by Heather Moores

Created on: January 10, 2009   Last Updated: March 14, 2011

It is a frigid, snowy afternoon and my four-year-old son, Julian, and I are awaiting a visit with his pediatrician. His teacher had called that morning to inform me that Julian was using the bathroom frequently and crying afterward. I called his doctor and was told to bring him in as soon as possible.

Julian is very excited about seeing his doctor but I suspect his real reason for excitement is he knows he will get a Happy Meal with chocolate milk on the way home. Doctors normally make Julian very nervous and I have had a hard time in the past getting him to cooperate. I don't like to use bribery but certain situations certainly call for it.

Julian starts goose-stepping all over the waiting room the minute we walk in. He repeatedly counts every coat hook on the wall. Then he starts counting the other people in the room. He starts roaring like a lion and throwing himself at other people. He notices a group of seven chairs along one wall. They are all attached by a steel bar and he happily shouts, "Look! A Tunnel!" He throws himself on the floor and crawls like a baby over to the first chair. Under the chair he goes and he shimmies forth on his belly under the six remaining chairs. He goes back and forth and back and forth. He starts babbling about the number of people in the room and the number of coat hooks on the wall and, now, the number of chairs his tunnel has. He is pure energy and delight in fluid motion.

I am smiling as I watch him. His happiness over simple things fill me with joy. Through his eyes I have learned to look at everything around me in a new way.  With a child like Julian, there is no such thing as boredom. He turns every moment of every day into a major event. While sometimes exhausting, there is always a new adventure to embark upon.

As I look around the room at the other people, my smile fades. A look of fierce indignation replaces it as I see the looks they are giving my son. Some of the mothers are looking at him as if he is an amoeba crawling towards them; others are looking at me as if I am the worst parent alive for having such a strange, hyperactive kid. Some of the smaller children look curious but their parents are actively trying to keep them away from Julian. 

Julian continues playing but he notices the stares. He looks to me for reassurance and I smile and nod to let him know that he is just fine. He gives me a beautiful smile. I hear whispers around me. I cannot make out the words but I already know what they are.

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