Float On: Embracing Our Family's Uniqueness

By now you’ve probably heard about Pixar’s new animated short, Float, or perhaps you’ve already watched it on the new Disney+ streaming service that launched last week. If you haven’t seen it yet, I highly recommend checking it out! It’s only a little over 5 minutes long and as is this case with most Pixar shorts, it’s absolutely worth the time.

The story is centered around a father and son and the child’s unique ability to float above the ground. This uniqueness—beginning in the child’s infancy—scares off neighbors and forces the father to feel like he needs to hide his son’s special power. As the child grows older, we see that living in obscurity has taken a toll on the duo and the dad looks visibly ailed. He attempts to take his son out of the house, doing his best to dodge the judgmental neighbors, resorting even to putting rocks in his son’s leashed backpack to weigh him down and prevent him from exposing his floating ability. Everything comes to a head when the son wiggles free of his leash, darts toward the playground, and slowly begins to rise off the ground in a park full of horrified on-lookers. The boy kicks and thrashes as his father tries to pull him off the swings and leave with him, eventually yelling at his son in a heartbreaking climax: “WHY CAN’T YOU JUST BE NORMAL!?”

The creator of the short, Bobby Alcid Rubio, based the story upon his relationship with his own son—a child on the autism spectrum. It’s really quite a beautiful story, and—spoiler alert—the dad does end up deciding to accept his son’s originality and let him be who he is, despite the stares of everyone around them. It’s likely any parent of a child with different needs can relate to this story in some capacity.

When our eldest was a baby, he often had loud and enduring meltdowns. In retrospect, it was likely due to sensory overload, as it always seemed to happen during big family events with lots of people. At the time, however, all I understood was the frustration as we retreated to a quiet room, trading off with my husband as we attempted to soothe our inconsolable child. We have a nephew a couple of months older, and while we tried hard not to compare, watching him happily making his rounds with relatives further deepened our exasperation, and further fueled my suspicions that our son was inexplicably different.

As a result of these meltdowns, we often opted out of going anywhere, instead choosing to let people come to our house. I particularly remember one outing we decided to partake in though—a group trip to San Francisco’s Exploratorium. Julian had just turned four and Elias (our second-born) was still a little guy, unlikely to find much interest in the museum, so he stayed home with my husband. I’m going to share the details of this story in hopes that some of you reading may either relate to it or be able to draw some knowledge from it—perhaps you’ll find yourself even a fraction more understanding the next time you see a child “misbehaving” in public.

We met up with one of my brothers, my cousin, and their respective wives and children. It was raining that day, which was the first card stacked against us—Julian hated being wet or “dirty” (as he called it). He also tired easily and the distance from where we parked to the Exploratorium was enough to necessitate a stroller. Trying to keep the umbrella entirely over his stroller while also pushing the weight of a 4-year-old and walking myself was, I’m sure, comical to watch.

After we made it inside and got him calmed down. The only photo I have from that day—he clearly looks thrilled.

When we arrived, there was a long line to get in. Patience, and being in close proximity to so many people at once has never ever been one of his strong suits, so this sparked our little calamity and he was vocalizing his discontent. Once we got through the entrance, I thought all would be well, but the damage was already done—he was angry and scared, and screaming and wailing as we waited for everyone else in our group to enter. I tried pushing his stroller into the closest thing to a corner I could find, frantically trying to alleviate his stress (and the number of eyes focused upon us) but everything I did seemed to only worsen his discomfort. I decided to take him out of his stroller, but as soon as I unbuckled him he bolted towards the entrance and through the doors, with me and my brother trailing behind. Once we caught up to him, my brother scooped him up and carried him back into the Exploratorium kicking and crying the whole way. Eventually, we were able to calm him but my nerves were shot and my son was exhausted—he and I languidly made our way through the exhibits, but that entry into the museum will always be what vividly endures in my memory of that day.

I of course love my son unconditionally, but while all of the above was transpiring I did wonder why he was different. Why he was the only one crying and terrified while all the other children—his same-aged cousin included—seemed content to be there and unfazed by the sprinkling of water and the wait to get in. [In case you’re interested, I found this video incredibly helpful in understanding the invisible challenges some people on the spectrum face.]

As time has passed, and two other children who are also not so harmonious during public outings have entered our lives, I’ve learned to accept that this is just how life is for us. Sometimes we will be the ones leaving an hour (or five minutes) after we’ve arrived. Sometimes we will be the ones failing to console one of our children in the middle of a restaurant because the internet is slow and the video he wants to watch for the 11th consecutive time is buffering. Or sometimes we will be 45 minutes late because I had to give my kids transition warnings and deal with the fall out of not being able to find that ONE book he has to bring but also lost. My husband is so much better at this than I am, but I’m learning to trust that the stares and whispers of those around us are coming from a place of ignorance versus malice. It is not my job to educate the uninformed, but hopefully continued exposure to a family like ours will help the next one to follow. Because we, like the family in Float, most certainly won’t live in the shadows just because our kids are “different”.

Float on.