Just when you thought a brilliant young (autistic) man had resigned to his mother’s rules against swordplay, this crafty wordsmith strikes again!
My son. My precious, precious, manipulatively genius son. He’s a bit of a wordsmith, he knows words hold some sort of magical power over me and he is not hesitant in the slightest to wield that power against me for his own gain.
He knows how it thrills me each time he tells me he’s written something, he uses that to his advantage every now and again. As a matter of fact, he used the magical and mighty force of the written word against me just yesterday.
A small bit of background, for reference – My Matthew, the second of my four children, will be 24 years old next month. He is, technically, an adult. A superbly fantastic and monumentally (at times) challenging adult. He is autistic, beautifully so. And bright, obviously so.
One of his loves is weaponry, specifically swords, which he has spent a pretty penny on over…
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