The diagnosis

When there's a lot going on around him, the kid gets excited. He'll flap his arms. He'll make guttural noises.

We had just moved to our new place, he was still adjusting to living down town. A very busy neighborhood with lots of activity going on 24/7. One day we were walking down the shopping strip when a woman came walking towards us. The kid was flapping and grunting and the woman just... stared at him. Not very subtle, either. Her mouth was hanging open. Her eyes were popping.

I could just see it in them: "Retard".

As she was coming nearer, she just kept on staring. I was shooting daggers at her, but she was too busy gaping at my kid to notice.

But he certainly notice her. Looked right at her. Stopped in his tracks. Stopped flapping. Found his voice. And exclaimed: "You don't get to look at me".

My kid has classical autism.

And in case you didn't know yet: he's awesome.

The diagnosis wasn't a surprise. The surprise was the way the outside world dealt with it.
I don't get it. He's very sociable for someone with autism. His IQ is way above average. That's not me talking - that's the report drawn up by a bunch of psychologists who studied this shit. My own diagnosis? He's Y. He's funny. And adorkable. And cute. And stubborn. And everything.

Sure - sometimes I want to strangle him. When he wants to watch the same movie for the 1000th time. On the other hand - how many moms can say that their six year old cleans up after himself?

Some nights, I can't sleep. I don't know how all this will end. How he'll end up. If he'll make it in 'the real world'. There's no use though. All I have is now. And right now, he's doing great.
And I know I can't make the world stop judging him. I can only make him feel good about himself.