April. April showers. April fools day. Tax day. Earth day. Now April is Autism Awareness Month. If you are affected by Autism, you are already aware. Well aware. Every single day. All negativity aside, we choose to see the positives and our lives are sweetly enriched because of it. Would I change my autistic person, trade him in for a neurotypical version? Not on my life.

I hesitate to write much about our experience these days. Writing is therapy to me, but this isn’t just my story. It’s my son’s, too, and I don’t want to disregard his right to privacy for my own benefit. I nonchalantly announce, “April is Autism Awareness Month. I want to blog about it but I would want to mention you. Would that upset you?” He looks at me blankly and utters a matter-of-fact “no,” while he methodically jumps on his exercise trampoline that has been situated in our family room for over a decade and a half. His long, skinny arms rhythmically flail in the air. His face displays a smirky grin as he starts talking about the Titanic.

At least eighteen of the last twenty-two years have consisted of quirky behaviors, comments and atypical thoughts. It is our normal here. I can’t even call it a “new normal,” by now it’s old. I can only imagine what our lifestyle looks like to people who have never had reason to observe or experience it. Judgmental people abound, but at this point in my motherhood, the judgement doesn’t phase me much. Well, it might phase me a little, but every day I get a little more refined at handling my responses.

Ignorance is bliss. As the number of people on the Autism spectrum rises (for whatever reason), education is so important to help people understand that acceptance and tolerance is essential. Truth is, you can’t make an autistic person act neurotypical (aka “normal”) any more that you can make a neurotypical act autistic. It’s exhausting trying to fit the proverbial square peg in a round hole. Society expects these intelligent, interesting, quirky souls to adapt to an environment carved out for people without this type of hard-wiring. This imposes extreme anxiety on those that are already using every coping mechanism they have to simply make it through the day. Self-stimming behaviors (rocking back and forth, pacing and what-not), melt downs, repetitive phrases and behaviors, fixations on certain topics of interest, lack of eye contact, intrusive thoughts, aversions to certain clothing, fabric and food textures, lack of coordination, are just a handful of things that accompany this diagnosis. Unfiltered comments are characteristic, as well. The awkwardness is enough to make friendships and bonds difficult. But just because it doesn’t come easy to them doesn’t mean they don’t long for connection, comfort and attachment. Isn’t a sense of belonging a basic human need?

Being a spectrum disorder, symptoms can range from mild to severe. The person doesn’t outgrow the diagnosis, it doesn’t magically disappear on their eighteenth birthday. Sure, some things get easier to manage. And some things don’t. People don’t typically expect a young man to ask if he can go through the tip jar at a local business to see if contains coins that his collection needs. “I will trade you if I find something good,” I have trained him to announce before he reaches for the container of hard-earned money.

I am beyond proud of my trivia-loving, history buff, fossil fanatic, Titanic-obsessed, coin collecting son. He has the funniest sense of humor. He follows rules without being told. He’s uncomfortable with inappropriate language and activities on TV. He reminds me not to swear and that drinking wine and beer is not a good idea when you’re gonna drive, or even if you’re not gonna drive. Worn out jeans are unacceptable and why on earth would anyone pay good money for jeans with rips and tears in them? He’s a good moral compass. He has an odd fascination with weight. He will guess how much you weigh and do the necessary math to figure out your BMI. He isn’t much for affection, so my heart melted when he gave me a hug and announced that he really loves me “even though my BMI is too high.” I took the compliment, sincere as it was intended, and felt more loved than ever.

Sometimes he has an urge to ask ridiculous questions. I guess it’s an impulse he struggles to control. Last summer at a restaurant while on vacation, he randomly asked the waitress if he could throw a spoon at the tv. My husband’s face turned red and he was about to scold him, as the waitress of baby boomer age smiled and said that, in all her days, this was the first time anyone had ever asked her that. The comment seemed to connect them and they enjoyed chatting and giggling with one another throughout our meal. When we left, she told him he made her day and that she would secretly like to throw a spoon at the tv, too. He has memorized the names of all the contacts in his dad’s phone and habitually rattles off the names, wanting to text them. My husband looks at him with the typical “you’re on my last nerve” look, then gently reaches over to give him a hug and tell him what a great guy he is.

I am thankful to the unoffended souls that reply “too much” when he poses the weight question. I applaud the people that willingly listen to his elaborate explanations of the Titanic and the unsolicited lessons on Brachiopods and Ammonites. I appreciate those that don’t panic over the lack of eye contact or the inappropriate comments, the statements made without the filter. I am forever grateful to the small business owner that initally treated him like he had the plague, then realized how cool he really is, and now saves special coins to give him when he visits her store.

What can you do for Autism Awareness Month? Check out a book at the library about it, listen to a podcast. Pay attention to those who seem to appear different or struggle in social situations. Teach your kids about them and how to include them at school and in their social circles. Don’t be okay with your kids excluding that one kid from the birthday party invite list. I know my son probably didn’t notice that occurrence so many years ago, but I did. And I will take that hurt with me to my grave.

We sit together near the world map on his bedroom wall. I call out the names of lesser-known, small countries. He jumps up and points to each one without much forethought. I am in awe of his memory and intelligence. It totally makes up for the lack of coordination to tie shoes. Slip-ons are more practical anyway.