I think if I could focus on one thing within the world that is the "Autism Spectrum", if I could look into part of it as a neutral party rather than as a parent of an autistic child, I would want to study the siblings who do not fall within the spectrum.
That has been one of the harder things to juggle - talking to a five-year-old about his brother. Like every part of this journey, that has been a learning process. We've done things wrong, we've done things right, we try things and see how it goes. We probably fail more than we succeed. We are still learning and trying and will be throughout. I don't remember what the world was like as a five-year-old. Not in what would help, anyway. I don't remember my perceptions and thought-processes or how I saw the world around me.
From the very beginning, we have been very careful to not use the word "special" to describe Eli around and to his brother. Logan - for the most part - does an incredible job with his little brother. His little brother who does things that Logan can't get away with. His little brother who will tackle him and sometimes hit or take things from him. His little brother who battles and screams and kicks if he wants to watch a movie that Logan doesn't.
In no way did I ever want to have Logan - a five-year-old - trying to understand why Eli gets to be "special" when what his five-year-old eyes see isn't always good, and what his five-year-old heart feels isn't always love.
I just couldn't see how that would not be horribly confusing.
And in the real world, when Eli is an adult, no one is going to make excuses for him because "he's special". I don't want him to expect people to make excuses for him anyway. I want him to own his behavior, and learn to manage it, and help him along the way.
Eli is incredibly special to me. Logan is incredibly special to me.
And so we say "different". Eli's mind works "differently". Eli initiates play "differently". Eli communicates needs "differently". It isn't always nice, sometimes it's really hard, but he is going to learn, and we are going to teach him.
We say "different". We teach "different". We use it when Logan talks about how his friend at school finished his worksheet faster, or when someone else says they don't like "skylanders" as much as he does. People are different in every way.
That is a beautiful and incredible thing.
We are all different. How Eli's brain works is different than how Logan's works. How Eli's hands feel is different from how Logan's hands feel. And that's okay.
Saying that Eli pulls Logan to his face when he wants to play with him because he's "special" doesn't make sense to me. Eli pulls Logan's face to his own when he wants his attention because he hasn't learned patience and correct social contact and initiation like Logan has. Eli's brain doesn't work the same. It isn't any more special. It's just different.
And different is okay.
Down the line, maybe we'll change that. Down the line, maybe we'll see we are wrong. But for now, while I try like hell to see things through Eli's eyes, I will make every effort to see things through his brother's, too. They are both incredibly special. They are both incredibly different. And for that, I am forever thankful.
