#claire lazebnik
I was in the car with all four of my kids one day, when they launched into a strange sort of competition.
My oldest son said he was glad he had autism (which he does) and not Addison’s Disease—like his sister—because she had to take a lot of pills every day, and he never had to take pills. He didn’t like taking pills.
My second oldest son said he’d rather have Celiac Disease (which he does) than either autism or Addison’s Disease, since all he had to do was avoid gluten in his diet.
My daughter countered by insisting that her “thing” was better than either of her brothers’, since she could eat whatever she wanted to, unlike her Celiac brother, and swallowing pills was no big deal to her—she’d become a pro at it since her diagnosis at age five.
My youngest son was silent throughout most of this argument, but he finally spoke up. “It’s not fair,” he said. “I’m the only one who doesn’t have anything.”
There was a pause, and then his sister said reassuringly, “Yes, you do! You have allergies!” He brightened up. “Yes!” he said. “That’s true! I have allergies!”
This was many years ago. They’ve all been busy since then in all sorts of ways. The son with Celiac Disease came out of the closet his senior year of high school, graduated from college, and now works in entertainment. The daughter with Addison’s Disease was also eventually diagnosed with Hashimoto’s, OCD, and an anxiety disorder, and is currently a very happy college sophomore. The son with autism is an outstanding artist, whose work has appeared in a bunch of different exhibits. The one with allergies is now applying to college.
They’re all dealing with stuff and succeeding at stuff and occasionally failing at stuff, and have no desire to fit into any kind of “normal” standard or ideal.
I adore my kids. I mean, obviously I love them, but I also like hanging out with them and laughing until I can’t breathe. They’re kind, openminded, curious young adults, who care about social justice and want to make the world a better place for everyone, not just an elite few. And I think all the various ways in which they’re different from their peers helped make them like that.
The truth is, diversity always makes a community more thoughtful and interesting. A society where everyone looks, thinks, acts and worships the same way is stagnant and dull. Add in different backgrounds, viewpoints, beliefs, and needs, and it becomes vital, interesting, and relevant.
I want our country to not just tolerate differences: I want us to revel in them, to appreciate how much better we are when we’re not all striving to fit a mold. One of the things I learned in researching autism is that all the students in a class thrive when a student with special needs is included. Why? Because teachers can’t assume everyone learns the same way. They have to try out new and creative ways of teaching, which benefits the whole class. And yet parents will frequently protest when a kid with special needs is included in a mainstream classroom, insisting it will harm their kids academically.
The problem is, we’re hardwired to be suspicious of anyone who’s different—probably something to do with the importance of sticking to your pack back in primal days. We’re all too quick to be afraid of what we don’t know. People have to be taught to be comfortable with differences, and entertainment is a good way to make that happen: fiction can help you get to “know” the kind of person you might never meet or might actively be avoiding in real life.
My most recent YA novel, Things I Should Have Known, is about two sisters: Ivy has autism; Chloe doesn’t. They’re loyal and supportive and love each other a lot—but also get annoyed and frustrated with each other, the way sisters do. They both fall in love. They both get their hearts a little broken. They both get to be important characters, and they both get to struggle and celebrate and mess up. I want my readers to root equally for them both, to love them both—and, in the process, without even realizing it, to stop seeing autistic people as something alien.
(By the way, there’s also a major LGBTQ storyline in the novel, but because it sneaks up on you in the book, I’m not going to say any more about it.)
Anyway, my point is: diversity enriches a family; diversity enriches a community; and diversity enriches a novel.
Also? Don’t tell my son but his allergies were actually pretty minor.
Claire LaZebnik is the author of five novels for adults and five YA novels, including Epic FailandThings I Should Have Known. With Dr. Lynn Kern Koegel, she co-authored the non-fiction books Overcoming AutismandGrowing Up on the Spectrum. She has written for The New York Times,The Wall Street Journal, and Self Magazine, among other publications, and contributed a monologue to the anthology play Motherhood Out Loud. Please check out her website at www.clairelazebnik.com or follow her on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter.
