The misunderstood child

What motivates you? I can’t answer that question for you, but I can answer it for me.   My 11 year old son has autism. To provide for his medical and educational needs, I have to get my finances right. I have a Biblical responsibility to care for my son, and I’m sure I don’t always get it right, but being a good parent is something that drives me each day – drives me to do my best.

Today’s post is a little different, kinda like my son.  It won’t feature a bunch of dry wit and pithy phrases; instead it will be a poem (not by me – I’m certainly not that cosmopolitan).

For me, personal finance, is, well,  personal.

“I am the child that looks healthy and fine, I was born with ten fingers and toes.

But something is different, somewhere in my mind – and what it is, nobody knows.

I am the child who struggles in school, though they say I’m perfectly smart.

They tell me I’m lazy – can learn if I try – but I don’t seem to know where to start.

I am the child that won’t wear the clothes, which hurt me or bother my feet.

I dread sudden noises, can’t handle most smells, and tastes – there are few foods I’ll eat.

I am the child that can’t catch the ball, and runs with an awkward gait.

I am the one chosen last on the team, and cringe as I stand there and wait.

I am the child with whom no one will play – the one that gets bullied and teased.

I try to fit in and I want to be liked, but nothing I do seems to please.

I am the child that tantrums and freaks, over things that seem petty and trite.

You’ll never know how I panic inside, when I’m lost in my anger and fright.

I am the child that fidgets and squirms, though I’m told to sit still and be good.

Do you think that I choose to be out of control? Do you think that I would if I could?

I am the child with the broken heart, though I act like I really don’t care.

Perhaps there is a reason God made me this way – some message he sent me to share.

For I am the child that needs to be loved and accepted and valued too. I am the child that is misunderstood,

I am different – but look just like you.

By Kathy Winters (Mother of a child who has Autism)