Pinocchio

It seems as though somehow the mere mention of the A-word makes people forget that they're still interacting with people. I've been lucky enough to have several speaking engagements over the last few years. I've always made a point to share that when someone sees my son, I need them to see a child with a disability not a big blob of disability. Over the years I've had more frustrating encounters with professionals than I could possibly share. I've had numerous conversations that centered on what I could--or couldn't--expect from a child with a lifelong, permanent disability. I've been beaten half to death with best practices. And I genuinely understand all of that. The thing is, B isn't a case study in a text book or any other patient/client/consumer/student you've ever worked with. He's a real boy (please go back and read that in the voice of Pinocchio if you didn't the first time). He loves chocolate peanut butter ice cream. He hates fish. He is happier in the water--lake, pool, sprinkler, toilet--than anywhere else. Steve Miller Band's "Rock'N Me" makes him grin from ear to ear. Maybe I'm a dreamer, but it seems to me that who he is should probably enter into the conversations about where he's going and how he's going to get there. So go ahead and ask me about my pregnancy and delivery. Ask me how much college his father and I have completed. Ask me when he crawled, walked, babbled, pointed, and spoke. Tell me that children "like him" typically respond well to A, B, and C, but never D. But do not presume to know him. He is not autism incarnate. The blue fairy told Pinocchio, "Prove yourself brave, truthful, and unselfish, and someday you'll be a real boy." I guess maybe you could get him on the unselfish point, but I'm pretty sure B passes that test. My boy is a real boy, and as long as I have breath I'll make sure you see him that way.