The Places You’ll Go (For Autism)

I was cleaning out the playroom this weekend, and I came across the popular book “Oh, the Places You’ll Go,” by Dr. Seuss. 

I thumbed through it and I couldn’t help but think how my son Jack has so few opportunities for celebration. 

I want him to know that is all okay. I want to remind him he is special, just the way he is. And maybe he won’t drive a car at age sixteen, or graduate high school right on time, or follow a traditional path in life, but he is an important human being nonetheless.

As for the driving? Who knows? He may just surprise us. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The Places You’ll Go

(for Autism)

 

Congratulations!

Today is your day.

It’s your day to be you,

there’s no other way.

 

You are special,

you are great.

 

How you dance and laugh and run like wild,

don’t change a thing, my wondrous child.

 

Fill your body with breath,

and feel the wind in your face.

For this is the day

you run your own race.

 

Sure, you’ll make mistakes,

it happens to all of us.

 

We start out on the wrong foot,

and we are late for the bus.

 

Our lunch is too cold.

The sun is too bright.

All afternoon, things are just not right.

 

This is perfect and normal and plenty okay.

 

Simply wave to the sun,

and eat only the bun.

 

For nothing will sadden your smile today.

 

And when it seems everyone is passing you by,

weightless winged birds flying high in the sky.

 

Don’t give a thought to the feathers around you.

Simply keep your head up, and fly the sky blue.

 

Keep your own pace,

this way is best,

For only you know,

the south way to go west.

 

Everyone is different,

I want you to know.

Some move very fast,

while others go slow.

 

Some get their license age sixteen on the dot.

Others take their time,

for driving is a lot.

Blinkers and detours, big things like that.

Traffic jams can make you lose your hat.

 

This is not an easy path you are on, my son.

Often misunderstood,

people think you are dumb.

 

Dumb you are not! Oh no! No way!

You are simply doing life in your own way.

 

You are like no one else

in this wide, wide world.

A flower whose petals

have not yet unfurled.

Potential.

Possibility.

Hope, and much more.

 

It’s hard to predict,

the things you have in store.

 

It’s true there will be

snoodles, snickers, and stares.

Mostly from those

still autism unawares.

Never you mind,

my tall strong son.

There are other battles to fight,

not previously won.

 

In fact, let’s not battle

or even fight at all.

 

Instead, simply tell.

 

Tell your story to all.

 

Tell about the ants

who tickle your arms.

And make you jump from your skin

during loud fire alarms.

 

Tell, my boy Jack,

about the time you were four.

When you battled the shape

of a wolf at the door.

Anxiety.

Smanxiety.

For this word, there’s no rhyme.

All I can say is

it was a difficult time.

 

Tell them your favorite color is blue.

 

How you’d rather eat anything other than stew.

 

Stew is too mixed up, too gummy, too bland.

Tastes like that

your tongue cannot stand.

 

Chicken fingers, cheeseburgers, ice cream, and fries.

These are the foods

that widen your eyes.

 

You were born with autism,

a tricky disorder.

It brings out the ants,

and makes you crave order.

 

But it’s not all bad.

 

Really, it’s not.

There are lots of good things.

 

Undiscovered.

Unnoticed.

Things people don’t consider

in the remotest.

 

A memory for birthdays.

And cars.

 And the weather.

In your cap,

you keep your own feather.

 

So much more

than a bell curve on paper.

Dog lover.

Brother, son.

And chocolate cake baker.

 

Never forget, tender boy of mine.

You are right, you are strong.

You are loved, and enough.

In fact, you are made

of some very good stuff.

 

A spirit unbroken,

and a will made of fire.

You are as beautiful as a song sung

by angels in a choir.

 

Your future is different,

yet still just as bright.

 

And soar you will,

to your own great height.

 

Oh, child of mine, I can’t wait to see

all the places you’ll go.

The person you’ll be,

and the ways you will grow.

 

Applause will be scarce

in your lifetime perhaps.

 

Many things you might skip,

or not have at all.

 

Graduation, a wedding.

A newborn who naps.

 

A promotion, or a raise.

A retirement in fall.

 

But from the sidelines I watch,

and I give many claps.

 

I clap for you, son of mine.

 

I do.

 

I clap simply because you are you.

 

Funny, smart, hardworking, and true.

 

My autism child.

 

My blue Jack-a-boo.