Laura Shumaker’s wonderful, heartfelt and funny memoir, A Regular Guy, tells the story of raising her autistic son, Matthew, to young adulthood. Matthew, though aware of his disabilities, wants desperately to be a ‘regular guy’ like everyone else, especially his brothers.

In “The Visit”, Matthew is home from his residential school soon after his 16  year-old brother Andy has gotten his driver’s license, a hallmark of independence that was unlikely for Matthew anytime soon. From Shumaker’s essay:

Matthew had just mowed the lawn and asked if he could wash
my car. I thought this was fine and perhaps a good chore to distract
him from lawn care,one of his current obsessions. He thoroughly
washed the car and we praised him enthusiastically. He rewarded
us with one of his wide, honest smiles.

He asked that since he had done such a great job, could he please
drive the car five feet into the garage. His only experience with driving
until then had been in the parking lot of our local church in Peter’s car,
with Peter’s hand planted firmly on the emergency brake. We knew
that this concession could further inspire Matthew to pursue getting a
driver’s license, but we were worn down by relentless petitioning.

In a moment of weakness, I asked Peter to sit in the passenger’s
seat of my car while Matthew drove the car into the garage. I stood
in the driveway, and, already wondering what in the hell we were
doing, watched Matthew get in the driver’s seat. As Matthew started
the car, Peter, who was not familiar with my car, asked, “Where is the
emergency brake?”

Before I could reply, the car had plowed into the garage wall,
crushing a number of full paint cans in its path and destroying two
bicycles. Paint was everywhere, but fortunately, no one was hurt.
Andy, whose room shared a wall with the garage, ran out of the
house looking dazed. “There’s a big hole in my wall.”

As we surveyed the damage in stunned silence, Matthew said
that maybe he shouldn’t drive until he was twenty-one. John offered
to pay for the damage with his allowance money. Andy shook his
head and resumed his telephone conversation with his girlfriend.

“I can’t believe what idiots we are,” Peter mumbled. We both
recognized our lapse in judgment. We also knew that we had been
driven to this by our desire to keep the peace and to try to help Matthew
feel like a regular eighteen-year-old.

Matthew’s remorse following the incident was genuine. We
believed he would share our logic that this mishap proved that he
should not drive the car this summer—or ever. Still, we hid all extra
car keys and kept the ones we needed in our pockets.

In the days that followed, I kept Matthew very busy. He
mowed and edged our lawn compulsively, so much that it looked
like a putting green. I took him for a walk over the Golden Gate
Bridge one day and then on a ferry boat ride to Alcatraz the next.
We went bowling three days in a row, and I was beginning to crack.
So I took him to the Blockbuster to rent video games, and we came
home with a stack.

I must have set my keys down for a second while I got a diet
Coke out of the fridge and popped it open.

Silence. Why was the house deadly quiet?

Where was Matthew?

“Matthew?” No answer. “MATTHEW?” I yelled out the back
door. I walked out my front door and noticed the garage door was
open. The car was gone.

BUT WHICH WAY?

The Middle School down the street—I’ll bet he went there to
show off.

I sprinted down the street in my clogs and around the corner to
the middle school, my purse still hooked to my arm. Sure enough,
there was my car parked crookedly in the parking lot, Matthew standing
nearby looking scared, hugging his shoulders in reassurance, head
down. A group of fourteen-year-old girls who had been playing basketball
huddled nearby.

“He, like, almost totally hit us,” said one. Another was crying to
her mother on her cell phone.

Somehow, I got Matthew back in the car and drove him home.
I knew it was important that I choose my words carefully. Keep it
simple, I thought. Don’t lose control.

Matthew sat across from me in our living room with a nervous
smile, rocking and waiting. I was still out of breath from running,
and from the horror of what could have transpired. Finally, I said, “I
am very angry with you right now.”

“Well, I’m angry with you for yelling at me in front of all those
hot girls,” he said, stomping his foot. “You should be proud of me
for driving so well!”

And then as if on cue, the police car pulled into my driveway.

“Uh, oh,” Matthew muttered.

(The essay continues in the book.)

I won’t say any more other than, no one gets hurt and the ending is, well, maybe not what you expected.

Laura Shumaker is the author of A Regular Guy: Growing Up with Autism, a memoir about raising her autistic son, Matthew, to young adulthood. She is a regular contributor to NPR Perspectives and a columnist for www.5minutesforspecialneeds.com. Laura’s essays have appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle, the Contra Costa Times, the East Bay Monthly, The Autism Advocate, on cnn.com, A Cup of Comfort, and Voices of Autism among others. Laura speaks regularly to schools and book and disability groups. She lives in Lafayette, California with her husband, Peter, and her three sons.