Dave and I went out Saturday night to see I Love You, Man. It's pretty amusing, and introduced me to the concept of "man dates." We had time to kill before the movie started, so we swung by a new bookstore in town. I'd heard it was owned by parents of a child with autism, and I've been meaning to visit.
I spent the entire time browsing the "Special Needs" section. I felt a little wistful about some of the issues the books addressed—ADD? Wow, life would be so different if Max had that instead of CP [denial]. Tourette's Syndrome? Yep, I'd trade [denial]. Bipolar disorder? Not fun but still, not CP [denial]. Then I found this book.
First, it dawned on me that I'd never even considered buying a book about cerebral palsy [denial]. I stared and stared at the cover, showed it to Dave and said, "Look, it's Max." And I felt a serious pang of sadness [denial].
Book Boy holds his left hand in the same downward position that Max holds his right one. His toes are pointed the way Max's do. He's got that same sweet smile Max has. He's playing with a train, by himself. He has a mop of hair.
It was a sobering moment; they strike sometimes when I least expect them. But they never last. I snapped back, and decided it would be a good book to read.
We bought the book. We went next door to have ice-cream. We saw the movie. And it felt really, really good to laugh.
