Aspergers Reality

    Though I was never officially diagnosed with Aspergers, it was undeniable after awhile.  As nephews and male cousins kept getting diagnosed, their moms would tell me stories of inappropriate things their sons said or drew.  Sometimes I'd ask, "What's wrong with saying that?"  One of those moms fully answered my question, my cousin, Alice.  She had researched Aspergers, is an upper muckety muck in Human Resources at a local hospital, and is married to a special education teacher.  She was the one who made me understand beyond any doubt that I did have Aspergers.
     My dad didn't think that I should label myself like that.  I'm completely normal for the most part, since I'm so high functional.  Tonight though I understand the pain that it has given my daughter now that she is fully aware of my limitations.
     She had told me before that she didn't like how I spoke.  Hey, Carl Sagan speaks in a similar fashion, so I let that roll off.  It hurt though when she said, "Mom, your book caused me discomfort, because I could see the extent of your Aspergers."
     "How so?" I asked in great curiosity at a new learning experience.
     "You describe people's appearance, but the only time you describe their inner feelings is if you're mad at them.  I don't want to talk about this anymore."
      We changed the subject of our conversation as I pondered how much it must hurt Drew and Sara that I can't anticipate how their inner beings feel.  I can't relate to how their inner being feels unless I've experienced a similar experience or emotion. 
      I am blind in that area.  My experiences are part of my braille.  My version of radar is watching a person's face and eyes very, very closely to monitor the effects of my comments on their emotions.  This is the main reason why I don't prefer texting and phone calls.  I can't see the person's face to know when I've misstepped with an honest, unmalicious comment and hurt them.
     How treacherous it must have been and be for my kids!  I love them so, and it hurts me that I can't be that perfect mom that teaches them what to say and not say in order to be merciful to others' feelings.  At least now they're adults and love me enough to establish merciful boundaries on my conversations by lovingly telling me, "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

P.S.  To my blog readers:  If you want to support a struggling math/engineering teacher and author, please buy my first book, "The Romance of Kilimanjaro," soon to be followed by my second book at:  https://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore/book.php?w=9781613464960         Thank You!