ents of Jacob, who was diagnosed at three with
Pervasive Developmental Disorder (Autistic�like,
Mild). He is now an adult and functioning very well,
loved by his family and still filled with wonder.
All the normal, same, uniform things look at me
And say I am special.
They say it with a smirk and a wink,
With pointed fingers or careful, calculated compassion,
But still they say I am special.
Sometimes even my own school
So that I will not infect you and drag you down
To special like me.
It's true that I am different.
You expected one thing and got another.
So I communicate differently at best and at worst
Not at all.
I see you try to hear me, and I feel your frustration
And mine.
So I push away and look for comfort in a different space,
Or in the repetitions of things I know and control.
And I love to count things--not always with your numbers--
And I love to have things in a row--
My things, your things, other things,
All in order with none missing.
Sometimes I see you look at me with sorrow as you see
The look in my eyes.
Sometimes my eyes tell you that I am lost in here --
That I'm not all that happy with special.
Sometimes my eyes tell you that I am happy in here--
Seeing things you do not see,
Hearing things you do not hear,
Feeling things I cannot tell;
Living in wonder and amaze, joyed by awesomeness
From a different, special place.
I really am special
And so are you.
I am God's child, just like you,
And He holds me in His arms, just like you.
I see His love for me in your love for me,
But with different eyes I also see God's love for me
In His very own eyes.
Sometimes I do see the angels.
Sometimes--on special days.