April, as we Autismlanders know, is Autism Awareness Month, and so we had purchased four tickets to a special Autism Awareness Night Phillies baseball game for an evening in April.
But the game got rained out. As it was----for reasons I cannot quite recall---we were not sure we could go; April was a rather tough month with a two-week spring break from school and Charlie having the stomach flu. We flirted with the thought of not going today---90 degree heat and yesterday's biking and ocean swimming had left Charlie so drained that he spent Sunday morning lounging on his and our beds. And Charlie and the "throwed food" (to recall a certain restaurant in Missouri, in which state Charlie was born) did give Jim and me cause earlier this week to wonder if we ought not to go to the game, at the risk of explainingg about some flying French fries to Phillie fans.
Not only did we got to the game today, but we stopped in New Hope on the Delaware River on the way. We got some takeout Mexican food and the only thing that went flying was some guacamole that fell off the black car's dashboard into the white, now green accented, interior of my bag. Then we headed south to Philadelphia, with Charlie grinning more and more by the minute: "See How!" We met Charlie's pal Hal, and drove to South Philly for the game.
Charlie sat through two innings after sampling my vegan hot dog (to be had for the special price of $1.00) and then gave me a long look and pulled Hal's hand hard. "B'ack car!" Charlie went for a walk holding Jim's and Hal's hands and requesting "eat!" for some fries while I saw Pat Burrell hit a homer (the first run of the game) into left field. Charlie gave Hal a head-hug and we listened to the rest of the game while driving up Interstate 95 and the Princeton Pike (Hal stayed for the rest of the game, which ended happily for us Phillies fans).
"Yallow school bus." (I think you can guess who said that.)
"Yes, we're heading back to Grandpa's house and school tomorrow," Jim and I said. Charlie settled back into his seat, clutching his schedule strip and two spiked squishy balls. He went straight to bed after donning his "jamas" and watching me pull out the velcro-backed pictures for his Monday schedule.
And I had to be glad the baseball game had gotten rained out in April, and we had had to wait this long to have one fine Sunday in New Hope, in Philadelphia, in Autismland.