My Son, You are Different

My son, you are different.

Different in the most best possible way.

I realized that today.

You are not like the other kids. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Not in anyway.

You are the brave one. Because you have no fear about being exactly who you are.

We were at the park. The cool one in the neighborhood. At least that’s what your brother says.

We finally convinced you to walk over there.

You were scared at first. We had to make some new turns. Go farther than you’ve ever gone before.

But you made it.

As we walked up I saw that the place was packed.

All kids I knew. Mostly. A few new faces I guess. But most of them knew you. Which makes this mama happy.

I saw your brother and his friends pushing their bikes to the top of the hill and laughing. Then climbing on. And racing down the hill. At the end, a well placed jump.

My stomach skipped a beat. Good golly little boys are daring.

I took note of your brother’s friends as we neared. They are your age Cooper. All 8.

That still stings. Quick like. And then it’s gone.

The rest of the kids were going down slides. Playing tag. Fighting over the zip-line and who got to go next. Standing on the swings doing daring jumps.

So many kids. So many voices. Little ones. Louds ones. All playing. Seeming to all be doing the typical things. Things kids should be doing at parks.

You were oblivious.

You had my iPhone. A well placed bribe to get you to walk so far.

You were dancing. Barney was playing. Every few seconds you would twirl.

You saw the play structure and you took off running. But not for the rope swing. Or the slide. Or to climb to the top.

But to crawl underneath. You love small, dark spaces. You always have.

I watched you maneuver your way through the crowd of kids and lay your head on the cool grass.

My heart was racing. I worry so much kid. But I’m learning I have to let you go. I have to let you be a kid with all the other kids.

I watched you sprawl out.

You had the phone pressed to your ear. You were humming. And bobbing your head. I watched you look at one of the kids next to you as if to say…’do you hear how great this is?’

Only he didn’t notice. They were all talking about summer vacation. And which neighbor had a pool. And who could do the coolest jump. And basketball.

I guess that is what 8 year olds talk about.

I watched your eyes follow a ladybug crawling in the grass.

I watched you hit your hand on the metal of the play structure and giggle at the sound. Over and over again.

You love sound so much.

And then you saw a kid’s shoes. You put your face right next to them. And you reached out to touch them. Laughing.

The boy wearing them was 8. I know his family. He pulled his feet away. He said something to you. I’m not sure what. And you didn’t answer.

I watched him roll his eyes. He made a face to his friends.

I felt that feeling in my gut. That one that kills a mother. They noticed. These 8 year old boys.

I waited for your reaction. Did you know they were making fun of you. These kids that you should be riding the bus with. And eating lunch with at school.

You smiled and showed them the screen. It was your favorite part of this particular Barney episode. The big elephant was coming out. I know because I watched you move your arm pretending to be an elephant.

We worked on that for years.

Another eye roll from the boy. And then he said to his friends, ‘let’s go jump our bikes.’

Before I knew it all of the kids were gone. It happened so fast.

And you were still lying there. You were staring at the clouds I think. Listening to that same song. Over and over again.

You sat up. Looked for me. And waved.

And then pointed to your head and squealed as the wind hit your hair.

You love wind kid.

And I love that you love wind. And notice lady bugs and shoes.

I love that you are happy dancing. And that you don’t care about what anyone else thinks.

My son, you are different than the other kids.

And you need to know that you are still perfect in every single way.

There is nothing wrong with being different. You don’t need to jump bikes or shoot basketballs to be happy.

And it is my job to remind the world of that.

Be yourself sweet boy. Be different. And be happy.

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Finding Cooper’s Voice is a safe, humorous, caring and honest place where you can celebrate the unique challenges of parenting a special needs child. Because you’re never alone in the struggles you face. And once you find your people, your allies, your village….all the challenges and struggles will seem just a little bit easier. Welcome to our journey. You can also follow us on Facebook, subscribe for exclusive videos, and subscribe to our newsletter.