Why God Made Me Autistic
Yecch. Pick the lint out already, pal.
And sometimes I find saccharine-sweet articles by parents who write that God chose them to raise a sweet, innocent little angel who probably will never hold a job or live independently, but whose existence will teach the world to show compassion toward those poor souls who are tragically abnormal.
They've fallen for the propaganda that anyone who has a disability label is a damaged second-class citizen with only limited ability to achieve. That's wrong. When you think about it, every human being has limitations of one sort or another. Nobody on the planet is above average in all possible measures of ability. Who gets called "normal" and who gets called "disabled" is purely arbitrary. Most of the restrictions on autistic people's opportunities are the result of stereotypes, discrimination, inadequate education, and lack of reasonable accommodations.
You want to know my take on why God, or whoever's in charge of the universe, made me autistic?
So that I could use my gifts of creative energy, determination, perseverance, perfectionism, sense of justice, ability to recognize cultural and historical patterns, and analytical and written language skills—to kick our prejudiced society's ass.