My youngest son was diagnosed with Autism in 2004, and again in Fall of 2008. In between those diagnoses, he was considered developmentally delayed or “on the spectrum.” In short, my son is autistic, he is on the autism spectrum in a little place they like to call Asperger’s. At least, that’s what its being called this year.

What this means, in real life, is that my son is a little strange. Aside from gross and fine motor skills being delayed (but getting better all the time, thanks to his new OT!!), he is the quirky kid who everyone likes, but no one “gets.” He is quite possibly the most loving individual I’ve ever known, and almost always has a big smile on his face – not because he thinks the world is glorious, but because he sees the good in everyone, even if he can’t quite figure out how to interact with them.

My son, The Enigma, has taken several major leaps forward this school year. At eight years old, he can now catch a tennis ball with one hand. He rarely ever misses problems on tests in school and he has learned how to yell, when appropriate. He is a continual source of inspiration for me, and for our entire family, including his big brother (even if he denies it every.single.day.). His most recent accomplishment has been with his ability to write in cursive with an eerie precision and draw dinosaurs. Six months ago, he was still scribbling.

My son has autism, he’s an Aspie. We don’t know why, we don’t know how, all we know is that he’s a gift to us and the love he has given back is priceless.