It matters. In this house, regardless of the “it,” the need, want, etc. is considered valid and we make every attempt to find “it” and make it so. Too often in life we hear, “It doesn’t matter!” or “Why does it matter?” Those two little letters, i-t, make up the most abused pronoun in history. The truth of the matter is that the universally vague “it” does matter…the reason why “it” matters is much less important than the fact that “it” does.

I believe that this is a truth everywhere, but especially true in a house full of aspies. In a world full of overpowering sensory experiences and obsessions, these “its” make the difference between tolerable experiences and total meltdown. The way I think of it is this, the more “its” you can take care of, the easier the overall day-to-day experiences can be.

Until recently, I didn’t really think of this as a universal problem. It was just another way in which we personally made our crazy world work. Then I went to the mall. Now the mall may seem like an odd place to have an epiphany, especially waiting frantically by the door at 10 am one Sunday morning. However, like most epiphanies, it hit me in an oddly comforting way, an unexpected moment of clarity searching for rifle-green pants.

Rifle-green pants are surprisingly difficult to find. I don’t know if they are extremely popular and thus fly off the shelf or if they are considered unfashionable and thus find themselves gathering dust in the storeroom. Either way, I needed two pair of rifle-green pants…yesterday. My hardworking oldest aspie was getting ready for a trip. The trip was business related and required business casual dress. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday are black pants days. Tuesday and Thursday are green pants days. This is the dress code for him. This has been the dress code for as long as we have known each other and I’m pretty sure it is not something he created upon meeting me. Since he works from home, the usual dress code has been replaced with jeans and t-shirts. Our green pants were no longer suitable for the trip.

I spent a good part of the day on Saturday searching for pants and explaining to salespeople that dark brown and chartreuse, while lovely in their own way, were, in fact, not the same as rifle-green. I came home empty handed in tears. I was not met with resentment. My oldest aspie simply stated, “It’s all right, thanks for trying. It doesn’t matter.” I knew better. I knew “it” did matter and in this case, the “it” was a couple pair of rifle-green pants. His face was making every attempt to say he wasn’t bothered by the thought of an unfamiliar wardrobe, but his eyes gave the heart wrenching look of defeat. Traveling is hard enough for many people with autism-now he was going to be traveling without the right clothes. I needed to make “it” right.

That night I searched and searched the internet for a store in our area that had our elusive “it” in stock. I found one…one store that had “it” and the words in stock smiled at me from the screen. I found myself anxiously waiting at the door of the department store the next morning praying that their inventory was up to date on the website. It was not. As I asked the salesclerk if there might be any rifle-green pants in the back, she laughed and said, “What we have is on the floor.”

The look on my face must have been a good one- perhaps one of someone who has just lost a very trying and very serious battle. When I turned around, a man wearing a manager’s tag asked if he could help me. Normally, I would have said no and walked away in an attempt to not create unnecessary waves. However, staring defeat in the face, I spelled my story out. I was answered with a nod and an, “OK, the floor is almost empty, let’s go look in the back.”

Who knows how many rules that man broke taking a salesclerk and a random customer to the stock room? I didn’t care. With a few questions, we opened box after box of pants, searching for rifle-green. When the brand I was looking for was definitely not in stock, we moved on to the next brand.

We were ultimately successful. Declaring the department store manager my new hero, I asked why he had done such a kind thing. Quietly, he avoided eye contact and answered, “I get it.” I beamed back with my brightest smile that let him know I understood why he got “it” and respected him even more now.

I interact with so many people on the spectrum in different places and at different times, that is sometimes takes me a moment to realize that the familiarity I see in someone is a common, varied threat that weaves through “the spectrum.” When we find others who share similar difficulties, we are immediately united in a bond that cannot be broken. With that smile, this man opened his heart to a part of his life- a difficult part. He described weekly attire and a special glass cup that he drinks everything out of. He even shared the anxiety he feels when he must wash his cup and not have it close by for a while. We could have talked about the scientific reasons he liked his cup- probably a sensory processing difference that is made “right” by the smoothness and non competing taste of the cup- but that discussion wasn’t necessary. The cup was his “it” just as much as the pants were our current “it.” Regardless of the reasoning behind the desire, they were simple, relatively easy to obtain things that brought a small slice of comfort to the overwhelming world.

We all have specific things we prefer. I believe these things are important. The “its” of our world are controllable moments that we can choose to use. “It” is important, “it” does matter, “it “can make a seemingly difficult task slightly more manageable. “It” is how we survive the madness that is life.