On Being Weird

My SuperSam:

First, let me just remind you I think you're awesome. I've only known you a little over six years but I'm gonna go ahead and make a prediction: you will always be one of the coolest human beings I ever meet.

There's just a ton that makes you cool - you love riding your bike, you like to read, you're a self-taught piano playin' maniac. You love your stories. You ask hard questions. You are brilliant and wise and frankly, just not the average six-year-old boy. You say what you think and aren't afraid of your feelings.

So, here's my worry: right now, you don't know that some of the things you love might one day be mocked and ridiculed as weird. Because right now, you have a very unhampered view of yourself and you like who you really are. You think you're as awesome as I do.

The other day, the neighbor boy asked me why you like playing your piano so much.

"Where's the little boy?" He never remembers your name.
"Sam is inside. He's playing his piano right now. You can go in if you want to." I half-laugh as he stares like I've just spoken a foreign language.
"Why does he do that so much?" He was so sweet and confused.
And I thought for a moment and said "He just likes it a lot, you know? Do you have things you just love to do?" He didn't even skip a beat.
"Not really," He smirked as he turned on his scooter. "He's a little different than me, you know."

Now, I have to tell you, Sam, you're incredible, and I love you, but this kid is the epitome of cool. Even at five. He's daring and athletic, and I know he'll grow up to be a real charmer. He will determine the cool of any school. He will have a following. He will be incredibly popular. Even now, all the kids on the street (including you, even when he calls you "the boy") want to play with him whenever he opens his front door. He's a cool kid. There's nothing wrong with that.

But he doesn't understand you. And right now, he's five and he doesn't mock because maybe he hasn't learned that being different is this really isolating thing and maybe he'll never think that way, but maybe he will.

And that scares me so much. Because I don't want you to ever lose or hide or feel ashamed about your weird. Your weird makes you wake up at dawn and practice your keyboard for an hour before anyone else in the house is up. Your weird makes you ask really insightful questions like "If Santa isn't real, why should I believe this Jesus stuff?". Your weird makes you memorize entire scenes of Harry Potter so you can don a cape, flick your wand and yell "wingardium leviosa" at your sister's stuffed dolphin.

I know being strange or feeling different can make you wonder if you're the only one out there like you. I know sometimes you wonder why you don't think the same things your friends think or care about the things they care about. But I also know giving up these parts of yourself just to sit in a room with people and call them friends is not friendship at all. It's just a new form of isolation - where you become an observer - an inactive non-participant who still feels alone.

Do your old mom a big favor: be yourself and love it. Own your weird and your quirky parts along with your normal and even boring parts. Give yourself a chance to find people who love all of who you are and give them a space to let their weird out, too. You'll be so glad you did.