The Best Kind of Different: Our Family's Journey With Asperger's Syndrome by Shonda Schilling, Curt Schilling Page A
Authors: Shonda Schilling, Curt Schilling
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emotional depth was one thing that showed me Grant was not like other kids, another was his intelligence, which I was amazed by time and time again. While Grant’s ability to get hyperfocused on things could be a problem when we were in the toy store, it also had an upside, especially when it carried over to his school life. He would get locked in on subjects—dinosaurs, for example—and have to learn everything there was to knowabout them. It would be all he’d talk about or think about. He’d want to read books on the subject, and I’d get him everything I could find. As a result, Grant was an incredibly smart kid who devoured books and information with a remarkable appetite. One teacher told me that Grant would get so hooked on a book, he’d read it nonstop, even walking and reading at the same time.
As if that weren’t enough, Grant wouldn’t just read. He’d speedread. I discovered that talent one night when the kids were all reading before bed. I was putting everyone to sleep, and when I got to Grant’s room, he had finished half the book.
“Stop messing around and read,” I said.
“But I am,” he answered.
“Bull,” I responded, cutting him off. “There’s no way you’re already on that page.”
We went back and forth a few times, and finally I decided to ask him a few questions about the book. He knew all the answers! I was shocked, especially because he couldn’t read too fast out loud.
When Grant was in first or second grade, he was fixated on naked mole rats. He learned about them through the Disney show Kim Possible, which had one as a character. He became completely obsessed with these animals, talking about them all the time. The school librarian took notice and bought a book on the subject for Grant. He loved that book and read it over and over. It was so sweet of her.
Sadly, that thoughtful librarian passed away from cancer during summer break. The school advised parents to tell their kids before school resumed in the fall. We didn’t know what to expect when we told Grant, but we weren’t prepared for what we saw. As we said the words, he hesitated for a minute and then slowly his entire body just deflated. He was heartbroken, and he cried for a good twenty minutes. It was a deep, heartfelt cry, one that left little doubt about how affected he was. Though he did not see this womanevery day, she was an integral part of his experience at school. He was simply devastated.
As a mother, I found this tough to watch, but it also revealed how powerfully sympathetic he was. I was astounded by how caring he could be. Though there were times when Curt and I questioned his respect for us as parents, he seemed to have a respect for life that went far beyond anything I’d encountered in other kids.
I SHOULD REALLY GO BACK and check my horoscope for 2007. So much was happening to my family then, and the chaos hit such a fever pitch, there were moments when I wondered whether I was under some kind of hex.
Early that year, both the good and the bad aspects of Grant’s behavior began to pile up in my mind. While I still didn’t know that anything was wrong clinically, I couldn’t shake the idea of how different from other kids—both our own and those we knew—he was proving himself to be.
Part of the problem was that despite my instincts that something was wrong, I felt as if people secondguessed me whenever I brought up Grant’s behavior. When I would talk to friends and family about how Grant acted, there was always an excuse, something that they felt made the behavior somehow my fault. They weren’t necessarily trying to point the finger at me, and everyone was wellintentioned about giving advice, but all their ideas seemed to place the blame squarely on me, especially because Curt was on the road so often.
Grant didn’t respect me.
I spoiled him.
I wasn’t firm enough.
No matter whom I spoke to about the trends I saw in Grant, everyone seemed to dismiss it with a wave of
As if that weren’t enough, Grant wouldn’t just read. He’d speedread. I discovered that talent one night when the kids were all reading before bed. I was putting everyone to sleep, and when I got to Grant’s room, he had finished half the book.
“Stop messing around and read,” I said.
“But I am,” he answered.
“Bull,” I responded, cutting him off. “There’s no way you’re already on that page.”
We went back and forth a few times, and finally I decided to ask him a few questions about the book. He knew all the answers! I was shocked, especially because he couldn’t read too fast out loud.
When Grant was in first or second grade, he was fixated on naked mole rats. He learned about them through the Disney show Kim Possible, which had one as a character. He became completely obsessed with these animals, talking about them all the time. The school librarian took notice and bought a book on the subject for Grant. He loved that book and read it over and over. It was so sweet of her.
Sadly, that thoughtful librarian passed away from cancer during summer break. The school advised parents to tell their kids before school resumed in the fall. We didn’t know what to expect when we told Grant, but we weren’t prepared for what we saw. As we said the words, he hesitated for a minute and then slowly his entire body just deflated. He was heartbroken, and he cried for a good twenty minutes. It was a deep, heartfelt cry, one that left little doubt about how affected he was. Though he did not see this womanevery day, she was an integral part of his experience at school. He was simply devastated.
As a mother, I found this tough to watch, but it also revealed how powerfully sympathetic he was. I was astounded by how caring he could be. Though there were times when Curt and I questioned his respect for us as parents, he seemed to have a respect for life that went far beyond anything I’d encountered in other kids.
I SHOULD REALLY GO BACK and check my horoscope for 2007. So much was happening to my family then, and the chaos hit such a fever pitch, there were moments when I wondered whether I was under some kind of hex.
Early that year, both the good and the bad aspects of Grant’s behavior began to pile up in my mind. While I still didn’t know that anything was wrong clinically, I couldn’t shake the idea of how different from other kids—both our own and those we knew—he was proving himself to be.
Part of the problem was that despite my instincts that something was wrong, I felt as if people secondguessed me whenever I brought up Grant’s behavior. When I would talk to friends and family about how Grant acted, there was always an excuse, something that they felt made the behavior somehow my fault. They weren’t necessarily trying to point the finger at me, and everyone was wellintentioned about giving advice, but all their ideas seemed to place the blame squarely on me, especially because Curt was on the road so often.
Grant didn’t respect me.
I spoiled him.
I wasn’t firm enough.
No matter whom I spoke to about the trends I saw in Grant, everyone seemed to dismiss it with a wave of
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