A Blue Rose

i make to claim to ownership of this, i first found it on a Facebook group, and thought it worth sharing. 

Having four visiting family members, my wife was very busy, so I offered to go to the store for her to get some needed items, which included light bulbs, paper towels, trash bags, detergent and Clorox. So off I went.

I scurried around the store, gathered up my goodies and headed for the checkout counter, only to be blocked in the narrow aisle by a young man who appeared to be about sixteen-years-old. I wasn’t in a hurry, so I patiently waited for the boy to realize that I was there. This was when he waved his hands excitedly in the air and declared in a loud voice, “Mommy, I’m over here.”

It was obvious now, he was mentally challenged and also startled as he turned and saw me standing so close to him, waiting to squeeze by. His eyes widened and surprise exploded on his face as I said, “Hey Buddy, what’s your name?”

“My name is Denny and I’m shopping with my mother,” he responded proudly.

“Wow,” I said, “that’s a cool name; I wish my name was Denny, but my name is Steve.”

“Steve, like Stevarino?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “How old are you Denny?”

“How old am I now, Mommy?” he asked his mother as she slowly came over from the next aisle.

“You’re fifteen-years-old Denny; now be a good boy and let the man pass by.”

I acknowledged her and continued to talk to Denny for several more minutes about summer, bicycles and school. I watched his brown eyes dance with excitement, because he was the center of someone’s attention. He then abruptly turned and headed toward the toy section.

Denny’s mom had a puzzled look on her face and thanked me for taking the time to talk with her son. She told me that most people wouldn’t even look at him, much less talk to him.

I told her that it was my pleasure and then I said something I have no idea where it came from, other than by the prompting of the Holy Spirit. I told her that there are plenty of red, yellow, and pink roses in God’s Garden; however, “Blue Roses” are very rare and should be appreciated for their beauty and distinctiveness. You see, Denny is a Blue Rose and if someone doesn’t stop and smell that rose with their heart and touch that rose with their kindness, then they’ve missed a blessing from God.

She was silent for a second, then with a tear in her eye she asked, “Who are you?”

Without thinking I said, “Oh, I’m probably just a dandelion, but I sure love living in God’s garden.”

She reached out, squeezed my hand and said, “God bless you!” and then I had tears in my eyes.

May I suggest, the next time you see a BLUE ROSE, don’t turn your head and walk off. Take the time to smile and say Hello. Why? Because, by the grace of GOD, this mother or father could be you. This could be your child, grandchild, niece or nephew. What a difference a moment can mean to that person or their family.

From an old dandelion xx

Alien alert

I feel like an alien, abandoned on this planet, alone, with no contact with the mother-ship.  I know the words of the language, at least, what those words mean in the textbook, but I don’t understand the meaning when I try to use those words with humans.  The slightest noise, light, smell or touch seems overpowering, while most humans can’t even detect it.  I bend further and move differently to most humans.   I don’t recognize humans by face; I struggle to even look at the face of most people.  I don’t remember instructions for everyday tasks, like cooking.  I can’t find my way around my own home, let alone outside.  I can’t remember how to spell even the simplest words; I struggle to read most writing, especially on some colors.  Wearing clothing hurts, yet most people seem to barely notice them.

I often find myself wondering, do I belong here? Was I really born here, to human parents? Am I alone in feeling this?

The problems of life as an alien have positives attached. 

On a survival exercise with a group of young humans, I was able to direct the group to a clean stream, about 100 yards from a camp, based only on the smell and sound of water, wild garlic, and a variety of edible plants varying in distance, but all over 500 yards from our location from smell alone, and see ideal locations for traps that ended up providing meat 4 times in the week. My alien interest in emergency medicine was needed at least once by each person in the team, and saved one of the humans in the group.  My alien way of thinking saved hours of time by seeing different methods of doing the same thing.    

Yet was I thanked by even one of the humans when we got home?

No. 

I was teased, excluded, and made to feel so unwelcome that I stopped going to the group. 

I may not be able to remember to feed myself, but I can remember thousands of number plates, and entire songs after hearing them once, or occasionally twice.  My over-flexibility makes me an excellent swimmer, especially in the ‘more difficult’ strokes.  Not looking at peoples face allows me to notice other things about them more, by remembering people by voice and gait, I can know as much about a person as seeing a face, and often more.  My difficulties in understanding meaning when people talk has led me to have a great interest in written articles (at least in a few areas), despite extreme difficulty reading.  Not reading the written signs allowed me to observe the world around me in great detail, and to notice slight discrepancies. 

               I have learned to adapt, so I can survive, if not live as a human.  Sometimes, I still feel that there is nowhere that will accept me for the alien that I am, and not be offended by my differences.  Sometimes I am so ostracized by those who are meant to be my peers that I cannot sleep at night, or if I do, I lay in bed and cry until the moment that the exhaustion overcomes the torturous memories, and sometimes physical injuries caused by the people who I am meant to be equal to. 

I wonder how many other aliens there are out there, thinking they are alone. 

I wonder what the human world is missing out on by not taking advantage of the talents of aliens. 

I wonder if I can help any other young aliens.  I have a wonderful father, human, but not normal, he sees me as different, and accepts me anyway.  Every young, and not so young, alien should have someone like that, but I know it isn’t so, I now know other young aliens, aliens who haven’t had a human accept them, who have been abused by those humans meant to be responsible for them.  If I can be that figure to even a single other alien, help them not be beaten, help them learn to be quiet when needed, and encourage them to develop their talents, instead of criticizing the narrow focus, to pass on coping techniques, and to recognize the true beauty of abnormality, my entire life will be worth it. 

               Sometimes I question if I really am an alien, born on another planet, and abandoned here soon after.  Now, thanks to the miracle of internet, I am finding others, other people who are like me.   Most importantly, knowing that I am not alone, and neither are the other aliens.  But we are not aliens, we are just different, and our differences have a name.  Asperger’s syndrome.

I am still in the process of getting a diagnosis on paper, but I know inside myself why I am me, why I feel non-human.  It won’t change the years of stress in school, and in wider society, but it gives me, and others, hope for a future understanding ourselves. 

Now all we need is for the ‘humans’ to see us as what we are, simply different.