Smart. That’s how everyone describes Kincaid. And he is smart—really smart. He can remember things that he hears just once, and recite them back to you perfectly—and often. He can spell so well, and he wants you to spell with him. He has a favorite number and color (two and blue, respectively). He wants to know your favorite color or number as long as they are not blue or two. His eyes are like deep blue pools—that is, if you can get him to look at you, or to stay still long enough for you to look at him. Kincaid thrives on routine. He needs it. So that’s how we live.
Kincaid has autism. The school diagnosed him at three, and a pediatric neurologist at five. He’s what would be considered high functioning. He can read, write, talk, play and love. Kincaid just does all of these things differently—not less, just different.
We wouldn’t have the same experiences if Kincaid didn’t have autism. I would have joined more playgroups. My husband would be coaching a sports team. But if our lives were different then I wouldn’t have the kind of patience I have now, and my husband wouldn’t be the president of our school district’s first ever Special Education PTA (SEPTA).
Our lives are different, not less.
By Alexandra Archer, mom of Kincaid, 6