The truth is that my son does not fit out there, in your world, with most other children. There are few places for him to go where he can truly flourish. He suffers from a syndrome I’ll call “being different.” I suffer too.
I am the child of my mom. I came here through her, and long ago she carried me, and she looked at me with hope. She held my neck so that it wouldn’t break, she fed me, and she sang to me.