Sensory Aversion, Part I - Touch

With two outs in the 7th inning of my team's game on Sunday morning, I was called upon to pinch-run for a teammate who had tweaked a muscle earlier in the contest. Given that I was currently in the game as a relief pitcher on a surprisingly muggy day, attempting a steal was neither a realistic nor a wise option - and that was setting aside the possibility of running our team out of the inning. Nonetheless, the opposing pitcher threw over to first multiple times, perhaps as much to try to get me to expend additional energy as he was aiming to prevent a potential stolen base. He was a fairly clever sort, that one.

I typically run the bases with my batting gloves balled up in my hands, but, having not reached base as a result of a time at bat, I forgot to do so on this occasion. As a result, the dives back into first base that I had to make coated my hands and wrists with dirt. A few pitches later, a groundout would end the frame, sending me back out to the hill. However, before that would happen, I had to deal with the dirt on my hands. It simply had to go.

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My first memory of experiencing the sensory aversion related to the manner in which substances and textures contacting my skin cause me to experience distress came when I was in first grade in Portugal. At one point in the school year, painting - particularly finger painting - was perfectly fine. Then came one day in which we were creating a class banner that would be adorned with handprints of all of the members of the class. After dipping my hand in the paint basin that was set on the back steps of the school, I was overcome by an extreme feeling of discomfort and unease. I actually do not think that I cried, but I most certainly ran to the bathroom to copiously wash off as much of the paint as I possibly could.

1992 Upper Deck - Will Clark

Not to worry, though, as I had plenty of other occasions in which bothersome touch-related sensory concerns caused me to truly lose it. Most notable, for sure, was in the lead-up to our second grade presentation of the Wizard of Oz. Save for the handful of students selected to have actual roles in the play, the remainder of the students were split into groups of munchkins and flying monkeys to effectively just stand around for a short period of time. Given my, ahem, relative lack of height, I was placed in the former group, which really did not mean terribly much in terms of activity within the play. Again, we were in second grade. Merely successfully walking on and off the stage would constitute a win.

However, on the night of the play itself, things for me took a turn for the worse. As we gathered in our respective classrooms, parent volunteers were tasked with making sure that all costumes and makeup were set prior to the presentation. Apparently since the students depicting flying monkeys were having their faces painted blue/silver in line with those of the characters in the movie, the brilliant decision was made to have all of the munchkins wear green paint on their face and hands - despite the fact that the munchkins in the film most certainly did not have green skin. The moment that the first daub of paint hit my hand, I lost it. In an effort to assure me that things were fine, one of my classmate's mother brought my classmate over to me, saying that it was fine given that my classmate was perfectly okay with her face and hands completely painted. Commence Level I Meltdown. My crying caused the plan to have the munchkins be painted green to be scrapped, but it was hard to have such a conniption and not be able to articulate why I was reacting as I was.

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It is hard to explain things like sensory aversion to others who do not experience the same level of discomfort when in contact with things that bother me. When I was asked a few years back by a fellow coach to dig into containers of dirt for use in rubbing up baseball, I declined, which led to a response that was could best be described as stunned and disbelieving. I mean, who has a problem with dirt?

The thing about bothersome textures is that their effects are not limited to the physical discomfort that they cause. Touching a knife blade or a hot stove will, of course, be painful, but their effects are fairly universal in the pain that they inflict. Bizarrely, I can handle a burn or a cut more readily than I can residual dirt and paint, as well as the manner in which shirt tags and clothing material feel when they contact my skin. At least for me, there is a sort of cognitive obsessiveness attached to the latter that works in conjunction with the physical problems that these textures cause. Yes, the paint on my hand and the tag rubbing against my neck do not yield pleasurable feelings, but it is the preoccupation with their negative physical effects combined with the constant awareness of their existence that is the most troubling issue. Just like with the dirt that I acquired when diving back into first base on Sunday, so many of the tags on my shirts simply had to go. Wool and polyester clothing? Ideally gone. Painting? I will pass, thank you. Unfortunately, just like with my painting experience when in first grade, these texture-related issues are not always constant. I wore jeans for years, yet now find the manner in which they feel on my legs to be borderline abrasive. As noted, it is neither an easy thing to describe nor simple to understand - even on a personal level.

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As with so many things that involve different experiences from those in the so-called "mainstream," it has long felt as though the issues that I and others have with sensory touch concerns were largely dismissed as being overplayed or even nonexistent. Given how even the thought of applying face/hand paint causing me to physically cringe and emotionally tense up, I would beg to differ when it comes to the legitimacy of these concerns. Thankfully, many clothing manufacturers have started to become more aware of the sensory woes that their products can cause, which has resulted in many shirts being produced without tags and clothing materials being more sensory-friendly. I recall there being some initial pushback to those changes, as there is to seemingly everything given the volume of petty individuals in the world, yet allowing more people to be comfortable without truly causing any issue for others seems to be a pretty simple idea to accept. Then again, plenty of folks seem to enjoy manners of teasing that involve causing others to become physically uncomfortable, which has often been hard for me to truly grasp.

While the relative efficacy of eye black as a means of reducing glare on sunny days has been debated, its use is now prevalent in more sports than just baseball. For some athletes, the application of eye black is less about worrying about sunlight than it is a ritual that permits them to focus prior to the game. I will not deny that it also tends to look pretty cool [see: nearly all of Will Clark's photogenic cards during his run as a Giant]. Obviously, eye black has always been a no-go for me. However, just as I am cool with avoiding it, seeing others use it as a means of getting amped up to play is similarly good by me. Differences are good and acceptance valuable, after all. If the eye black tube could remain capped after use, though, that would be ideal. ;)