Packing for Paris, Arriving in Amsterdam

Liz reminded me the other day about a story that you frequently see in reference to raising "atypical" children.  I don't know the author but the gist of the story is that having an "atypical" or "disabled" child is a lot like preparing for a trip to Paris...you study the language, pack the essentials, get your passport and board the plane (pregnancy).  Upon arrival, you disembark 
(labor and delivery) only to find that you are in Amsterdam (atypical) rather than Paris (typical)...things are almost but not quite what you expected them to be...just enough difference to cause difficulty and frustration.  I love this story because it really is true...but not only of "atypical" vs. "typical" but of life in general.  

I had a great pregnancy with Patrick...I was so healthy it wasn't even funny.  (With Liz, I had one difficulty after another and was, at one point, bedridden.)  John and I had absolutely no experience with babies...and I mean NONE!  We were clueless which, in a way, was good.  We were also on our own...no family nearby to bail us out which, again, turned out good.  I guess our expectations weren't "normal" because we didn't know what that meant.  So there we were in Amsterdam and we didn't even know it!  Patrick was, for us, the perfect baby...colicky and sleepless at first, but generally a happy, healthy baby.  And smart...did I add that?  He figured out how to stop his swing at 5 months, how to stand up in his high chair even with an extra safety belt before he was a year old, and he stacked his toys in his playpen to make steps and climbed out onto the coffee table when he was 11 months old.  He studied everything intently and was very social...especially to the ladies.  Everyone who met him, loved him.  He taught himself to read at 18 months on our trip from Indiana to Texas where John was newly stationed.  In 3 days, he was reading...I kid you not.  We thought, at first, that he was just recognizing logos, but he was actually reading.  He spoke in full sentences most of the time and the more complex the toy, the more he loved it.  Before preschool, he was able to read cursive as well as books and picture books, puzzles, and mazes bored him.  We were told that he was reading but not understanding...yeah, right.  He was bored in Kindergarten and I had to fight to get permission for him to take books from the nonfiction section of the library because "Kindergarteners only like picture books".  Patrick wanted to read about the solar system and computers...He won his first video game when he was 4 years old...within weeks of getting a system.  We thought all of this was "normal".  Apparently, we were wrong...at least according to the school.

I remember the day he started Kindergarten...I will never forget it.  We put him on the bus...a happy, excited little boy...."I finally get to learn!".  That little boy never came home...and I mourn him every day of my life.  He was bullied, teased, and told that he was "bad".  No one ever defended him except us and the principal told John that I "was too involved in Patrick's life".  By middle school, he was miserable and we were finally able to get the school to okay testing.  Long story short (too late, I know), Patrick was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome also known as High Functioning Autism.  He was book smart but unable to react appropriately to social cues from his peers.  He was comfortable with adults, but not with his age group.

The reason I tell this story is because we didn't know we were in Amsterdam until Patrick was 13 years old...you would have thought we would have figured it out earlier, but he was so good at adapting and covering.  But in my mind,
Amsterdam isn't that much different from Paris.  Here's the thing...every person...every family...has a burden to bear that others may or may not be able to see.  That burden may seem like nothing to someone else, but it can be huge to that person/family.  I always joked that we weren't a "normal" family because that would be boring and I know that I am anything but normal in any sense of the word.  I'm proud to be different and to be raising my young adults to be different.  Because of what we have faced in our journey as a family, we are all better for it...we are aware of the limitations people place on others and the barriers that are tossed in front of us.  My young adults are able to see beyond face value when they deal with people.  Not all the time, they would have to be saints to do that and they aren't saints.  

EVERY person/family has issues...some big, some small.  How we deal with them is what makes us who and what we are in life.  I like to think that the four of us are strong individuals who are compassionate, thoughtful people.  We usually give the benefit of the doubt...at least the first time!  

So, for my money, Paris isn't all it's cracked up to be...a lot of it is just a facade that makes it harder for people to live in the "real" world.  Amsterdam, however, is interesting, challenging, and life-changing and I'm kind of glad that we landed there instead.....life is good when you take it with a grain of salt and a lot of laughter.....