Most mornings when you tell a teenager to get ready for school that’s all you have to say. They know all the little steps that entails. Not so with our grandson B. With B you have to point out each detail like a stop on a map. Get up. Eat your breakfast. Put on your clothes. Don’t forget your shoes. Brush your teeth. Brush your hair. Remember deodorant, please. Gather your schoolwork and put it in your backpack. Grab your backpack and anything else you need to today. Go get in the white car. I’ll be right there to drive you to work.
This makes B different. It does not make him less. It’s okay to be different.
I grew up being tested because I didn’t do things or think the way others did. Their official diagnosis “you’re just wired differently.” You know what? I embraced that difference. It took me a little while to learn that I didn’t have to fit myself into that box everyone kept trying to push me into. To learn it was okay to be different. It didn’t make me less. I graduated twelfth in a high school class of close to five hundred. I was on the President’s list for keeping a perfect 4.0 average in college for three years. Different didn’t make me less. It let me excel in math and sciences as well as creative fields like writing and photography. Being different enabled me to use both sides of my brain.
My grandsons, B and J, are wired a little differently, too.
It’s especially difficult for my grandson B. He’s never been officially diagnosed with autism but shows signs of being on the spectrum. (Remember that statistic I shared in ‘A is for Autism’? Specialists diagnose one in forty-two boys with autism.) Living in a rural area of Texas where growing up is all about team sports, hunting, fishing, and running with a pack of other teenagers, B doesn’t fit in. People keep trying to force him into that box–the one he doesn’t belong in. Thank goodness his family of protective “bears” surround him.
Image via Creative Commons by SpinningSpark
At fourteen, B is an electronics genius, can master any style dance, and plays a mean guitar. His researching skills and collection of historical facts put many a novelist to shame. He also has an amazing talent with animals and small children. Feral animals that no one else can even get close to flock to B. They sense his tender heart, his protective nature.
J, our four-year-old, is a natural drummer and good with figuring out puzzles, unlocking electronics, and figuring out how to turn on and off the Bluetooth on any device without being shown. Heck, I still have trouble with that. He’s super-smart, too, learning sign language and the use of flashcards to overcome his lack of speech. And, he’s a natural entertainer with a beautiful giggle.
It’s time to celebrate the differences. Different, not less.
Image by Epic Fireworks
authorglendathompson 
My partner is like that as well, always needing to be told every step in the process. I was very frustrated at the beginning of our relationship when he didn’t realize that my telling him to unload the dishwasher also meant to reload it. We’re figuring out how to communicate, and it’s been a learning experience for both of us.
Thank you for writing about how differences make us stronger!
—
Operation Awesome. Our A to Z 2019 theme is the writing journey.
LikeLike
It takes patience and understanding but different can be good.
LikeLike