The Depressing Effects of a Single Story

Flaws: a letter to a girl with Aspergers

Last year

you were there, too, although

no one really noticed you,

or saw who you truly were.

Not even me.

Even though deep down we were all the same, 

we just couldn’t connect. 

My class probably tormented you.

They saw you as an ugly, imperfect human

who couldn’t act appropriately

or do anything “normal.”

They failed to see

the beauty, brains 

and the wisdom buried underneath.

Me too.

But I am beginning to understand

why you reacted that way

and how you saw the world.

I understand your crazy obsessions

and your drawings.

I am becoming a better and wiser human being.

So I dedicate this poem to you,

in exchange for your forgiveness.

In retrospect, I am afraid this poem is written because of the single story I had of people with Aspergers, or for that matter Autism.

In 7th and 8th grade, in my tiny class of 15 kids, there was one girl who had Aspergers. Going along with everyone else's reactions, I was disgusted by her. Only towards the end of eighth grade did I notice that there was something behind her Aspergers that made her more human than I realized. In 9th grade, I wrote a poem about it in my journal one day. And now, in 10th grade, I look back and see the danger of the single story: the story of most, if not all Autistic people. I don't believe I need to explain myself any further.