January 19, 2025
Unmasking Autism: A Mother’s Love Letter
My son,
I used to be so scared of different. Of standing out. I preferred to blend in. Not rock the boat as they say.
But you kid. You changed all that. You were born to stand out. To be different.
When you were little I’d get so scared. The fear would almost paralyze me.
In a way you were fearless because you didn’t care what people thought. And I’ll admit, that frightened me.
We’d be in a waiting room or at a park.
Everyone else would be sitting. Or playing quietly. You’d be flapping. Or making happy noises. Moving chairs. Eating sand.
Twirling. Never sitting. Screeching. Grunting. Laughing at sounds or colors or the letter Q.
Twirling. Never sitting. Screeching. Grunting. Laughing at sounds or colors or the letter Q.
You’d drop to the ground to feel the scratch of a rug on your cheek or put your ear to the metal of a door to hear the muffled sounds on the other side.
You’d turn your favorite sounds up on your iPad. The hoot of an owl. The vroom of a tractor. A sneeze. A hiccup.
Then you’d get the giggles. Loudly. Which would send you running. And laughing more.
And everyone would stare.
Heads would whip around. All eyes were on you. On me. On us.
One second you’d be on the floor and the next running only to drop to the ground, roll, laugh and pat the ground.
Or you’d be melting down. Overwhelmed by the wait. Screaming. Either way it almost sounds the same. Loud.
I’d look around. Make eye contact with a stranger. A fellow mother. And look away. I’d think in my head, stop. Stop Cooper.
Stop drawing attention to yourself. To us. Everyone knows. They know you are different.
But it’s not for reasons you think. I wasn’t embarrassed. I wasn’t ashamed. I was scared.
I was nervous. I worried they were judging you.
Labeling you as bad. Or delayed.
Or worse…avoiding you.
Moving to the other side of the street or another seat. Anything to avoid an interaction with the weird kid. The loud kid. The bad kid. The kid with autism. And the bad mother.
Then something changed. Not over night. In fact, looking back, it took forever.
But your body was no longer little anymore. Blending in wasn’t even remotely an option.
And in this extraordinary way you became yourself. More yourself than any other person I have ever known. No fear. No worry.
And you brought me with you. Your whole family actually.
At 14 years old you started laughing louder. Smiling more. You dance in parking lots and slide like a penguin in waiting rooms.
You clap when a stranger says your name and say ‘uh-oh’ when a person drops their keys. You started waving at everyone and not caring if they waved back.
You started babbling nonstop only in your own language. Sounds and squeals that no one could understand.
You dress yourself in bright colored pajama pants and silly shirts. And shoes on the wrong feet. Or one sock.
You hold my hand when every other kid your age is running ahead. You kiss and hug and request tickles when you need them.
You force me to wave my arm like an elephant’s trunk in Target and sing The Itsy Bitsy Spider on the sidewalk. Everyone staring. Some smiling. Some judging.
You only dance more. Arms up in the air. Twirling.
We are loud. Outlandish. Silly. Like a scene from a movie. A mother. A son. In their own world.
And we are happy.
The thing is kid, you don’t care if people stare at you. Because you are too busy seeing all the colors and hearing all the sounds.
And showing me.
I wish everyone could get a day with you. To see autism. And nonverbal. To see what’s it’s truly about.
I think the fear would lessen. And more people would believe in magic.
I love you dude.
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.
