"Mother, Am I Normal?"
Yesterday my eighteen-year-old son with autism was wiping off the kitchen counter. He stopped, blinked a few times and said, “Mother, am I normal?” I looked up from my laptop, surprised. He’d never asked me such a thing before. We made eye contact. I scanned my brain files for the correct response. “I mean, what does normal mean?” he asked. “Does it mean medium? Or good? Regular? Or average? Or ordinary?” One of his favorite things to do is to search for the meaning of words . He’ll frequently ask me for definitions, and is especially interested in classifying words with similar connotations. But this was a profound question he was asking. What DOES normal mean, anyway? “I suppose normal means regular or ordinary. Average ," I said. I thought about my son in his early childhood. He would scream in frustration at his inability to communicate his wants and feelings. In those days, I was an overwhelmed young mother with small children, trying to deal with what felt lik