The doctors told my mom and dad I’m autistic. I’m not sure what that word means.

            I guess it’s good to have a name for it, but I’m not sure what good it will do me. I have had some hard times in my life.

            I know what you are thinking. I’m only eight. How hard can life be? You might be surprised.

            Sometimes it seems like my life has been much longer than just eight years. Maybe it’s because I can always hear the clocks ticking away the seconds. The classroom clocks. And the clocks at my house, ticking. Loudly.

            My brain seems like it is always moving much faster than those clocks. The clocks try to slow me down, but it doesn’t really work that way.

            My teacher and my mom always try to get me to listen to them. But I can’t stop thinking about that second hand.

            Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

            It makes me want to list things.

            Some days I list presidents.

            Washington.

            Adams.

            Jefferson.

            Madison.

            Some days I list my favorite Disney movies.

            Finding Nemo.

            The Incredibles.

            The Lion King.

            The Jungle Book.

Lists calm me down. My brain sometimes feels like a big computer sitting on top of my body. I think I’m a little smarter than Google.

          The energy in my body seems to just bubble up inside of me like lava sometimes. When that happens, I pace the floor and flap my hands. I chew on anything that isn’t nailed down. And I talk to myself . . . a lot.

          People think I’m not listening, but my ears hear everything. My brain saves it just like a computer. I told you I am smarter than Google.

          I do worry a lot. You might think that I would mostly worry about things like other kids do. I guess other kids worry about some of the same things: thunderstorms, big dogs, fire drills.

           I also worry a lot about whether or not Mom remembered to send me regular Doritos in my lunch rather than Cool Ranch Doritos. I hate Cool Ranch Doritos.

          I worry about not having my NFL brackets written down before the next football season. What if it makes my favorite team lose because I didn’t do it?

          I worry that people in the lunchroom at school might sing Happy Birthday to someone. Don’t get the wrong idea. I love the cupcakes that come when it is somebody’s birthday. But the song makes it seem as loud as a rock concert. The sound hurts my brain.

          I worried a lot about who would win the last election for President of the United States. I stayed up really late that night.

          Sometimes I feel sick or weird or I have a pain in my head that I can’t explain. I never really tell my teachers or my mom that I feel bad. It seems like they should already know that.

          I heard Mom say one time that the full moon was coming. She also seems to really check the weather a lot. I see her shaking her head when she knows that a storm is coming. I’m not sure, but I think that those things make me have a hard time because they make me feel bad.

          I guess nobody else has those problems because they don’t yell out in class or try to throw toys. They don’t try to hit their teacher. I really like my teacher.

          She hugs me and gives me the best snacks. And she knows that I’m as smart as Google. She also helps me calm down.

          I want to do better. I see the sad looks my mom gets sometimes after I get upset. She loves me a lot and doesn’t want me to feel bad. I know that my teacher gets upset with me for being mean to her and my friends. But she still lets me come back to school and be in her class. I’m glad she loves me.

          I know it sounds like I’m kind of down on myself. I’m really not. There are a lot of great things about me other than me being as smart as Google.

          I am what my mom calls “a snazzy dresser.” That means that the clothes I pick out to wear look good.

          My teacher says that I have great manners because I almost always say “please” and “thank you” at snack time (unless she decides to give us Cool Ranch Doritos . . . YUCK!).

          I am a great artist who can draw every NFL helmet design.

          I also know how to take good care of my puppy. He licks me and doesn’t care that I talk to myself.