I got to know about my “special” condition one summer evening. At 8 years old. I was often sad because I felt different: the world was a movie, a difficult day, a fast carousel I couldn’t get on. In the evening, I saw the other members of the family interacting with each other and I felt lost.

I remember that I cried. Mom tried to console me. Suddenly I asked: “Mom, what’s wrong with me?” She understood that the time had come to explain autism and to tell me that there are others who are like me. She hugged me, cuddled me and assured me that I was loved as I was.

I was not alone: many in the world were living my experience and my family was here to face everything with me. The words of explanation were simple, and affectionate and I felt unburdened and treated as an adult.

Here indeed was my experience! The anguish could now be contained, and slowly I began to take courage. I could wage my battle as the main character of a unique story because I was different from others. I don’t know much about adoptions: I have an adopted cousin, but she has always known that she was adopted.

I believe that a parent needs much love and great courage to tell a child his or her unique history. Love too means taking risks. It will not be easy to know when will be the right moment and to choose the right words, but the truth sets us free and gives us strength. As in the case of a child with autism, even an adopted child can become the central character of a special existence.

Federico de Rosa