On Wednesday, Ethan and I met two friends for a pub quiz.
When I say friends, I mean the wife is my friend and the husband just about manages to fill an evening finding things to chat to Ethan about.
It's pretty much replicated across all of the people we're 'friends' with.
These days, Ethan has come a long way from the silent, overwhelmed and internally angry man he once was on nights out - the revellery and easy-going nature of everyone else heightening the sense of frustration and disappointment in himself, which showed itself as sullenness and standoffishness.
But what Wednesday confirmed to me, that I'd kind of forgotten, is that pub quizzes are never going to make successful nights out for Ethan.
For a start, it was a warm night, and we were in a noisy, sticky pub huddled around a table among lots of other groups also huddled around tables.
That's never a good start.
To make matters worse, we'd ordered tapas. Whoever came up with the idea of turning the basic human - and largely independent - activity of eating into a shared 'experience', did not have autistics in mind.
That old feeling of slight panic mixed with embarrassment that used to be a regular fixture on a night out with Ethan in tow, returned as he, literally, made a meal of digging into the pancetta fries, one large forkful after another, giving no-one else a chance.
Pub quizzes for dummies
Ethan hadn't contributed much to conversation - it's hard for his autistic brain to focus on two things at once and obviously eating won out. So when the question paper appeared, I breathed a sigh of relief thinking that now, at least, there'd be a focal point to conversation that Ethan could join in on.
I was wrong.
It was impossible for Ethan's brain to dip in and out of discussing the question paper and normal conversation, something everyone else was doing with ease. With that demand, on top of the noise, the people and the heat, his brain and body were on sensory overload.
"On top of that, as the questions built, he felt increasingly stupid."
On top of that, as the questions built, he felt increasingly stupid. Not because he is, but because he can't ever remember anyone's names or the names of songs/bands and has no interest in popular culture. Also, however much he might like, say, a film or an artist, his ADHD brain cannot store and recall information (something, I've discovered through the pain of GCSEs, he's passed on to both our boys).
Towards the end of the evening, he'd pretty much given up. And that old silent, simmering separation returned. I stepped into the breach, socialising for both of us, but we both had a pretty miserable evening and walked home silently a few paces out of step with each other.
I was left feeling the way I haven't felt for years - that I'm married to someone I'm unable to have a normal social life with and that I'm just going to have to do everything without him in future, feeding the ever-increasing rift between us.
Image is AI generated
Thank f*** it's Friday
Fast forward to Friday night, and we'd been invited to a friend's for dinner - one of only a couple of friends that we actually know through Ethan.
Key differences to Wednesday night were that:
- There were just four of us, and we were in a quiet house - no competing ambient noise, other conversations going on around us, or multiple people in our conversation to try to navigate around.
- We started the evening outside in the garden - peaceful, plenty of air and space, and a cool breeze.
- There were no demands - from a quiz or otherwise - that made Ethan feel inferior, different or 'not enough'.
- We all had our own dinner, on our own plates, for only ourselves to eat!
We had a fantastic evening. Conversation was balanced - covering topics Ethan felt able to contribute to (films featured quite a bit, as well as the superiority of IMAX). And we walked home laughing, still chatting and holding hands.
"We walked home laughing, still chatting and holding hands"
What, when, who and how
It's reminded me that, while Ethan's made huge progress socially and huge adaptations and efforts to fit into my world, there are adaptions and compromises that I have to make for him too.
Certain events are always going to remain impenetrable for him - and trying to break through them is only going to break him, and us.
Just like I could never rewire a house or build a computer, Ethan is never going to thrive at a pub quiz.
That doesn't mean we can never be sociable together with others, just that we need to choose what we do - when and how.
And there might be times when it's better for everyone that I just go along to something on my own.
And that's OK.
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