The way I look at the world has changed. It’s not because I’m getting older and it’s, for sure, not because I’m getting any wiser. It’s because I am the parent of a child who doesn’t fit the mold.
My son is not typical. He is not autistic, he doesn’t have Downs, there is no disease, disorder, or diagnosis of any kind. On one hand, that’s something for which I am happy. On the other hand, it can sometimes be frustrating.
The geneticists were sure there would be some way to classify him, but after extensive testing they came up with nothing. He is an enigma.
His expressive speech is that of a three year old, yet his teacher says he’s gifted. He is still in need of therapy, but our county agency doesn’t want to pay for it anymore because his I.Q. is too high.
He has a hearing loss, but it’s not something a hearing aid can help. He loves music, but can not sing you a song. He can read a book, but can’t tell you what it was about after he closes the cover. Yet, he can take a computer test on that book the next day and get every question right. So far this school year, he has taken 103 such tests.
His defective heart is stable enough that he can ride roller coasters and play sports, but an anesthesiologist at an outpatient surgery center won’t touch him because he’s a “heart kid”. Something as simple as ear tubes requires a trip to the hospital. A tonsillectomy meant an overnight stay in the ICU.
He’ll be seven in May, and as of Sunday he weighed 37 pounds. He can ride a bike, but can barely reach the pedals.
His is different. He is special. And, you know what? It’s all in how you look at things. My kid’s clock may turn counter-clockwise, but he still knows what time it is.