“Why is he wearing a mustache?”
Don’t think so.
“Why the mustache?”
I’d love to hear his answer, but he can’t tell me. John is autistic.
“What is it like to have a son like John?”
Heaven, pure Heaven.
“Isn’t it hard on your family?”
Yes! Praise God! It’s the hardest thing we ever went through, and again I say praise God!
“Aren’t you angry at God for allowing this?”
Used to be. Not anymore. Not even a little.
John is the sweetest ray of sunshine ever to warm this old heart. I would not trade him, autism and all, for every gold brick in Fort Knox. I thank God for him, just the way he is.
So far, he’s not shown any savant abilities such as counting cards or decoding CIA crossword puzzles. He can’t play piano or violin. I don’t know why he won’t eat the ends of hotdogs, or why he chews on soap. I only know that God gave him to us as a blessing. I am so glad He did.