I don’t like summer, and I think summer doesn’t like me.
I’m not sure when my antipathy for the season began. I played outdoors during summer as a child, maybe not as much as other children but I did get out. These were the pre-internet days, remember, no phones, no social media, primitive 8-bit video games and thirteen television channels. Only 7.5% of American households had cable TV in 1978.
Sooner or later, you wound up outside.
My best guess is that summer and I parted ways around adolescence. Atari and Dungeons & Dragons are indoor activities; outdoor games of imagination had given way to team sports, getting into trouble, or just hanging out. I wasn’t interested in any of the latter. I was bad at sports, I was a good kid, and if I was going to be somewhere I wanted a reason for being there.
Tanning was a trend when I was a teenager, more so for girls than guys, but classmates
came back to school to show off their three-month varnish job. As for me, I remained pale. To
this day, when exposed to bright natural light I swear I glow faintly.
People on the spectrum are sensitive to environmental stimuli: noise, light, activity levels,
temperature, suggest it and it is likely someone’s kryptonite. Over time I discovered mine was
summer, with its light, heat, and humidity.
If I step out on a day featuring all three of the above, I feel like I’m under a magnifying
glass. My scalp starts to burn. If I’m not wearing my clip-ons my vision narrows to a red haze;
a faint headache begins at my temples. The sweat starts and beads on my forehead. I sweat
easily and profusely under such circumstances. All I can think of is escaping, getting into my
vehicle or house and into air conditioning. When not in use, keep Mike in a cool, dry place.
Prolonged heat and humidity affect everybody’s mood, but for me it’s especially
adverse—I don’t think clearly and problem-solving goes out the window. Everything makes me
mad.
Get some fresh air, people always told me, with the unspoken prompt that I go outside
and quietly smolder.
I’ve tanned only once in my life, and that was one summer during college when I cut
lawns. The results were less than optimal: I turned orange and my hair bleached nearly white. I
looked like a walking Creamsicle. In my twenties I tried tanning outside in my backyard only to
discover that I could not stand the sensation, frying like greasy bacon under a blazing sun. I
lasted for the A side of 1984 and went inside to shower and never tan again.
Sometime after my diagnosis in 2015 I put two and two together and learned that my
aversion to summer wasn’t personal preference but actual physical fact. And this is true for
many on the spectrum—they’re not being difficult or antisocial, they really can’t do bright
sunlight and high heat. Sure, it looks beautiful outside, what with all that clear blue sky and deep
green grass and cotton-white clouds. Please let me enjoy it through a window in my climate-
controlled environment.
Mike Minnis is a guest blogger and client. His books can be purchased on Amazon. Visit his website at: www.michaelminnisbooks.com/index.htm
I’m not sure when my antipathy for the season began. I played outdoors during summer as a child, maybe not as much as other children but I did get out. These were the pre-internet days, remember, no phones, no social media, primitive 8-bit video games and thirteen television channels. Only 7.5% of American households had cable TV in 1978.
Sooner or later, you wound up outside.
My best guess is that summer and I parted ways around adolescence. Atari and Dungeons & Dragons are indoor activities; outdoor games of imagination had given way to team sports, getting into trouble, or just hanging out. I wasn’t interested in any of the latter. I was bad at sports, I was a good kid, and if I was going to be somewhere I wanted a reason for being there.
Tanning was a trend when I was a teenager, more so for girls than guys, but classmates
came back to school to show off their three-month varnish job. As for me, I remained pale. To
this day, when exposed to bright natural light I swear I glow faintly.
People on the spectrum are sensitive to environmental stimuli: noise, light, activity levels,
temperature, suggest it and it is likely someone’s kryptonite. Over time I discovered mine was
summer, with its light, heat, and humidity.
If I step out on a day featuring all three of the above, I feel like I’m under a magnifying
glass. My scalp starts to burn. If I’m not wearing my clip-ons my vision narrows to a red haze;
a faint headache begins at my temples. The sweat starts and beads on my forehead. I sweat
easily and profusely under such circumstances. All I can think of is escaping, getting into my
vehicle or house and into air conditioning. When not in use, keep Mike in a cool, dry place.
Prolonged heat and humidity affect everybody’s mood, but for me it’s especially
adverse—I don’t think clearly and problem-solving goes out the window. Everything makes me
mad.
Get some fresh air, people always told me, with the unspoken prompt that I go outside
and quietly smolder.
I’ve tanned only once in my life, and that was one summer during college when I cut
lawns. The results were less than optimal: I turned orange and my hair bleached nearly white. I
looked like a walking Creamsicle. In my twenties I tried tanning outside in my backyard only to
discover that I could not stand the sensation, frying like greasy bacon under a blazing sun. I
lasted for the A side of 1984 and went inside to shower and never tan again.
Sometime after my diagnosis in 2015 I put two and two together and learned that my
aversion to summer wasn’t personal preference but actual physical fact. And this is true for
many on the spectrum—they’re not being difficult or antisocial, they really can’t do bright
sunlight and high heat. Sure, it looks beautiful outside, what with all that clear blue sky and deep
green grass and cotton-white clouds. Please let me enjoy it through a window in my climate-
controlled environment.
Mike Minnis is a guest blogger and client. His books can be purchased on Amazon. Visit his website at: www.michaelminnisbooks.com/index.htm
