Pants are Optional

Will doesn’t like to wear clothes.  I don’t know why.  Maybe they’re uncomfortable, or binding, or not the right name brand.  For years he’d only wear a diaper or underwear and strip every time I dared put a shirt or pants on him.  He also liked to run away.  And often those two activities would intercept.  

Shortly after we moved into our current house, I was sitting at the computer when I heard the front door shut.  I casually looked out a window to see a half naked cherub running barefoot across the lawn.  I ran downstairs.  Though it was November I didn’t stop to put on shoes.  I ran out the door.  Will was wearing a tee-shirt and a pair of underpants turned around and running down the middle of the street.  I started chasing him.

I was slowly gaining on him.  We ran past a landscaping crew raking leaves.  Their heads turned, watching us run past.  A pick-up truck pulled alongside me.  The man rolled down his window, keeping up with me while barely pressing on the gas.  “Is everything alright?”  He asked.

Panting, I thought, “I’m chasing a pantless, coatless, shoeless, sockless autistic cherub who is running down the middle of the street.”  “No, I’m fine.”  I assured him.  Then putting a frantic burst of speed I caught hold of Will’s tee-shirt and slowed him down.