Aspergic or Just our Little boy

by Paul Horan, Lecturer in Nursing Studies, Trinity College Dublin

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What will the neighbours say,

He was diagnosed with Aspergers today,

It’s really real now,

And then the heartbreak,

The questioning,

Kipling’s why, what, how and when?

Now I really know what other parents must feel like,

I just want to run,

To run,

To run,

To take a never ending hike.

My heart’s heavy,

It’s like somebody has just hit me with a great big rolling-pin,

But surely having a child with Autism or Asperger’s is no great kind of sin?

They say many geniuses were aspergic,

Sounds like some kind of nationality or race,

Geniuses like Mozart, Einstein—

Even De Valera finds residence in that place,

So being aspergic seems like no great disgrace,

What will our dear son achieve?

What will his future be?

It’s still hard to believe.

I’ve walked around in a daze for hours now,

I’m still asking how,

How did it all come to this?

A far cry from parental dreams and newborn bliss.

He’s a really lovely boy,

Intelligent, articulate—clever in a special way,

Happy in solitary play,

Just smiling sometimes.

Then there’s the distressed little boy unable to cope with unreasoned

rhymes.

Unable to control his anger—ffrustrated, slapping, biting and just kicking

out,

What is this all about,

Our need to sob and cry.

But he’s not dead,

He’s got talents, gifts and his childlike unconditional love,

A grand little gift from heaven above,

A wonderous inquiring mind.

But will his challenges see him left behind?

He’s just him all that he is,

A child full of his own kind of effervescent fizz.

Labeling children who can achieve much,

Is a professional language to speak double Dutch.