Lucky

Lucky is how we felt from the time he was born. Our first child was healthy, happy, and very independent for a baby. He would amuse himself for a couple of hours, needing no attention at all except when he ate or needed a diaper change. He was so beautiful that, when he was eight, we had an agent come to us inside a grocery store and ask to represent him as a model.

Of course, that was not going to happen. He couldn't stand being touched by strangers, or having a constantly changing routine. His language skills were well below age level. When he got upset, he would bang things repeatedly. It was autism, exactly, certainly not Aspberger's nor Childhood Disintegrative Disorder. It's Pervasive Developmental Disorder-Not Otherwise Specified, in the autism spectrum.

Still, we never had to buy him a bicycle helmet to keep him from damaging his head. He was a little sensitive to loud noises and to smells, but not overly so. We had a fairly normal life. We were lucky, compared to many.

Today he plays the trumpet in the high school concert band. He washes dishes on occasion, rakes the yard, and plays Yu-Gi-Oh! with his brother and his brothers friends. Of course, he has no friends of his own, and doesn't seem to particularly want any. He's quite content with Word Searches and SoDoKu (he needs some help with the three-star puzzles). He wants to have his own apartment when he grows up (although I think a group home is more likely). In many ways he's more reliable and helpful than many of the kids I grew up with. We still feel lucky to have him, every day (well, almost every day).