Dave (my husband) is English and graduated from Oxford University with a degree in biology. It's a pretty major thing to get recommended for Oxford, and Dave's math teacher, an alumnus, recommended him. Not because he thought Dave was excellent at math. “You get it wrong a lot,” he told Dave about his class work, “but you get it wrong in an interesting way.” He thought Dave had a unique brain and that Oxford could use more of those.

I think about this story sometimes when I watch Billy. A unique brain. Not less, just different.

I didn't always feel this way. When we first got the autism diagnosis, I was scared and angry and all I wanted to do was “cure” my son. I thought it was my duty to find some magic bullet that would wipe the autism right out of his system. And we went through a lot of them, as you can read in this blog.

But as an autistic scientist named Lisa Daxer said in a wonderful article I read this week, autism is a fundamental part of who my son is; it's a way of describing the way his unique brain works.

The wonderful thing about this past long, hard, rewarding, exhausting, surprising summer is the close bond I've formed with both my children. With Billy, it was an invaluable opportunity to really get to know my little mystery, as he sometimes seems to me.

My focus has shifted from trying to cure my son to trying to support him, encourage his learning, and nurture those sparks of interest and passion I see in his eyes. In that way, my job is no different than that of the parent of a normally developing child. Of course, some of our supports will include some speech therapy and occupational therapy and extra assistance with social skills.

But we no longer expect to spend every waking moment in therapy. As Lisa Jo Rudy describes so well in her book Get Out, Explore and Have Fun!, our support of our son also includes taking him to the museum and the park, encouraging his interest in music and getting him lessons in gymnastics (which we hope to start soon) and swimming.

I'm not saying that it's not hard sometimes. Clearly, Billy has communication problems, and life is always going to be difficult for someone who has difficulty communicating what they're thinking. (But he'll be in good company with most men on the planet in that respect.)

Billy has difficulty responding to or asking questions. He confuses pronouns. But he can remember verbatim a story or TV show he hasn't seen for months. He easily picks up phrases in any number of languages; he can now count and say the alphabet in Spanish, French, German, Japanese and Hebrew.

Socially, he's about a year and a half behind his peers. He's learning how to share, greet people, join a game. That may always be a challenge, on some level, for him.

But he's loving and funny and charming. He's just as devoted to his family and friends -- and even almost-strangers (like the school crossing guard) who might not realize their impact on him – as any normally developing child.

And he's happy. We all are. We're not just surviving; we're thriving. Some days we're happier than others – but then again, so are most families. Happiness is a spectrum, just like autism. So is intelligence. So is fulfillment. And acceptance and understanding. "Normal” is most definitely a spectrum.

We're a long way from Billy attending Oxford, but we are approaching the end of his first of week of Pre-Kindergarten at Buck Lake Elementary. It's been a great start to an important year for us. We'll be watching his development and behavior – and the classroom dynamic -- closely to determine whether another year in the public school system makes sense – or if we should start pursuing other options. So far, we're cautiously optimistic that there's a place for Billy's unique brain in the Leon County School system.

A unique brain. Maybe that's what the world needs – or will need – to solve big problems like cancer and AIDS and world hunger and global warming. Maybe hard work and intelligence alone won't be enough. It'll maybe take someone who can see patterns and make connections that a “normal” brain would never make.

I'm not saying that autistic people are going to cure cancer. Or that the only valuable autistic people are those savants who bring some super-skill to the table. All people are valuable. We are each truly unique and special. And we are all on a spectrum.