I don't remember the precise moment that I discovered that my son has Aspergers. It was a gradual discovery. I was watching "America's Next Top Model" and there was a girl named Heather who had Aspergers. I hardly knew anything about the disorder but I had a sense of the familiar as I watched her awkward and yet beautiful movements. A friend let me borrow a book about Aspergers. It led me to the Tony Attwood everything-you-need-to-know-about Aspergers textbook. It was a heavy book and I consumed every word, determined to be as objective as I could.
Life with our son (4 years old) in our home was a constant battle of wild moods - endless crying, screaming, and more. There was a time, unfortunately, when I wondered if my son was the enemy. Soon after that, I decided that I must be the enemy. Finally, I was emerging on a new idea. He had something wrong with him - Aspergers Syndrome.
Having a name changed everything. You can't war against an unknown enemy. Now I could learn its strategies, its weaknesses and strengths, and it had a face. Understand me here - My enemy's face is NOT the face of my son. My enemy is a neurological disorder that doctors can't even agree on, have no definitive test for, and have no cure for. Even their attempts at treatment are shots in the dark.
My son is 7 years old now. He is currently healthy and happy most (not all) of the time. This blog is written by me, not him. He is uncomfortable with attention and would not want his picture on this site. As much as I would love to show him off, I am going to respect him and not show his face. I thought long and hard about writing this, not wanting to infringe on his privacy. This blog will be my story. Hopefully, he will have his own someday.
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