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At the Rugby with Ben
What I learnt from taking my autistic friend to a sport I know nothing about
He’s standing in his West Tigers jersey, track pants and cap with an orange over-sized foam fist. Waiting. We’re catching a bus to the ANZ stadium in Homebush.
‘Hey Ben! Ready to watch the Tigers thrash the Eels?’ I hope I sound enthusiastic enough.
I’m really not into rugby.
He nods earnestly.
Ben is 12. He has autism and is one of the most delightful human beings I’ve ever met.
Autism is not an obvious disability, until you observe a person for a while.
The way they stare at you a beat too long. The way their face scrunches in concentration as they try and find the right response to a question.
It must be exhausting trying to read social cues all the time and not understand them.
He’s sneaking glances at me on the bus. Perhaps worried I’ll try and engage him in conversation again.
I’m sneaking glances at his orange uniform wondering what to say about his beloved sport.
His Grandpa played for the West Tigers. The guy sitting next to us knows who his Grandpa was.
