When I was a kid,

My mother took me to the doctor,

Not because I was sick with the flu,

But because I wasn’t

Like

The other kids,

And what the doctor had said to her was

Your son

Has

Asperger’s

And rather than revel in full denial,

She wore her colors proudly,

And she joined an organization that

Called themselves

PEC. P-E-C.

Parents of Exceptional Children

Later named Pathways,

And I know the word exceptional sounds special,

But every kids knows “exceptional” actually is

Special

She didn’t realize that

Sometimes a kid just doesn’t want

To talk about it.

Sometimes to be fine means

To be fine

And everywhere I went,

Her presence was known.

So that kids

Who hadn’t the slightest clue

Knew I was

Special

And she tossed me into the program

And there I was,

Surrounded by

Autism,

My only friends,

Those who can’t communicate.

And I know that

Every person who has ever tried to

Help these people

Has really taken pity on them.

I know, with eyes looking out of a window,

A cuckoo flown from the nest

That I wasn’t normal.

I wasn’t normal and I never choose to be

And there’s no more disconcerting a word to me

Than normal. N-O-R-M-A-L

To build a cage around your personality

So don’t take pity on me.

I am who I choose to be.

I love my abnormalities.

I love

To be

Special.