Jonathan's REAL ID
Sharing my husband’s Nick’s recent account of an adventure at the DMV that captures so much about our journey with Jonathan. You’ll laugh and perhaps cry as you see the father’s heart of this Prince of a man. I couldn’t do it without you, Nick.
JONATHAN’S REAL ID
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Friday, October 19, 2021 2:30 PM: Jonathan and I arrive in the parking lot of the Virginia Department of Motor Vehicles. I have just picked him up from school. We get there half an hour early for his 3 o’clock appointment to get his REAL ID card but are surprised to be met at the door right away by a nice lady who asks if we have all the required documents. I say yes and she directs us to the line for number assignment. Jonathan is good and sits on the floor as I feed him french fries.We finally get to the window. I hand over the packet of documents to a pleasant lady and watch as she takes out each one and paperclips them to a blank form. I stuff a french fry into my mouth and another into Jonathan’s. She sees that everything is in order and gives us a number. #151.
We sit in the waiting room. Jonathan is eating his french fries one at a time. I start filling out the information on the documents when suddenly our number comes up. I’m not done with the form! I go up to another window to start the ID process with Jonathan in tow. I hand over the packet to Robin, the helpful lady on the other side of the glass. She says I can finish filling out the form right there at the counter. Jonathan sits on the floor in a cramped corner where I can simultaneously block him as I write. He’s getting restless so I toss him a fry and he’s happy. It’s my last one and I’m still on page one of two. I keep filling out the form when suddenly the lady looks up and says “Has he ever had a drivers license?”
“No Ma’am, Absolutely not! He does not drive.”
“Well he’s in the system. His license has been suspended.”
“What? That's Impossible! He’s never had a drivers license and can’t drive. He does have a school ID (I fumble in my wallet to show her) and he’s been in the county school system for a long time. Maybe that can explain it?”
She looks at the address. “Where does he live?”
I give her the address and she repeats the house number but it’s not right. She sees the digits have been jumbled and wonders if someone has stolen his identity. Suspecting so, she calls a supervisor over -- a young man who stares at the computer screen then disappears.
Now who would steal his identity? I wonder.
The gentleman returns. “Oh, if you read it carefully it just means that his privileges for driving are suspended. Should he ever want a license he would have to be certified. The house digits were somehow incorrectly entered.”
Whew! After carefully collecting the documents and waiting for weeks I really didn’t want to leave without his REAL identification.
We move on. She’s processing all the information. I get to the part of the form with little boxes to check. One of them is for autism. She looks up.
“The supervisor says “you can check the box, but must have a doctor’s certificate.”
That crucial piece of information was not in the prep list. But ha! My wise wife put in a bunch of extra papers including doctors letters that clearly state his diagnoses. I hand the lady a letter who brings it to the supervisor who says OK and we get through that one.
But I’m still filling out page two (flip side) and I get to a paragraph that wants the applicant to verify he’s eligible for selective service. Right! Private Jonathan reporting for service, Sir! I have to check off one of the boxes that says his information can be forwarded to the selective service. I ask about that and they tell me it’s routine. When they see he’s autistic he will not be selected. But technically he is eligible to serve our country in the military. Like Grandpop in WW2. Cool.
Jonathan stands up at attention and doesn’t want to sit down anymore. He starts jumping around and I tell the lady he needs to go to the bathroom. She says go ahead and take him. We hurry over but the men’s door is blocked with two yellow pyramids and says Out of Order. I look desperately over to the registration ladies and one of them waves me on and says just go. So we stroll past the barriers into the stall and sure enough he goes.
Now it's back to the ID lady. Uh oh! I left vitals blank on page one (he’s 5’2”, 125, athletic build with brown hair and brown eyes). And he - a nonverbal autistic Downs 19 year old young man - is supposed to sign on the bottom of page two.
“How about an X?” I ask.
She checks. “The supervisor says an initial will do”.
I pull Jonathan up off the floor and “guide” his hand into drawing his initials - CJT. Surely they can read hieroglyphics.
Now for the fun part. Photo time. The robocam is ready to take his picture. I’m out of french fries and he doesn’t want to sit on the floor anymore. He’s biting his hand. That means he is not happy. He hasn’t had his walk today because we came straight from school but he did have plenty of snacks. He did go to the bathroom. But he’s done with this waiting business. All he has to do is look at the camera, they'll snap the picture and we’re done. He’s not looking at the camera, he's looking away from the camera and biting his hand. I coax him but he’s only more adamant and is suddenly on all fours scrambling out into the general waiting area amongst the waiting clients and chairs. I chase him down (he’s lovin’ it), catch him, turn him and head back to his photo op. I stand him up and do all kinds of things trying to get him to look at the camera while both the lady and her supervisor stand ready to electronically click the shutter. Flash! Flash! I’m always in the way and they can’t get a good shot either he’s looking away or my hand’s in the shot and he’s getting more restless. He’s biting his hand and grimacing. How would that ever pass airport security?
She suggests I pull a chair over for him to sit on. He does but keeps looking away. A sign that says no cell phone use glared from the counter. I asked if they could make an exception and they say yes. I pull out my cell phone and put up a picture of Matthew and Mya on their honeymoon in the Grand Canyon. Holding it above the robocam lens it gets his attention briefly. No flash! A missed opportunity. He turns away and bites his hand again. Now he wants to run away but I try to hold him as he’s wiggling. Occasionally I get him turned around toward the camera and they snap. I see a flash but they say no we didn’t get him, he’s always looking to the side or up or something. He’s in avoidance mode.
Then I remembered how yesterday I took a short video of him having a great time on his new basement swing with music blaring. I find it in my phone.
”Look Jonathan! Your swing!” Instantly he brightens up watching it and they start snapping away. Flash! Flash! Just in time before Jonathan turns aside for good.
“We got it!” says the guy. Now all I have to do is hold Jonathan in place while I stick my credit card into the little slot. But it won’t accept it. It wants me to do the stripe instead of the chip so I do the stripe but then it wants the chip. He’s tugging my left arm while my right arm is struggling with the card machine. At last the chip wins, I pay the twenty six bucks fee and am free to go
The lady says you sure have patience. I say he’s actually the one having patience he hasn’t had his trail walk today and as you can see he’s a handful but a joy to work with. Have you ever had an autistic customer before? No, she said. But you sure get your exercise. I sure do, I laughed, and I hope this was a good experience for you and thank you all very much. Happy Thanksgiving!
The ID card arrives by mail in seven days. When it does we can fly with him across America to see our new granddaughter. And wherever we want to go together.
That’s nice but I’ve known his real, true, identity all along. He’s my son, Christopher (Christbearer) Jonathan (God’s gift) Tavani.
With that Jonathan hops out of the Department of Motor Vehicles and into the brisk autumn sunshine.
The End
By Nick Tavani