A Boy and His Bush’s Baked Beans (A Love Story)

It was an affair of Hugh-Grant-ian proportions. You’ve seen an aimless youth, lazy and passionlesss, morph into Romeo after a single glance from her? That was Jack. Wandering through Safeway aisles next to his mother without an inkling of how his life was about to change. But one turn around the bend, and there she was. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen. A perfectly stacked display of Bush’s Baked Beans.

Practically speaking, Jack never cared for beans. To this day, he doesn’t eat them. But there was something about the way the gold gradient glimmered under the florescent lights that he found irresistible.

He threw a fit when he got home, and we couldn’t figure out why he was upset. He could not tell us, of course. Even though he’s seven, he cannot really speak. His autism usually turns his words into mush, and when we do recognize them, they are either one word requests or familiar nuggets of encouragement from Bob the Builder. But this time, in the midst of his angsty malaise, his words crystalized for one clear instant: “Go to Safeway!” he commanded his mother.

Well… a three word sentence from Jack should always be rewarded. Into the van they both went, and the moment Sara stepped out with him through the automatic doors, the boy bolted through the store. He knew where she waited. Aisle three! He came home with a can of Bush’s Original Baked Beans, round and true. You’ve never seen a boy so proud. He set his prize on the bookshelf, and flapped in his hands in front of it. His love dance.

It was a fine discovery for Sara and I. These bean cans have since proved a fine reward for completed sticker charts. In an otherwise dismal summer, Jack has had flashes of strong motivation during “work time.” The Safeway trips have become more frequent, and the cans have multiplied. Original, Vegetarian, and Country Style. We have bunches of them. He lines them up and flaps them. He runs around the house with them. He holds them at night like teddy bears.

Then came our big church-sponsored event. It was an outdoor festival: a concert, kids’ fair and, most importantly, a fundraiser and food collection for the local food shelf. Two cans of food got you in.

I was on Jack duty that day while Sara took the other boys. Jack is terrible in crowds. Really. He has no sense of boundaries–his or other peoples–or of danger. But on that day, he saw the food donation table, and that was the only place he wanted to be. I wasn’t supposed to be working that station, but I ended up helping take donations for about an hour, while Jack searched the table for any cans of Bush’s Baked Beans. He would find them all of them: short cans, tall cans, cans of every flavor, all golden and glorious. We would hide them, and he would find them again.

We told him he could choose a can to take home since we brought extra donations, and he took a long time to choose. When he did, his decision left me speechless…….
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Wait, what? Van Camp’s? I don’t get it either. But like so many other things with our boy, we just shrug, laugh, and go with it.

“Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”