Oughtism • Writings – Bayo Akomolafe
Recently, when I got home from a communal celebration of my work in Santa Fe, I gave my son Kyah a wooden jigsaw puzzle toy called 'Coogam Wooden Blocks'. It was a small tablet-sized board composed of delightful, colourful Tetris-shaped pieces - one of several gifts I was bestowed with at the celebration. Kyah, my autistic six-year-old prophet of the crossroads, grabbed the thing, unwrapped its plastic wrapping in one fell swoop, and got down to putting the pieces back together.
I wasn't too invested in what he did with the puzzle: I simply wanted him to play, to enjoy himself. Or so I thought. Because when he came back to me moments later with a strange request, I found the low rumbling sound of guttural resistance quite disappointing. Kyah's outstretched hand held one lonely, blue, 'L'-shaped piece of the puzzle. His eyes were keen and focused: "Can you get rid of this for me?"
I explained to him that this wasn't how puzzles worked: "You cannot just toss out a piece if it doesn't fit." He was however adamant, and suggested I throw the piece away. I feigned compliance, slipped the despairing orphan into my pocket, and made a mental note of my invisibly persistent fixation with "usual" outcomes for his play.
