My Fear

"So the good boys and girls
Take the so called right track
Faded white hats
Grabbing credits and maybe transfers

They read all the books but they can't find the answers."

I went to that cookie-cutter high school John Mayer sings about, the one that teaches the equation abc=xyz, with abc being Take these classes, Get straight A's, Graduate with honors, and xyz, you will Get into the top college of your choice, Graduate summa cum laude, and Get the best job ever.  And that's it, that's the meaning of life.  But I was lucky, because my parents didn't believe in conveyor belts, and they encouraged me to chart my own course.  They never shied away from being "weird" or different.  If I wanted to take a class that went away from the mold, they said do it.  If I liked reading science fiction novels instead of the "classics" required in AP English, they said drop the class.  If I wanted to wear clothes from Goodwill or my grandma's attic, they shrugged and went on with it.  They showed me how to figure out exactly who me was, with no right answers, no strict guidelines.

Well, I never lived the dream of the prom kings
And the drama queens
I'd like to think the best of me
Is still hiding up my sleeve

Sometimes when I mention something that my parents did really well, they'll scoff and say they weren't doing it on purpose.  They were flying by the seats of their respective pants, with no map to show them where to go.  So maybe it wasn't sheer bravery that caused them to let me be weird.  Maybe they were just clueless about what they were supposed to be doing.  But isn't that courage in and of itself?  To plow ahead, not looking to the side to see where the other parents are, if they are on the right course or headed for a cliff, to push me into the wide open world instead of on a narrow path to the Ivy League?

"I think what must have frightened my parents most 

of all [about my diagnosis] was the possibility that I would

not be able to lead the "normal" life they really wanted for me.

Like many parents, they equated normality with

being happy and productive."

Daniel Tammet, Born on a Blue Day

So why then, coming out of a home that placed so much importance on individualism, have I become that parent who is constantly checking what the others are doing, wondering if my kids are missing out, not measuring up?  Because I'm afraid.  I'm scared that my kids will show up at school reeking of different, and that will lead to bullying, low self-esteem, resentment toward me.  If they haven't had swim lessons by age 5, did they miss out on important childhood memories?  If I buy their shoes for $4 at a consignment sale, will other people be able to tell?  If our idea of family fun is eating popcorn and watching movies, if I buy them Skittles or let them drink Sprite, am I setting them up for obesity and isolation?  I just want to fit in, to blend in the crowd so my kids will be safe.  But that's not good parenting.  I know it isn't.  I was taught from such an early age to do what is best for me, to clear a path if none existed, to go where I need to go.  And why should that be any different for my kids?  I confessed this to my friend, and she laughed and said, "Oh, you SO don't fit in."  Wow, and that was when I was trying.  So I decided to shut out all the noise, all the websites and commercials and statuses that made me feel like I wasn't measuring up.  I called to mind John Mayer's young adult anthem, the song I identified with so well as a 19 year old nontraditional student.  Because my boys don't fit in boxes.  They are so much more than a list of grades or accomplishments or failures.  They are little people with passions and hopes and dreams.  And I want them to learn what I learned, how to create a life of one's own choices, how to arrive at one's own destination.

I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you've got to rise above