Can I make a confession? I don’t like tea. I don’t care if that somehow makes me less southern, I just never liked it. Trust me, I tried to but it wouldn’t stick. So if I hate tea, why is that all I drink? What does that have to do with autism? As it turns out, everything.

I have a five-year-old brother. He was diagnosed with autism at age four, but the doctor told us of her suspicions long before that. For this reason, he hasn’t really learned to talk. He’s certainly made strides in the past couple years, but he’s still only up to handful of words mixed in with a lot of sounds I can’t understand. One word he can say clear as day: tea. We don’t know why this is; no one in our house drinks tea, but he calls every drink “tea” no matter what we tell him. It used to all be “juice”, but one day he just changed it. We don’t know why he did that, either.

Honestly, with autism, I’ve learned that there will be a lot things I don’t know. I’m learning to accept that. I find that it helps to focus on what I do know. I know that my baby brother, for whatever reason, is autistic. I know that he experiences the world much differently than I do. I know that the drink in my hand right now is water, and I know that my brother’s world will be sent into a tailspin if I try to tell him it is anything other than tea.

I don’t usually like pieces like this: works that describe what autism is like by people who don’t actually have it. Too often, those kinds of testimonials turn out looking like pity parties. I don’t want this article to be like that. I’m not writing this so that someone will for sorry for me, there is nothing to feel sorry for. I’m writing this because my brother can’t.

When my brother has tantrums, I try not to get irritated with him. I try to imagine living in a world where I cannot communicate with those around me, it seems terrifying and frustrating. I don’t blame him, I would throw tantrums too. I try not to say things like “he’s getting better," because I don’t think autism is something that needs to be cured. It’s not that he is sick, only that he is different, and that’s not a bad thing. Instead, I say that he is learning. It’s true; he works tirelessly to learn these unspoken rules we all live by and this mysterious language we all use to communicate with.

I’m learning as well. Every day I try to understand him like he tries to understand me. I’m trying to understand the rules of this seemingly silent world he lives in. Maybe one day I’ll meet him half way. Until then, I’m content with only ever drinking tea.