Quirky is one way to describe my son. When he was just a year old, he developed an unusual attachment to his puffy snow boots. He wore them relentlessly throughout 2009, even during the sweltering summer months, paired with shorts and no socks. Let me tell you, those little feet were the smelliest baby feet I’ve ever encountered.
After the snow boots, he transitioned to a pair of fireman rain boots that our neighbor generously gifted him. He took immense pride in his rain gear, relishing the chance to splash around in puddles between the ages of 2 and 3. His unique quirks didn’t stop with fashion; they showed up in other unexpected ways too.
One day, I opened his toy box to find it nearly empty. It took me days to realize that he had stuffed all his toys into various backpacks, which he insisted on lugging everywhere—even falling asleep on the floor with them strapped to his back. To this day, he has a knack for artfully packing bags.
As he grew older, his quirks took a different turn. When he fell ill, the charming little habits he once exhibited morphed into compulsive behaviors that he felt compelled to perform. This is a glimpse into what childhood OCD can feel like. His mind was filled with insistent nudges, demanding attention, and the need to complete certain tasks. While it brought him some relief, it also introduced a level of anxiety: “Did anyone see that? I hope not! What if they laugh at me?”
His OCD is compounded by a tic disorder, resulting in repetitive movements and sounds—everything from eye blinking to throat clearing. When overwhelmed, he becomes more self-conscious, torn between embracing his uniqueness and fearing how others may perceive him. While he enjoys being different in a positive light, the prospect of being viewed as “different-bad” weighs heavily on him.
Recently, he has shown great progress in managing his disorder. I dislike referring to it as a “disorder,” as it feels negative, yet it undeniably shapes who he is. Thanks to his weekly sessions with a cognitive behavioral therapist and a series of life changes, he has become more adept at handling his challenges. It’s a complicated cycle—beautiful yet vicious—that I wish he could escape, but I also cherish being part of his journey.
Sure, we experience tough days, but we also have incredible ones. In those moments, I realize that his uniqueness is the kind that everyone should aspire to embrace. He’s more attuned to fears that other kids might overlook—like concerns about mortality and the world’s issues. His acceptance of things that others question, his open affection, and his unfiltered honesty make him both endearing and genuine.
Last week, he began second grade. On the second day, he came downstairs sporting his shirt inside out and backward, which led to an amusing exchange:
Me: “Oh, so you’re doing that? I didn’t realize it was a school thing too.”
Him: “Yeah, I like it this way.”
Me: “Just so you know, you’ll probably get a lot of questions.”
Him: “Maybe, but I think it will be fine.”
When he returned home, he’d changed his shirt—still inside out, but no longer backward.
Me: “Oh, you changed?”
Him: “I got tired of being questioned. They thought I was confused, but really, it was them.”
He gets it—he understands himself, while others struggle to keep up. He’s the one who disrupts the norm, the one who dares to be different. His vibrant personality, enhanced by his quirks, makes him fascinating and, quite frankly, cool.
Then there are the socks. They have never matched—except for a brief period when he was a baby and during a time in kindergarten when I tried to exert some control as my kids were growing independent. He would unfold the pairs I had made and purposefully choose mismatched ones. Eventually, he began scavenging through the laundry for any two socks, disregarding color, shape, or even ownership. Lately, he’s become more intentional; at least one needs to be tall, and patterns or bright colors are preferred—white socks are just too boring for him.
His sock choices have turned into a little phenomenon. Other parents have approached me, thanking me for easing their laundry burdens since their kids now prefer mismatched socks too. You’re welcome, but the credit goes entirely to him.
Curious, I once asked him about his sock philosophy.
Me: “So, what’s the deal with the socks?”
Him: “They don’t match.”
Me: “I know that, but why?”
Him: “Because everything in life doesn’t need to be exactly perfect. It’s okay for things to be different. Different is interesting, and I want an interesting life. Plus, I can never find the matches anyway.”
And just like that, I was in tears. I feel so fortunate to have this incredible soul in my life. I often ponder why he came to me. There’s an exhilarating mix of fear and joy that fills me each day.
I asked him again,
Me: “I’m so happy you chose me as your mom.”
Him: “I didn’t. God sent me because He knew we’d be good together.”
Can’t argue with that.
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Summary:
In a heartfelt reflection on parenting, Jessica Harper shares the journey of raising her uniquely quirky son, who navigates the challenges of OCD and a tic disorder. Through his distinctive choices, like mismatched socks and wearing shirts inside out, he teaches important lessons about embracing differences and living authentically. The bond they share is filled with both struggles and joys, highlighting the beauty in being unique.
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