I’m delighted, I think. I have friends (cool, I know) and those friends know my passion for this journey of parenting my different-brained child in the very best way I know how. So when my friends meet new people with kids who are walking around with these different brains, I typically come into conversation. And that delights me.
I remember our (cuz you know it’s not just given to the child, right?) “diagnosis” like it was yesterday. I remember being in the office reading that Assburgers was actually spelled with a P, just nobody pronounced it. I know now that I REALLY, really, ReAlLy, really and truly do not like that diagnosis “title” with the exception of using it as a baseline for discussion.
As my friend is inviting me to join her and her other friend to discuss this new diagnosis for their child (and family), I find myself feeling a bit cocky and apprehensive and excited to share what I have been through. I’m excited to be a (hopefully) loving and accepting resource for this family. It saddens me to admit that the people who fully accept my child are “less than” in the percentage column. Now, I do surround myself with loving, accepting people and family, so that percentage might look skewed. It doesn’t feel that way to me though. It feels as if I have to shelter him from people who are judgmental, even and sometimes especially, within our own biological connections.
I’m excited to meet this family, and I’m excited they’ve invited me to share my story and answer questions they may have. My best answer: love their child for all he is—unconditionally.