It was a moment that I'd read about in so many parenting magazines, that there was no mistaking what was about to happen. My five-year-old daughter's teacher pulled me aside, looking silent and serious. "I know that this must be hard for you," she prefaced, and then described a list of traits that I'd always known my daughter to have. She rubs the sleeves of her jacket constantly. Obsessions. Difficulty with change. Trouble socializing. Problems in the bathroom. Clumsiness. I nodded, waiting for the word to finally be said. The teacher's voice lowered as she whispered it: "autism."
I knew what was supposed to happen next--I was supposed to cry, or panic, or wish my daughter had never been born. I was supposed to pray for a cure and join marches of sobbing moms who scream that autism has ruined their lives and marriages, that it has stolen their pint-sized best friends. None of those feelings came. And as I sat, engaged, through IEP meetings and consultations and reviews, the feelings still didn't come. It wasn't denial. I'd known my daughter was autistic since she was a toddler-- although no one listened to me at the time, and eventually I dismissed my observations as "paranoia." The reality was that I simply wasn't upset about my child having autism.
I can't relate to other autism moms because I don't want to cure my daughter's autism. It's who she is. She wouldn't be the child I know and love if she weren't autistic. She wouldn't be the bright, eccentric little girl who, at three years old, could read short words and identify dozens of dinosaurs ("micropachycephalosaurus" being her favorite). She wouldn't be the kid who loves fuzzy things and big words-who would talk for ten hours straight about kittens if given the chance. She wouldn't be the adorably awkward little creature who stumbles up the stairs and hasn't touched a green vegetable since learning that many of them are leaves. I love her the way she is, and I wouldn't change her.
It worries and saddens me when I hear other parents of autistic kids declaring that "Autism sucks," or rolling out the latest panic about what causes it. As I await the arrival of my next baby, I've had parents reassuringly tell me that there's still a good chance that my second child won't be autistic, and I've wondered if it's strange that I wouldn't mind at all if he is. I honestly don't understand why so many people seem intent on removing the very essence that makes their kids individual. Sure, parenting is hard-and perhaps some people blame that on autism-but I can't understand how anyone who truly loves and accepts her child could want to change something so fundamental about him.
There was a time in my life, before I knew with some certainty that my own daughter was autistic, that I was on the boat of people who viewed it as a tragedy to be prevented or cured, and for that, I feel like I owe an apology to my daughter and to the millions of others who are like her. I didn't understand. I bought the lie that autism ruins lives and steals children. But, today, when I hear hysterical claims that autism is caused by gluten, vaccines, and Tylenol, I don't feel afraid. It just makes me want to eat a sandwich, get a flu shot, and make sure my kids get Tylenol when they have fevers. It's time that we stop being afraid of the things that make our kids different, and accept that they're perfect exactly the way they are.
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