Today, I would like to talk about Sheldon Cooper. When I think of characters or celebrities with Asperger's, every time, the first person I think of is Sheldon. Now, this could be because the only person I have met who told me they had Asperger's, immediately compared himself with Sheldon. It could also be because he is and has been a very popular character from a very popular show for quite some time now, and so he's the person who everyone looks to as the "Face of Asperger's."
Well, today I read this article, which is the first mention anywhere that I've heard which states that the character Sheldon Cooper is NOT autistic.
And I love him for it.
I'm still pretty new to learning about the spectrum, so I don't have any good evidence to either side, but I'm so glad to see someone representing the opposite side. Why? I'll tell you why.
Reason number one:
I do not like Sheldon Cooper. He's smart and all that jazz, but other than that, I can't stand him. I hesitate to use words like "hate," because I always feel like that should be reserved for the Hitlers and Vlad the Impalers, but it comes pretty close for Sheldon Cooper. He's self-centered. He is obnoxious. He is in-flexible. For all of his supposed "genius," he is incapable from learning from his mistakes. He forces people to bend over backwards to succumb to his every whim, and he scares away anyone smart enough to realize that Sheldon Cooper is a jerk.
If he is autistic (and I hope that we can do more evidence to the contrary), he proves to be all of the negative aspects of it, with few of the positives. Let me give you some examples. I have a "spot." I like to sit where I like to sit. Whether it's on the couch, at the table, in a classroom, or at church, I just know where I'm "supposed" to be. I even have certain places I like to park my car, at school, at home, and at work (when I have a job). It makes me feel... better. Safe. Secure. It's easier to let my brain and body just go where it's "supposed to be," so I can better focus my energy things that are more interesting, and less anxiety-inducing. But, what if someone's sitting in "my" spot? I stop. I feel confused, anxious. I look around--now I have to figure out where to be, where I can still receive the same or similar experience that I would normally get in whatever situation. I usually end up just picking the first empty space I can see (that is somewhat close to the original position, and, hopefully, with no one sitting next to me, otherwise, with someone I know sitting next to me). I (usually) don't even sulk about it. I just sit there. Sometimes it throws me off, sitting in a different angle from the teacher or the television than I'm used to, but I am a human being, not a robot, and I can adapt to new situations (when I have to). I do not pitch a fit, like Sheldon does. I do not ramble on, telling people all of the reasons I like that spot (I usually have a few reasons, but sometimes, I just like it).
Another example: I like consistency. My family has this tradition. Since before I was born, every Friday was a sacred night, where we would order pizza, and watch a movie. As long as I can remember, through thick and thin, Friday was Pizza Movie Night (we're really good at naming things). I actually was terrified of even tasting pizza, so until I was thirteen or so, I ate other things. But I could always count on us having pizza and a movie every Friday night, and when I finally tried pizza, and discovered it was not Evil Food That Will Probably Kill You, but Manna From The Gods Of All Things Delicious instead, Pizza Movie Night got even better. As I got older, and we ended up doing grown up things, and got jobs and everything, Pizza Movie Night started to decay. Sometimes people had work, and we would have to have Pizza Movie Night on Saturday, which is just wrong, but at least we still have it. Sometimes, Unit A complains about how much she hates pizza, and the Parental Units don't actually any stock in pizza, so we eat Chinese food on Pizza Movie Night, which just doesn't make sense at all. I like Chinese food just fine, but it's not pizza. People start clashing, being unable to decide on what movie we should watch, so we stopped going to the RedBox, and instead just watched TV, at last turning sacred Pizza Movie Night into Chinese Food and Whatever Random TV Show We Happen To Be Watching (Big Bang Theory, anyone?) Night. This decay has been devastating over the last few years of turmoil and confusion, removing one of the few stable things my family has for me to rely on. But do I complain? Do I fight for Pizza Movie Night? Do I say anything at all? No. I do not. Unlike Sheldon Cooper, I don't inflict misery on those around me, simply because they don't draw safety and security from meal routines. I don't complain when people eat up the leftovers from my cheese pizza, even though I'm the only person in the house who actually likes cheese pizza, and I cannot/will not try any other flavor (unless you put chicken on it. Cheese pizza with alfredo sauce and chicken on it makes it the best thing you ever tasted). Why don't I do this? Because I am an adult. I am able to function, despite mild inconveniences, and I understand that other people do not and cannot understand me, and therefore do not inflict these inconveniences on me on purpose. I also know that no matter how many times I tell them, they still won't understand, and it will only annoy them to remind them. So, to keep harmony with my friends and family, I shut up and "take it like a man."
Sheldon Cooper is a whiny little brat, and I hate him for it.
If someone were to tell him that he was autistic, it either wouldn't change a thing, or, it would make it worse. He would have a "legal" reason to inflict misery on anyone and everyone around him.
And now we come to the second reason why I'm glad that he possibly is not autistic, which probably reveals even more about my psyche: everyone laughs at Sheldon Cooper.
All of the characters are constantly annoyed by him, it's true, and at times they act as though they really hate him. But the rest of the time, they are affectionately amused by his behavior. The canned audience is always laughing at his antics, and my family goes right along with it, my dad laughing loudest of all.
I remember, when I first started watching the show, before I ever heard of Asperger's, I laughed too. I'll admit it. There were a lot of things he did, which I could understand, like the "spot" thing, or the "food" thing, or his difficulty figuring out other people. I would laugh when he misconstrued social interactions and conventions, seeming robotic at best, and certifiably insane at worst. Then I meet this guy, who I clicked with immediately, unlike any of my other friends, who tells me "I have Asperger's, just like Sheldon Cooper!" I couldn't see the Big Bang Theory the same, ever again. My Aspie friend didn't tell me much of anything, least of all how and why he was anything like Mr. Cooper. But suddenly I had a reason to try and understand Sheldon, and to tolerate him, because I had a friend who was "just like" him. Over the months, he became less and less funny, and more and more... annoying.
When I finally started to investigate autism, and reading about the symptoms, what do you think sprang to mind? Sheldon Cooper. The clown. The man who everyone loves, because they don't have to deal with him. How is that supposed to make us feel? Sure, everybody accepts autistic people! They're hilarious! Show us what crazy thing you're gonna do next, you silly Aspie! We haven't watched the Big Bang Theory in a while (we ran out of episodes, and didn't buy any more), so I don't know how my family will react to him. I don't even know if they've heard that people say he's an Aspie. But it hurts now. Every time someone laughs at Funny Sheldon, they're laughing at me. When he obsesses over physics or his comic books, when he struggles and tries and fails to connect with the people around him, when he's got his "quirks" and his "spots" and his idiosyncrasies, and the only way people can except that is to mock it, it tells me that they will only mock me. That they won't understand the pain and struggle I've had my whole life, trying to stop being what I am, because they just think I'm a silly little Sheldon Cooper wannabe.
This is the same reason why I stopped liking Monk. People think his fear and discomfort is funny--I don't. I can't remember what I thought of it as a child, but I've considered the possibility that I had OCD for a long time, I take the show way too seriously now. I really wish people could see us for what we are, not to mock us or hate us, or file us away in the "weird, but harmless" category. We're people. We want people to understand us, just like we want to understand other people. We have our burdens, and we try to overcome them, but sometimes they just crush us. We struggle alone, because nobody understands us. They just laugh.
To be continued...
Penny
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