On The Important Difference

Simon was relatively recently diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum. I say relatively recently because he's almost 11 and it was only this past school year that we got the official diagnosis.

He is fairly high-functioning and can for the most-part (with some challenges) get along in the general education classroom. We have been very fortunate, throughout his school career thus far, to always have a team of people in place that have been willing, capable, and fiercely determined to provide Simon with all of the tools and resources he needs to be successful in an academic setting.

As you can imagine, though, there have been (and likely will be), many struggles.

Although in many ways, I was not surprised by the diagnosis, he does not present as one might expect. He does not isolate himself from others. In fact, he is usually the first to go up to another child and say "Hi, my name is Simon, would you like to play?" Most people who meet him for a few minutes would never guess he is autistic. This itself, brings with it its own set of challenges.

Once you've been around him for a while, you might guess there's something different about him, and not really know what it is. People make assumptions. People think they know without asking, without trying to understand. We all do this, across many facets of our lives. It seems to be part of being human. Sometimes, we just don't get it because we having nothing with which to reference or to put behavior into context.

I believe - and reinforce to my children - that it is our differences that make us better, more interesting, more capable of great things. Being different though, in many ways, can be overwhelming and the source of much stress, for children and adults alike.

This isn't meant to be about Simon's autism - that is only one piece of him (an important piece, but just a piece). It is neither his autism diagnosis or his behavior that is Simon's genuinely defining difference. The thing that truly makes him unique, more interesting, better, and capable of great things, is his heart.

Simon loves with his whole being. He cares about others in a way that is not often seen in young children, let alone in many adults. He is interested in and empathetic to whatever is making another person sad, lonely, scared, or just having a bad day. And once he understands another's feelings, he does everything in his power to help that person feel better.

He is the child who read books to a kindergartner to help him take his mind off of feeling ill. He is the child who always remembers his sister and is often willing to give up his turn to go first in order to make her happy. He loves to play with small children, to help them feel safe and secure in the world around them - a world that I would venture to guess, Simon himself doesn't always feel safe and secure in.

Perhaps he is instinctively so caring because he understands (although doesn't verbalize) what it is to struggle with feelings and social expectations.

In this most recent time of crisis in this country, I think we could all learn a lesson from my sweet, caring, supremely kind child.

Perhaps we could recognize that what makes us different isn't something to be ashamed of or to shame. Maybe we should, instead, seek to understand and be interested in, others around us. And then, maybe, we should do our very best to help the sad, the lonely, the scared or insecure - in whatever way we have to help.

What if we spent our energy not worried about the differences of others, or even about our own differences? What if, instead, we responded to others with kindness and just cared? Wouldn't this world be a better, safer, and more interesting place to live? Wouldn't we be better people?