It was a frigid night in November, the snow falling in flurries outside the tall glass window, when I heard the big news. My mother had been in the hospital for two days and the baby was due tonight. For weeks, I prayed that I would have a sibling of the same gender because dealing with another brother would have driven me to insanity. “Mommy”, I would say, “If I have another brother can we send him to live with our cousins in New Jersey?” The thought of chasing two brown-haired trouble makers out of my room had made me want to cry. My aunt suddenly entered the room, her ecstatic expression causing me to jump up from the couch. The baby had been born! My aunt told us that the baby was a girl and her name was Danielle. I screamed with excitement, hugging my cousin Jessica tightly and sticking my tongue out at my brother. I was going to be an older sister! Visions of playing with dolls and dressing up in princess clothing with Danielle entered my mind while my brother sulked in the corner, whining about never being able to have a male figure besides my father in the family.
My sister was an absolute joy from the beginning, giggling at the littlest occurrences such as spilling applesauce on the floor or tripping up the carpeted stairs. She seldom cried as a child and her optimistic attitude lightened the moods of the people around her. I have to admit, I was a little disappointed when Danielle received more attention than me from my parents. Okay, fine, I was really disappointed. Why wasn’t I Daddy’s only little angel? While I matured, I began to accept the fact that I had to share the role of daughter with her, but it took time. As Danielle grew older, we started noticing some slight differences in her social interaction in comparison to other children her age. When she became passionate or excited about an event, she would jump around and flap her arms wildly, with her mouth gaped open. However, this was only one of the symptoms. Danielle would also ask several questions, usually the same question many times, to reassure herself that she was not doing anything wrong. She would ask, "Mommy, is it okay that I didn't wash my hands after going outside?" After hearing the response, she would keep asking the question, needing to be positive of the answer. Danielle was a slow learner and could not read or write at the same rate as other kids were able to do. It hurt me deeply to see other kindergartners unable to interact with her and exclude her from activities because she was "different". Imagine walking into a crowded cafeteria and having nowhere to sit. That’s how she felt every single day. When Danielle was six, the doctors told my parents she was on the autism spectrum. This meant that she could function in school and hold conversations with people; however, she still showed symptoms that autistic children possess, such as the flapping.
Although Danielle needs additional help in school and may be perceived in a different way than other children, she is the bravest girl I know and she has taught me several life lessons that I will forever cherish. She has taught me that it's acceptable to be different from others and to not always be a part of the majority, because "fitting in" is not important in the course of a lifetime. As you know, high school can make popularity seem so significant, but she taught me otherwise. Above all else, Danielle has showed me how to always be optimistic. Even when she was combating her internal voices, she never stopped smiling and always lit up the room with her personality. For these reasons, when people question her actions and ask me why she doesn't act like other children her age, I proudly tell them that she is 'on the spectrum'. This diagnosis is not disappointing or depressing - it resembles a color spectrum of bliss that she never fails to display every day of her life.