My first wife’s father was something of a mechanical genius. He was exceedingly bright in some ways. He designed and built an array of mechanical devices, always with great precision. He found it beyond belief that there was anyone that did not adjust the timing on their car’s engine themselves. He was also a perfectionist. Nothing he or anyone else did ever seemed quite right or good enough to him. He was always dissatisfied. He was also devoid of humor, at least humor that most people understood. When jokes were told he often acknowledged that he “didn’t get it.” He was very literal.
He was exceedingly fastidious. His work shirts and pants had to be ironed just so or he had his wife to re-do them. The shop where he built those remarkable devices that he invented looked more like a laboratory than a mechanical shop. There was zero clutter, all floors were devoid of dirt, oil stains or any spots that one expected to see in a workshop. All tools were stored unless they were being used at that moment. Nothing was left out on workbenches. He was preoccupied with everyone’s following rules exactly as specified. He had a habit of driving in the outside (passing) lane on interstate highways exactly at the speed limit so cars couldn’t pass him at higher speeds. He was disgusted with the highway patrol’s not rigorously enforcing the speed limit. It was impossible to reason with him. Once he had an opinion about anything, there was no changing his opinion. He often perseverated on a topic, seemingly endlessly, and did not notice that others were disinterested.
Would I have felt differently about my often very difficult father-in-law had I been aware of his probable Asperger disorder? Probably, but we'll never know that for sure either.
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