I just spent some time with Johnny watching a Blue Oyster Cult video of 'Godzilla' on YouTube. We clapped to the beat together. He was in Heaven. As I've said, he's a great, enthusiastic clapper.
I used to think he was a retard, because he would hoot like an ape, and clap his hands at the oddest times, seemingly without control, or reason. I finally asked him about it, instead of just shutting him up, and in his Johnny Way, he explained to me that he liked the echoes it made. I noted where he did it, unusual architecture spots in the house, and on the covered front porch, and he pointed out the exact acoustical spots he was working, and sure enough, when I put my hands at his level and clapped in those same spots, I got perfect echo-location feedback.
The wife was relieved when I explained him to her. Oh yeah, she's at the funeral of a dear friend, right now. Just an aside.
And John is in Heaven when we take him to the mall. Those high ceilings, that linoleum floor...Echo Heaven. He marches in, and cuts loose, and fuck you if you don't like it. If it is a dark night, and the power goes out, I am convinced he could echo-locate us to an exit. The way his mind works, I am sure that he has a map of everywhere he goes stored in a special file in his brain.
Sometimes 'special' is an insult. Sometimes it just means they can do stuff you can't.