While J.K. Rowling encouraged children worldwide to read. She also gave my son and I a place to call our own. This is our story.
"Don't ever expect him to live in your world." Words burned into the deepest part of my soul. Spoken by a well meaning but ill informed teacher. Ironic seeing that the entire reason for this meeting with therapists, counselors and educators, was to discuss how to mold my child, just diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum after a year long process, to fit into their world.
Filled with rage, disbelieve, holding in tears that desperately wanted to escape. Head in my hands, I glanced up only to see my 7 year old son outside the room blowing me a kiss. At that moment, I knew two things. That he would no longer be a student at this school and no one should tell a mother that her child cannot, will not, do something. Ever.
"Mama What is wrong with me?" he asked on our drive home. Even at his young age he knew that none of his classmates had to endure the medical tests, have their play patterns observed or sit in a hall while adults talked about them. He knew that his "stims" drew stares, that no one else thought wearing certain clothes or eating certain foods was torture. They did not feel the anger he felt or had trouble making friends. He knew he was different. He hated being different, This boy of very few words had made it clear on several occasions, he wanted to disappear forever.
If only he could see the amazing little person I saw through my eyes.
"Nothing love, You are perfect." I answered as the tears I fought so hard to hold in, silently fell. My son was bound for greatness even if the rest of the world did not believe, I did. That would have to be enough for now.
As I tucked him into bed that evening, I knew one thing to be true. If he could not live in my world. Then I would find a way to live in his.
The next morning, armed with a trash bag, He and I discarded all reminders of his lack of conformity. No longer did he have to look at what others wanted him to be. He was finally going to be free. Free to follow his inner spirit, discover who he was destined to become. With a nod of his head, Out went the footballs, baseball mitt and bat, hot wheels, army men, action figures, anything that he did not want cluttering up his space was out.
After our work was done I looked around his room. For the first time I saw my son through his own eyes. For what remained were his truest passions. The foundation of who he has become 7 years later.
On his walls were posters of his favorite movies. On the shelves were characters from those films, for they had become his only friends. Super Heroes because he felt good should always defeat evil. Swords and Dragons because medieval times were cool, Legos to build their lairs. Art supplies that allowed him to bring the characters in his mind out to play. His collection of rocks and crystals remained in his treasure box. For "They have energy when you hold them" he explained.
Then there were his books. Shelf after shelf. When I asked him if he wished to part with some of them."No mama they have our memories in them" "When you read to me I go to those places in my dreams. No one makes fun of me there." he explained.
How I wished that I could make others accept my darling boy as he was. However a smile gathered upon my face all the same, for we had already proved the experts wrong. As I looked around, so much of me was represented in the remaining possessions he held dear.
Perhaps finding a world in which we both could live, would not be so difficult after all.
