When I was a child, I loved looking through a kaleidoscope. I would marvel at the colors and patterns that would form as I would turn the dial both clock and counterclockwise. It was almost like my version of Wonderland or Oz.
Just imagine a sea of colors just for a matter of seconds. It took away any thought or fear that existed.
For me, I could return to the world that existed. I could put the kaleidoscope down and return to color pictures of Clifford. I was game to head outdoors and ride my bike. I would take my GI Joe action figures and create a battle in a sandbox.
That was my story. It was what I considered to be normal. When it came to Sawyer, the term “normal” was something that I couldn’t grasp. I had zero clue. However, I became an expert faking that I knew him.
I would pick him up for school and ask him about his day. All he would do would repeat things that I asked him. Otherwise, it was a line from Frozen.
People would ask me how he was doing. I’d say great. What else would I say? I was only going with what I hoped for.
That was my truth.
Sawyer couldn’t play. He didn’t color things for longer than two minutes. He had zero interest in puzzles. He wasn’t like other kids.
His normal wasn’t mine. His was new. It was on me to find a way to learn it. It wasn’t up to him to teach it.