Differences

Namaste!


Happy Monday!


We are getting ready for story time. (It's actually tomorrow, but I'm doing laundry today and will be going over the rules and such throughout the day so my little guy is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.


One thing I love about our area is the diversity. There are families across the board--different nationalities and races. The income level is the same, but kids generally don't care who's mom or dad has a 401K Because our little corner is a fairly well-appointed piece of the Georgia pie, our local library is pretty sweet. It's accessible, which means all the kids can participate and enjoy. It's colorful and fun and just a really neat little place!


As such, my son has gotten the opportunity to meet and mingle with a very adorable circle of kiddos.


In particular, his friend Florence and her rock star mommy.


Florence is my little guy's favorite playmate here. She's not much bigger than he, and they get along really well. They play with trucks. They race the matchbox cars on the little city rug. They even sit together at snack time.


They have a good time, and it's completely organic. They were never "pushed" to sit together. It just sorta happened, and when the kids expressed a preference for the little red chair and the little yellow chair, we just let them be great.


This isn't even a spectacular tale--well, unless you look at the facts behind the faces. As you know, my little guy is two. (Almost two and a half!) Florence is almost nine.


*needle scratch*


Yep. They are almost seven years apart. They're also roughly the same size--Florence is a tiny wisp of a girl.


SO how is it that they are together at storytime?


Florence is autistic. She is homeschooled, and in addition to knowing her mom from co-op, we also meet up at storytime. (We go to the library once a week, and Florence and her mom are there on the same day!) Because Florence understands the same things my little guy does, at the same level, it is a unique opportunity for her to get social development and just have some fun without worrying too much about "fitting in" or "Standing out."


My little guy LOVES Florence. They have little conversations and do high fives. They are both into
Word Party and Daniel Tiger.


But the real reason I mentioned Florence is because her mom is a rock star.


See, she shoulders a heavy load when it's time to introduce her princess to new people. Florence does not speak much. She is very shy. Because Florence is so small in stature, she's often not treated like an equal by the kids in her therapy groups. Sometimes her mom lets people think she is younger, to avoid the judgment from her size and to avoid all the tips and advice people unload on parents of autistic kids.


Admittedly, I'm impressed by her because when we met her, she did the coolest thing ever.


She introduced Florence by saying, "This is my Florence. She doesn't like to be called Flo."


As we chatted, she did eventually tell me about Florence's autism, and how it has affected her. I learned about their days and all the therapies Florence receives to make sure she is as ready for the world as possible.


She didn't bumrush me with all that at once, though. She let me meet her kid first. Not the diagnosis.


I am never intimidated by a child who looks, acts, or is different than mine. I am, however, intimidated by moms and dads who introduce the condition first, then their kid. Instead of telling me little Terry likes cars and trucks like my kid, they're giving me a rundown of all the ways Terry is NOT like my kid.


It's important to know--but are they raising a condition or a child? Is my child meeting Terry, or is my child meeting autism, ADHD, and bipolar disorder?


The only disability we contend with is a physical one, so I can't say I'm well-versed in knowing what those parents deal with in their day to day interactions with "normal" families. (Is there such a thing?) I won't dare compare our physical therapy to their intensive occupational, speech, and physical therapy. I won't compare my anxiety over milestones to their absolute frenzy about mastering simple day to day activities. It would not be fair.


One, because I don't believe it's a competition--I don't even WANT to win the contest for saddest mom story or most challenged kid. I really just wanna develop a mom circle, hang out, and hopefully our village can raise kids who aren't total assholes.


Florence's mom is the mom I wish all special needs moms could be. I know she has her troubles and worries (will Florence be able to have independence? Will she be able to follow her dreams? Will she know how to navigate life in the event her mom is not there anymore?) , as we've spoken about them. We talk a lot, actually, and I find that while she definitely has a set of worries unique to her situation, she's no different than any other mom.


She wants her child to be successful. She wants her child to be happy. She wants her child to be healthy. She wants her child to enjoy childhood, while preparing her for adulthood.


In my travels, I've run across a lot more parents like the fictional Terry's, than the very real Florence. And it's always on my mind to ask them why, except they've already martyred themselves and I don't want to add on to that. I almost feel like it isn't my place to say anything, although I'm quite sure they would have an easier time if they could relax a tad.


The thing I admire most about Florence's mom is her willingness to let the world see a child first. While it's not easily overlooked that Florence is different, it's also not the thing that jumps out at you. I noticed her neon green sweater first. (She wears a sweater most times because she likes the feeling of the fuzzy material on her arms.) It's really bright--like the smile she flashes when you acknowledge her favorite item. She also has more cars than dolls in her backpack, which makes her a rockstar in my son's eyes. He has cars in his backpack too!


I'm not blind to the differences in kids. I see and acknowledge each as it arises. I know that even if you took 10 kids born at the exact same time on the exact same day in the exact same hospital and cataloged their personalities, you would STILL end up with ten different people. Some differences are physical. Some are developmental. Some are practically invisible.


...BUT ALL ARE DUE, THE SAME DIGNITY.


Which starts with the way we introduce them. The way we treat them. No one can see strength when all you point out is weakness.


Just my thoughts!