I’ll admit, I’ve said it. More than once.
When I was a kid we used to make fun of those kids that were, you know..different. “Slow.” When Timothy received his diagnosis I immediately thought, well, this is what I get. Its karma. God’s twisted sense of humour. For a long time, I felt guilty.
Its difficult to grasp, until the vines of such a thing snake around your heart. Until its your kid. Cause it hurts like hell.
Last weekend we were at a McDonald’s with a play place while Casey was at a birthday party. Timothy was enjoying the climbers while Skylar and I had a bite to eat. I could hear his screeches and funny noises through the glass. His happy shrieks. He was busy flapping at a plastic toy attached to the structure. Two women were sitting inside. I noticed them cringing, and then one leaned over to the other and whispered in her friends ear. She pointed at Timothy. My blood began to boil. I walked in through the glass partition. I smiled sweetly at them both. And then I said hello to my son. When I turned on my heel to go back to my seat, I could feel their eyes on me. Point made. They left shortly after.
I figure that my purpose in life is not only to re-program myself, but to teach others about acceptance. Because you see, getting angry isn’t enough. Being the difference IS. Be the change you want to see. Inspire others to change.