Kindergarten Report
“What’s this?”
Chiyako hums, craning to see what her husband is talking about. Kayashima Kano wanders into the living room, attention wholly focused on the pages in his hand. “Is this from his school?” She cringes inwardly; when she got home she’d meant to throw them away, but requests for snacks and books had distracted her.
“Oh, mmm yes. They gave it to me today.”
He’s quiet as he comes around the couch, still shuffling through the report. Chiyako sits on the corner, ignoring the television program in favor of watching his reaction. Concerned grays wisp up around him and she absently brushes her fingers through their son’s fine hair; the boy is draped limply against her side, asleep for nearly an hour now. Ten minutes after they’d settled into their movie and he’d crashed.
“…Autism?” Kano jerks as if he’s been struck. He looks up at his wife, eyes crinkling in disbelief and pain. “He’s autistic?” They both turn their attention to the five year old; Taiki is sitting curled in a ball, lips part slightly and move with each breath.
“No, he’s not. You know better… These teachers of his, they have no idea wh-“
“It says they sent him to a specialist! That they conducted tests an-“ Chiyako frowns, hushing him as his voice rises. “Sorry, it’s just… I mean… I don’t know what to think.” He drops onto the other end of the couch, their son between them now.
“He’s not autistic. Just different.” She returns softly, fingers still gently carding through the boy’s black hair. Kano reclines against the sofa, still working through the possibility. He tosses the papers onto a nearby low table.
“He’s quiet. I mean, I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him fuss or cry over the past year…”
“You don’t think that could have something to do with our wonderful parenting skills?” She teases, letting her head fall to the side against the back of the couch. “He’s always been quiet, but it doesn’t mean that he’s autistic.”
“What about,” Kano shakes his head, still stunned, “what about being social? It says right there that he has trouble interacting with others.” A hand waves towards the report before dropping heavily against his knee.
“I’m at his class twice a week -- he’s fine. He works well with others, he’s always nice, he responds when they talk to him or ask questions, he doesn’t have problems sharing or being dominant… it’s just as you said before: he’s quiet.” She shifts in her seat, trying to find a more comfortable position without waking the sleeping boy. “You know better than to think that there’s something wrong with him. You play with him, you see him laugh and joke, you’ve been cornered before when he’s been in Question Mode…” That gets a small smile from her husband and she relaxes a little. “He’s not autistic.”
“I just worry. I know he’s different.” He finally sighs, eyes drooping a bit. “Sometimes I think he knows more than he should for a kid his age, but other times…” Kano trails off, mopping his face. “I wonder if he’s where he should be in other areas. He knows how many kilometers Mount Fuji is and reads history books -though I have no idea how much he actually absorbs- but he always seems confused about,” Now he squints, trying to work out exactly what he means to say, “about people.”
“I know you worry. But he’s five.” Chiyako returns flatly, a small amused smile on her face. “He’s fine, anata. You know I would tell you if something was wrong, and I think autism would be something I could definitely see. There would be signs in his aura.” Kano grunts and her smile grows until she’s chuckling softly. “He’s smart. He’s quiet. He’s introverted. He can see auras and spirits. He’s not autistic, trust me.”
He grumbles now but she knows he’s relieved and happy; blues and greens override those worried grays. The hand that had been smoothing and petting her son’s hair now reaches over to pluck at her husband’s shirt-sleeve. “Take him upstairs, will you? My arm’s falling asleep.”
A weary sigh and Kano pushes himself to his feet. He maneuvers his hands under the five year-old’s arms and gently lifts; black eyes crack open and the boy automatically drapes himself against his father’s shoulder. As they turn and head for the stairs Kano readjusts Taiki’s shirt and pats his back; the kid is asleep again before they even make it out of the living room.
Chiyako hums, craning to see what her husband is talking about. Kayashima Kano wanders into the living room, attention wholly focused on the pages in his hand. “Is this from his school?” She cringes inwardly; when she got home she’d meant to throw them away, but requests for snacks and books had distracted her.
“Oh, mmm yes. They gave it to me today.”
He’s quiet as he comes around the couch, still shuffling through the report. Chiyako sits on the corner, ignoring the television program in favor of watching his reaction. Concerned grays wisp up around him and she absently brushes her fingers through their son’s fine hair; the boy is draped limply against her side, asleep for nearly an hour now. Ten minutes after they’d settled into their movie and he’d crashed.
“…Autism?” Kano jerks as if he’s been struck. He looks up at his wife, eyes crinkling in disbelief and pain. “He’s autistic?” They both turn their attention to the five year old; Taiki is sitting curled in a ball, lips part slightly and move with each breath.
“No, he’s not. You know better… These teachers of his, they have no idea wh-“
“It says they sent him to a specialist! That they conducted tests an-“ Chiyako frowns, hushing him as his voice rises. “Sorry, it’s just… I mean… I don’t know what to think.” He drops onto the other end of the couch, their son between them now.
“He’s not autistic. Just different.” She returns softly, fingers still gently carding through the boy’s black hair. Kano reclines against the sofa, still working through the possibility. He tosses the papers onto a nearby low table.
“He’s quiet. I mean, I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him fuss or cry over the past year…”
“You don’t think that could have something to do with our wonderful parenting skills?” She teases, letting her head fall to the side against the back of the couch. “He’s always been quiet, but it doesn’t mean that he’s autistic.”
“What about,” Kano shakes his head, still stunned, “what about being social? It says right there that he has trouble interacting with others.” A hand waves towards the report before dropping heavily against his knee.
“I’m at his class twice a week -- he’s fine. He works well with others, he’s always nice, he responds when they talk to him or ask questions, he doesn’t have problems sharing or being dominant… it’s just as you said before: he’s quiet.” She shifts in her seat, trying to find a more comfortable position without waking the sleeping boy. “You know better than to think that there’s something wrong with him. You play with him, you see him laugh and joke, you’ve been cornered before when he’s been in Question Mode…” That gets a small smile from her husband and she relaxes a little. “He’s not autistic.”
“I just worry. I know he’s different.” He finally sighs, eyes drooping a bit. “Sometimes I think he knows more than he should for a kid his age, but other times…” Kano trails off, mopping his face. “I wonder if he’s where he should be in other areas. He knows how many kilometers Mount Fuji is and reads history books -though I have no idea how much he actually absorbs- but he always seems confused about,” Now he squints, trying to work out exactly what he means to say, “about people.”
“I know you worry. But he’s five.” Chiyako returns flatly, a small amused smile on her face. “He’s fine, anata. You know I would tell you if something was wrong, and I think autism would be something I could definitely see. There would be signs in his aura.” Kano grunts and her smile grows until she’s chuckling softly. “He’s smart. He’s quiet. He’s introverted. He can see auras and spirits. He’s not autistic, trust me.”
He grumbles now but she knows he’s relieved and happy; blues and greens override those worried grays. The hand that had been smoothing and petting her son’s hair now reaches over to pluck at her husband’s shirt-sleeve. “Take him upstairs, will you? My arm’s falling asleep.”
A weary sigh and Kano pushes himself to his feet. He maneuvers his hands under the five year-old’s arms and gently lifts; black eyes crack open and the boy automatically drapes himself against his father’s shoulder. As they turn and head for the stairs Kano readjusts Taiki’s shirt and pats his back; the kid is asleep again before they even make it out of the living room.