Normal is. . .

James, is a "special needs" child, officially classified as having "Pervasive Developmental Disorder - Not Otherwise Specified." He's Autistic, on the spectrum.  In other words, the kid ain't "normal."  My husband always says, "What did you expect with parents like us?"  Of course we would have a different kid! Right?  Then why does he force us to be so NORMAL?!

We greet everyone we come across (must encourage the kid to whom "hi" does not come naturally).  I wear jeans now - have to be ready to jump, run, crawl on the ground - and have pockets - and be machine washable.  I wear out sneakers in under a year (they used to fall apart from age).  We go out regardless of weather.  I get tan.  Go to the beach year-round.  I make dinner daily (well, almost, James definitely knows a take-out bag).  I vacuum and clean everyday. I have become social, a joiner where before I was an avoider. I am a proud to be a member of this unofficial gang where unconditional love is taught and practiced.  As one dad quietly explained to me, "We're family."

Then, again, the more I think about it, I believe James is teaching me to live paranormally.  I mean, sure I do all of the above, but does everyone wave at the day-laborers lined up on the street corners too?    The kid has no fear except violence, which he shies from.  He knows no prejudice but he has taught me to see society's biases and evils - and realize those of my own - with open eyes.  He has taught me so much about living, about trust and faith, about acknowledging and accepting the wrongs in the world, and not joining them.  He has undoubtedly made me a better person, just one that is a bit haggard, more shabbily dressed, and with gray roots in my hair.