When we moved from Venezuela to Connecticut in 2000, especially that first year, we went into New York City often. We didn’t know anyone yet, and the novelty of the Big Apple still held a powerful pull.
Looking back, it was a special time, with none of us being yanked in different directions, every weekend a family weekend: Cesar and me and our two boys.
One morning, we decided to visit the American Museum of Natural History. I set out with high expectations. Our oldest, Diego, six at the time, was fascinated by animals, especially the African animals from The Lion King. Animals were, in fact, one of his interests “abnormal either in intensity or focus,” fitting the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders criteria for his Pervasive Developmental Disorder, the term widely used for autism at the time.
We entered the museum through a great hall in the center of which stood a giant dinosaur skeleton rearing up in front of a smaller dinosaur. The boys were fascinated. It was a great start to our visit.
After admiring the dinosaurs for a few minutes, we got in the ticket line. It was there that Diego realized the plan was to walk through the entrance beyond the ticket counter, which, from the lit hall where we stood, seemed to lead into pitch darkness. Who knew what might be waiting in the darkness beyond?
No amount of convincing would get it through to Diego that, once inside, the halls weren’t as dark as they seemed. Plus the animals. He’d get to see his favorite animals!
He wouldn’t have it. “I wanna go home. I don’t wanna go in there,” he kept repeating.
Diego covered his ears and began to cry the sad, panicked cry of a child begging to be spared a terrifying experience his parents are forcing him into. When Diego cried, which was not infrequent, it was normally tantrum crying, and its effect on me was frustration and a need to repress the impulse to yell at him to stop. My reaction to this cry was very different. It broke my heart and triggered the impulse to turn around and leave the place, thus removing the source of my child’s fear and anticipatory overwhelm.
What to do?
Well, bereft as Diego and I were, leaving wasn’t an option. I couldn’t do that to our younger son, Andres. Plus, we’d come all this way! And so, we made our way to the front of the line with our quiet child and our crying child covering his ears. We bought our tickets and forced Diego to the exhibit entrance a few steps from the counter.
To my infinite relief, as soon as he stepped through the entrance threshold, my son’s unblinking gaze of fear quickly gave way to a wide-eyed expression of awe and wonder. There they were, the elephants, gorillas, giraffes, zebra, as well as the kudu, gemsbok, nyala, and other mammals he would in time be able to instantly recognize and name. He was in heaven!
We’ve been to the American Museum of Natural History a dozen times since then. Diego, now 32, loves the place.
Did I make the right choice?
It felt cruel, not removing Diego from the situation. We could’ve left and, knowing how he’d react, gone back another day having prepared him better. I could’ve written a little story, found a video about the museum at the library (no YouTube back then).
It was not an easy choice, but I’d do it again. I couldn’t have put this into words back then, but I sensed that Diego’s anticipatory overwhelm was about fear of the unknown, and that once he saw the animals, he would be okay. To my delight, he was more than okay.
Diego, whose memory stores events like a computer, doesn’t look back on this day with resentment. On the contrary, he remembers it as a victory. I know this because I recently asked him, and I have a voice recording of our exchange to prove it.
“I got scared, but I handled my fear, you know,” Diego said about that day.
Then he asked, “Can we go back there? Can we go back during the springtime?”
Below the audio recording where I ask Diego about his first time visiting the American Museum of Natural History. Starts at second 25 or so. I was running when I took this call, hence my labored breathing! (Also, Diego said I could share this ❤️.)