The Tarpaulin Treaty

Or, "This money is earmarked for scones."

Sheldon: I'd like to buy a scone.
Waitress: Oh, I'm sorry, we're out. We have muffins.
Sheldon: They sound delicious, but this money is earmarked for scones.

The Big Bang Theory, The Wildebeest Implementation

“We need to carry the old sofa outside so heavy trash can pick it up next week,” I tell Allen, my autistic adult son. I hold up a new tarpaulin, still in its plastic package. “We can cover it over with this.”

He looks at me quizically and I inwardly sigh. Allen knows we are getting a new sofa. Last week, he went to the store with me to pick it out. I gave him a choice between two, and bought the one he picked. The date of the delivery has been on our calendar for a week now. I followed all the suggestions on the National Autistic Society website for a “change in the environment.”

But it’s not the arrival of a new sofa he is questioning; it’s the object in my hand.

“That’s for my giant robot project,” Allen says.

“I know,” I tell him, “but it’s been under my bed for six months now. I thought we could use it just until the old sofa can be picked up.”

Slowly, he shakes his head. “No.”

“But you’re not using it for your robot now. Once the sofa is picked up, it can be for your robot.”

“No.”

“Reality to an autistic person is a confusing interacting mass of events, people, places, sounds, and sights. Joliffe (1992) in Howlin (2004, p. 137).”

Ah, now I see his point. Allen purchased this tarpaulin EXPRESSIVELY for his giant robot project. Using it for anything else upsets the fragile equilibrium of his life. While never officially diagnosed as being “on the spectrum”, the character Sheldon Leonard on the sitcom, “The Big Bang Theory” often manifested the same adherence to his own rules. In “The Wildebeest Implementation”, he cannot bring himself to use money he was given to buy a scone for a muffin.

NeuroLaunch comments on the difficult relationship that those on the autism spectrum have with rules, “One of the hallmark characteristics of autism is a tendency towards rigid adherence to rules and routines.” Rules help Allen function in a world that is always confusing to him. Even though rules may change in any given situation, to Allen they are inviolate. The tarp purchased for the giant robot project must be used for the giant robot project, not to cover the old sofa.

I shrug. “Okay,” I say. I don’t have the energy to try and change his mind so I offer an alternate idea. “We’ll just cover it with big trash bags.”

Allen nods and together we heave and push the old sofa to the side of the yard. I retrieve trash bags from the kitchen. I am starting to cover the sofa with them when Allen interrupts me.

“If you want,” he says, “ I could go buy another tarp for the sofa.”

I am pleased, and a little surprised, that he has come up with a solution to the situation while maintaining control over the “earmarked” tarp.

Allen leaves while I stuff the six cushions into trash bags. He returns a half hour later, his visit to Home Depot successful, and produces a tarp suitable to cover the sofa until pick-up day.

And the new tarp is, not surprising, the exact size and color of the one that is now safely stowed under my bed.

Is there anyone in your household or circle who has a strict adherence to rules? How do you help them cope with necessary changes?