Our minds are littered with thoughts that begin with “when I was a kid…”

Our minds are littered with thoughts that begin with “when I was a kid…”
They don’t make bumper stickers that say, “My Child Didn’t Break My Daughter’s Barbie House Today”
He’s my son. I made him. He’s a part of me. Any good I do for him, I do for myself.
The most amazing thing is how easily it all could have never happened had I just brushed her reply aside like an arrogant grown-up.
It”s rare that I leave an interaction with him without smiling a little bit more than when I went in.
It wasn’t a secret word anymore. Soon it was just another aspect of our lives and categorized along with all of the other quirks in our family.
Yes, it’s an exaggerated sense of fault in situations like these, but that’s how they become learning experiences.
When my son was very young and newly diagnosed with Autism, everyone was sure he would be “just fine”.
I knew she had her hooks deep into this snow day and wanted nothing more than to jump into the yard like a drunk elf on a trampoline.
My concern, as insane as it was, was that maybe by accepting it, I was pushing him towards a future that wasn’t his. I was convinced of it.
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