Before my oldest son was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome, the only thing I knew about autism was Rain Man. Actually, he was originally and erroneously diagnosed—during a fifteen-minute visit with his pediatrician—with ADD. Not knowing any better, and believing doctor knew all, I turned to Google for all I could learn about Attention Deficit Disorder.

I encountered a problem with the websites and books about ADD: What I was reading didn’t sound anything like my kid. Because he had an overwhelming struggle with focusing on homework (though could be laser focused on one of his interests) we did explore traditional ADD medication as a means to help him concentrate so he could succeed in school. Problem solved? No, but at least one problem managed.

The underlying issues remained and I tried just chalking it up to him being quirky. I used to say that he marched to the beat of a different pineapple. One day, a broken radio changed our world. Driving in silence on my morning commute, I’m not ashamed to admit I started talking to myself. I reflected on my son, then in 5th grade, and his specific symptoms; delayed speech, poor eye contact, poor motor skills, delayed potty training, sensory sensitivity, and, seemingly, no empathy.

I spoke about it to my son’s step mother who asked if I’d heard of Asperger’s Syndrome. I hadn’t. Okay Google, what do you know about Asperger’s? I read through a couple of websites and there he was—my son—in black and white writing across my screen.

Now that I had an answer, I needed a diagnosis. That was a whole other adventure. Oh to find a neuropsychologist who was seeing new patients, would see a child, could see him before he graduated college…who took our insurance. This time, diagnosis took several hours and multiple questionnaires. She confirmed what we already knew and we were on our way to real help.

One more time, Google: Oklahoma + Autism. Enter.

The most valuable website was for a family-support group that met (still meets) monthly in OKC. I’ll never forget that first meeting. Other parents listened to me describe my quirky kid and smiled and nodded knowingly. They didn’t try to accuse me of bad parenting, give advice or dismiss my concerns. Even cooler, they talked about their kids and I was able to smile and nod knowingly. Hey, my son does that too! That’s autism related? Over the months and years ahead, I began to see that

I was not alone and, more importantly, neither was my son.

Five years later, he’s learned to embrace his Asperger’s. He has t-shirts touting it. We credit it for his ability to memorize two hundred digits of pi, solve a Rubik’s Cube, and be a member of Carl Albert’s state-championship-winning chess team. We’ve sought professional help when his challenges were beyond our capacity and taught him that he is—in the words of Temple Grandin—different, not less.