Born in 1955 Throughout most of my life I knew I was different, and though I’d always wondered why that was so, I’d never intensely searched for my answer. I simply referred to my character as having “pink monkey syndrome.” And then I heard of a very real syndrome that fit me like an old and comfortable jacket; Asperger’s Syndrome. I’d lived nearly sixty years before learning of Asperger’s Syndrome, and now there are various TV shows featuring an Asperger’s personality. In the show I watched, which was called, Asperger’s are Us (which I didn’t find too entertaining … they need someone like myself), and one character explained to someone that Asperger’s isn’t a disease; one doesn’t catch it and it doesn’t get worse over time. I’ve actually encountered such misconception. Though it is a form of autism spectra, and many autistic persons are in pretty bad shape, Asperger’s is different in that most of us are highly intelligent, which is somehow related to our brain wave patterns being different than a normal person’s. We do usually have, to some degree, various phobias and social anxieties. Many of us are originally self-diagnosed as the condition was very seldom discovered by doctors; yet, when I learned of Asperger’s, as usually happens, I knew it described me very intimately. I’ve since been recognized by doctors, as also is usual. I exhibit the two physical characteristics of an Aspie; sunken chest and somewhat double-jointed. I am the same person I’ve always been, I merely understand now why I am so different; a difference most of my friends thought was an affectation. And speaking of brain waves … It has been noted that the brains of normal people who smoked marijuana as teens differentiated from normal brain waves of individuals who didn’t smoke pot as teenagers. I imagine there aren’t any statistics for what I’m about to write. I wonder; in what way, if any, is the difference between what my teen Asperger’s brain waves were, and my post-pot-smoking self is, and/or was? The nice thing, from my personal perspective, is now I have a roadmap to what I can expect out of myself and how I can be patient with myself over the unusual things that I can’t help. Heck, when I sent Lilly an e-mail with my excitement over finally finding out what I, my father, two of my brothers, as well our children, are, though I cannot stress enough that it is merely a different kind of thinking, with its own plusses and detractors, Lilly sent me a return e-mail accusing me of polluting our children’s genes! The one who writes my story must have a broad sense of humor. This paragraph is for fun. Dr. Asperger, for whom the condition is named, did his observations on his “little professors” during the time of Nazi Germany. Originally, the story goes, he wanted to protect his little professors from the gas chambers, so he shelved his studies until after the war. I thought that story was so cool! Boy, was I flabbergasted to learn later that the observations of the condition were actually made by other scientists who weren’t mentioned in the final papers, and that good old Dr. Asperger actually put his signature on the orders sending some of his “little professors” to the nearest gas chambers. History is the cruelest of instructors … at least when it’s real. Happy trails … RichardRead more about this authorRead less about this author