The things my brother carries is hard to talk about sometimes. He carries with him small knick-knacks in his right pocket only- some gum packets, small pieces of used paper, a tiny toy soldier. He carries with him the college level book he found in my mom's closet only yesterday and is now almost finished. The knitted blanket my mom made for him, he carries also, his shield from the outside world. He carries with a pen, notebook, pencil sometimes, in case he is suddenly struck with the urge to draw a picture, the same picture he's been drawing for years. A report card is brought home at the end of the semester, straight A's again, even though nightly homework is a nightly struggle for my mom. My mom carries with her stacks of paper work from the doctor's office's she so commonly knows now. She does everything she can for him, even though he never knows to tell her thank you. My dad, he carries the weight of teaching my brother how to play football and ride a bike, even though my 9-year old brother can't tie his own shoes or brush his teeth properly. Together, my family carries the responsibility of showing my brother how the outside world works, that it's not that same as the video games he can play for hours on end. My brother can't look you in the eye, he can't explain why he's crying, he can't say I love you unconsciously. He knows what he carries though and he'll say it loud. He carries Autism and he couldn't be more proud.