Really? Things Should Go Back Together the Same Way They Came Apart?

Easy for you to say, neurotypical majority!

(ChatGPT-assisted illustration)

“So the last shall be first, and the first last… “

Matthew 20:16 (KJV).

I thought this verse was about building and fixing things (not about how God, unlike man, considers the status of humans).

I grew up with people like my Uncle Dale, saying that he would be happy to work on the wiring in my mom’s house. “You could do it, too,” he encouraged. “Just put everything back together they way they were when you took them apart.”

I had asked him if he worried about getting electrocuted. “I haven’t been shocked that much. Just go slow and be careful.”

Easy for him (and the world) to say. Me, growing up undiagnosed with autism, ADHD and dyscalculia, never imagined how this forwards-and-backwards methodology worked for most people.

Executive function. Sequencing. Missing focus. Misjudging distances (proprioreception). There’s been an arsenal of “smoking guns” in my neurodivergent life.

I remember being in elementary school, hoping that I, too, could be an acclaimed model maker. Other boys seemed to be able to create miniature models NASA would have commissioned. Long before I saw any science-fiction movies in which aliens had shrink-rays they could use against Earthlings, these kids were gluing together plastic micro-creations of cars.

My dad was not a former model-making kid. Therefore, I got little help from him. I would have an extra part or two that didn’t seem to fit onto my model. “Your car still looks good from this side,” he might say, ignoring any bald spots I couldn’t fill.

I had supportive teachers who’d show off any completed model for the class. I was fearful one of the classmate modeling superstars would squint at my work and say, “That doesn’t look like how mine turned out.”

As I got older, cousins got worried when I got too close to the engines they were tinkering with. “Don’t touch everything!” I would be warned. “All the parts are laid out IN ORDER.”

These thoughts raced through my head as I thought I’d clean and reassemble my cat’s drinking fountain. I had been successful twice previously, working all by myself.

This time, however, my aim exceeded my reach. My long-haired cat could clog fountain parts easily with her daily shedding. The plastic cover for the water filter seemed to leap into my hand when I touched it. I didn’t spot any broken bits. I hadn’t snapped the part in half.

But there was no recess or crevice where the filter could fit. Of course, the company’s printed instructions told me everything but the answer to my problem.

Chris, the kind neighbor who helped me assemble the water fountain months earlier, returned for troubleshooting advice.

I explained my failed attempts at reassembly, then agreed that the oversimplified instructions needed an “FAQ” to answer our query, also.

Then, without uttering a single magic word, she reconnected the last piece of my mechanical puzzlement. “It locks in place from the top down, not the bottom up. I don’t know why, but it works this way.”

My jaw dropped. I pointed. I shook my head. “I never would have gotten that. How?!?”

She smiled and shrugged. This wizardry (in my eyes) might be just another easy idea for a neurotypical mind.

I read PennyCat’s mind, slurping from her beloved fountain once more as our friend left. “Yes, it seemed like a magic trick to me, too.”

TOM OWENS writes (or tries to reassemble his ideas into sentences) in weekly essays for “Oops! AuDHD Humor,” his Substack newsletter. Claim your free subscription to learn what other neurotypical daily doings make Tom gasp.