The Honest Truth About How I Feel About My Autistic Son

An evolution with my incredible family

Photo taken by my friend Patty. Used with her permission. My family: Andres is on the top row, tall and bearded. Diego is next to him, arms crossed

“What’s the funniest thing that has happened to you lately?” my sister Gabi asked a group of family members one evening. We had gathered at the big old porch of the Lillagaard, a bed and breakfast in Ocean Grove, New Jersey, where we spent three days of our family get-together this summer.

Seeing as our family name is Mini, I call these two weeks of jam-packed 24/7 family time the Minifest. At the Jersey shore, the Lilliguard instantly became our congregation point because it boasted the most spacious porch, and my father, who has a bad hip, stayed there.

Gabi’s nine-year-old son Marcelo (aka Marce) was the first to answer his mother’s question.

“At the beach today, there was a sign that said no diving. That’s funny cuz you can’t dive into the ocean. You just walk in.” There’s no telling what people find funny.

We debated Marce’s assertion at length, deciding that although there was no cliff to dive from on our stretch of beach, you could still break your neck if you’re in the water and dive down. A person could also get hurt if they dive into a wave and it slams them against the bottom. A couple of us could cite a relative of a friend’s friend who had been injured like this.