“Normal” is the Setting on Your Washer

There I was, standing with one hand covering up the automated flush sensor, just so my son could use the public toilet without fear of the loud sound. When he was finished, he would dart outside the stall so I could uncover the sensor and let it flush without him in the vicinity. Then it was time to wash hands, but only if no one else was in the bathroom, at the risk of someone having to use the hand dryer. If the hand dryer was activated, forget it. He covered his ears in distress, and I would use my best soothing voice to calm him down. This took place as looks of confusion, mixed with pity, were directed at us. Eventually, we would leave the bathroom, skipping handwashing, to go with the hand sanitizer route.

For about a year and a half, this was our routine every time he needed to use a public restroom. Strangers wouldn’t understand, making light of the automatic toilets and loud hand dryers in attempts to ease my son’s fears. I knew they meant well. What rubbed me the wrong way were the comments downplaying his anxieties, with implications that his behavior was somehow not “normal.”

At the grocery store with both kids in tow, people would occasionally stop alongside us in the aisles, smiling at the kids and trying to make light conversation with them. My younger son delighted at the attention and turned up the charm, waving and playing peek-a-boo. My older son would come to my side, clinging onto my leg and staring wide-eyed, saying nothing. In his defense, I would always say he takes time to warm up to people. But I would notice other kids about my son’s age and how they would react to a nice lady stopping to say hello. The other kids behaved more like my younger son every time, enthusiastically responding with smiles and showing off a snack they picked out or the character on their shirt. I caught myself wondering if the other kids were more “normal” and something was amiss with my older son.

Some time would pass before I decided there was a word that had no place in my parenting vernacular: normal. There is no normal. Normal is just the washing selection for laundry or dishes. Who determined the standard for comparing kids to their peers, and why is there a gauge for what’s considered typical, usual, expected? There is no “normal” child, and we are doing a disservice to classify them or compare our kids to their siblings with that expectation in mind. I’m not talking about academic or developmental milestones children need to meet so that parents, educators, and medical professionals can keep our kids on track. I’m talking about each child’s spirit and unique personality. All the funny quirks and beautiful imperfections that make them uniquely themselves.

I have two boys who are polar opposites of each other. Some days it’s perplexing that they’re brothers. Children are inherently different from each other in so many aspects of their personalities, and none of those differences should ever give us reason to question if they’re falling short of measuring up. Who or what do they need to measure up TO? It’s as though if they aren’t “normal” then something is off, or not right.

You can call my oldest son “shy” or label him with sensory issues, but that doesn’t mean he is lacking in any way. You can say my youngest son craves attention and is a strong-willed child, but that doesn’t make him a problem. We have to stop comparing our own kids and also stop comparing them to others, with unreasonable expectations for a measuring system. It would not take long for a room full of children to reveal some as outgoing and some as introverted, some as inquisitive and some as observant. Confident or reserved, artistic or athletic, no two kids are alike. The differences and quirks children have should be embraced as unique and especially set apart. I thank God my sons are their own little persons, and my job is to raise them up as unashamedly themselves. Unless you’re doing laundry or washing dishes, I don’t see anything “normal” here.