Who’s that Lady? #WordlessWednesday

#WordlessWednesday Song for my Brother

Song for my Brother

The Horror

I recently recalled an incident at High School, the relevance of which to me, I have only now realised, more than 30 years later.

A boy in the same grade as me carried out an act of vandalism on a teacher’s office.

This boy was prone to random acts of petty vandalism of school property, but this particular act was one of extreme contempt against the teacher, leaving the room looking like a disaster zone.

This wasn’t my style, if only for the reason that I understood the immediate consequences of such action.

This boy never showed the slightest interest in academic study and dropped out of High School before graduating.

He was a kid from the other side of the tracks and his behaviour at school gave a clue as to the dysfunctional home that he perhaps/probably lived in.

I think that is the only thing we had in common, dysfunctional families.

But I now realise there is one glaring inconsistency in our school experiences:

He had friends – I didn’t!

and I really do mean, I had no friends.

The misfit that wasn’t

Despite his firmly established asocial character, this boy hung out with a fairly large group of boys, albeit likeminded, but a circle of people that could reasonably be called friends.

I had no one.

The fact is that despite being intellectually gifted, I was unable to access and direct this power sufficiently to overcome my handicaps of ADHD and Aspergers.

A social misfit was better able to ‘make and sustain friendships’ infinitely better than I was.

Perhaps they didn’t quite meet the clinical criteria of being close friendships and I have no idea how long he remained friends with his group after school, etc…….but his batting average at school was right around the 300 mark!

High functioning Autism

I often wonder how seriously the articulate ramblings of ‘high functioning’ Autistic people are taken.

What do we have to complain about – and I am not complaining here.

But I think it is important that those who are struggling with more severe forms of autism have a good understanding, from the horses mouth, of the trials and tribulations of some of us who are less impaired, but impaired enough for our lives to be, at times, a living hell.

As I pondered this incident served up from my long term memory, I had only one thought:

The Horror:

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