. There is a huge spectrum of autism, but my son is on the higher-support-needs end of autism. He rarely has spontaneous speech and will only speak in phrases he has memorized. Frustrating is not a strong enough word. To be fair, we are not frustrated with him, just frustrated with the difficulties he faces communicating, showing emotion, and functioning day to day. He displays glimmers of brilliance, but then goes back to his repetitive refuge of things he likes. Deviations from his routine are frustrating to him, and there are very few deviations he is comfortable with.

Through an absolute miracle, I got a Triumph TR6 a few years ago. That purchase story is incredible, but that is for another day. This story is about Joshua. When I first got the TR6, I was infatuated; it’s a car I had dreamed of since I first saw one in 1979. As a child, I fell in love with the styling and the engine sound—the almost perfect harmony of the British parts moving in synchronicity, clothed in Coventry steel. And this TR6 did not disappoint. Painted a brilliant red, it retained the original wooden dashboard and manual transmission. This car was a dream, and now she was parked in my garage.

Funny how the world turns. Soon after I got the car, my almost entirely nonverbal son walked up to me and said, “1974 Triumph TR6 four speed with overdrive.” Astounded, I stepped back and wanted to verify what he had just said. Surely, he does not know the details of this car. My son then repeated the phrase. With tears in my eyes, I asked, “Do you want to go for a ride?” His answer was typical. He said, “Do you want to go for a ride?” which in Joshua-speak that means yes. So we got in the car and drove the short distance to our town square. People have a tendency to honk and wave at the Triumph, and the normally subdued Joshua waved back in his own way and smiled. Of course, I wanted to extend this time with him, so I asked him if he wanted to ride more. “Do you want to ride more,” was his reply. Okay!!! So we drove to the other side of town through the shopping areas. Once again, people waved and Joshua waved back. The funny thing is, it was not only Joshua smiling, it was everyone else, too. Joshua calls this part of the drive our “Victory Lap,” and it is perfectly named.

Every Saturday we go for a drive in the Triumph, only missing days when it rains. This ritual has continued every week for years. Joshua turned 18 a few weeks ago, and although his body is 18 years old, he is still the little boy that wants to go for a Saturday drive. I treasure these times with him, knowing I get a glimpse into his mind for the duration of the drive every week.

He will put on one of his TR6 shirts (always red) and wait for me to get the keys, then walk out to the garage and get in the Triumph, waiting for the ritual to begin.

We take the same route, and he has a 1970s playlist that he will listen to and sing along with. When we get to the short highway part of our drive, Joshua will raise his hands up, feeling the wind blow his arms back, and laugh. Every week, he raises his arms and every week I smile, knowing we connect during that brief moment.

There are so many things about this drive that I could write about that Joshua wants on every drive. The list is exhaustive, but a few are worth noting: he requires me to wear my US Navy Garrison cap and my sunglasses, and we have to start each drive with the song “Ballroom Blitz.” He has to tell me how to start the car (choke all the way out, clutch in, when it starts, choke halfway in….) Finally, every time we end our drive, coming back into the neighborhood, he turns to look at me, waiting for the denouement. When any part of this sequence is missed, he will not participate until I do the sequence correctly. So I will end this narrative with how we end our drive, every Saturday.

“Josh, buddy, I hurt my arm and can’t shift… what are we going to do”? Joshua will then put his hand on the gear shift…

Engine revs in first gear…. I begin by yelling “Wait for the clutch…. Ok!!! Second gear!!!” Joshua then puts the transmission into second gear.

I continue, “Third gear… Josh PLEASE wait for me to push the clutch in!!!!!!” Joshua will shift to third gear.

“OK! Now fourth gear!!!!! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE WAIT FOR THE CLUTCH!!!!!!!! Great job. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

And truthfully, I really could not do this without him. I will never take for granted the wonderful gift God has given me, giving me a peek into my son’s mind; all made possible by a car factory in Coventry, England, 50 years ago. One day we will make the trip to Coventry, and visit the site where the Triumph was made, showing Joshua the town that made all of this possible. I doubt anyone on the factory line in 1974 would have guessed the impact they have made on our lives, but I would love to tell them how grateful I am for the gift they gave me and my family.

This is our Triumph.