Think Different

Whenever I talk about my son, I always sing his praises and celebrate his unique genius.What I don’t mention is his disability and the struggle he’s endured just to make it through.

He was bright at birth and observing him as he developed, I noticed he had a gift for grasping lateral concepts. He also had a photographic memory and could replicate images from memory. What I didn’t know that he was listening closely, really closely, to every piece of music I played. From African Jazz to Brazilian Samba. Mozart to Jacques Loussier.

We are immigrants and we endured several traumatic disruptions. He spent his earliest pre school years in the US. We moved to Canada and returned to the US after three years.

Despite the disruption, he was socially adroit, made friends easily and took pride in his ability to get along with others.His struggles began in middle school. He was a very social person and struggled to make friends. As immigrants we were virtual outcasts and kids at his school generally only socialized with the kids from families they knew and grew up with.

The isolation hurt him.

At the same time, we noticed he was struggling with attention issues at school. Something was wrong. He was no longer one of the popular kids. He was an artist and he loved music. He was different and in the US school system, ‘different’ is not tolerated.Not by the system or the students.

One day, he came home with a poem he’d written about being different. He didn’t understand why people didn’t accept others who were different. Why people didn’t accept kids who didn’t play sport.

I read the poem and paid it no mind. A few days later, I received an urgent call at work saying  that my son was attempting to commit suicide. Something had set him off and he was found outside in the playground beating his head against a tree.

It was a Friday and so we had a weekend that was raw with emotion. Sunday night came and as a special treat we agreed that he could stay up to watch the television premier of the movie  Toy Story. We sat and watched together and during the commercial breaks I got  up to clean the kitchen after dinner.  A commercial came on. I missed it.

During the next break, the same commercial came on. This time I was sitting with my son on the couch. It was a commercial that would relaunch Apple as a company.

Here’s to the crazy ones.

The misfits

The rebels

The troublemakers

The round pegs in the square holes

The ones who see things differently

They’re not fond of rules

And they have no respect for the status quo

You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify

Or vilify them.

But the only thing you can’t do is ignore them.

Because they change things.

They push the human race forward.

And while some may see them as the crazy ones,

We see genius.

Because the people who are crazy enough

to think they can change the world

are the ones who do.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4oAB83Z1ydE

We watched entranced. At then end my son turned to me, tugged my sleeve and looked at me. “ I guess I’m okay then.” He said. I was overcome with emotion. Even as I retell this, I feel moved.

The next day I penned an email and sent it to the ad agency responsible for the commercial. I shared this story with them (without revealing my son’s name.)

A few days later a guy called Lee Clow sent my son a letter. The letter said,

Dear Joe,

I was  different when I was a kid and I turned out okay.

Steve Jobs was different too.

Think different.

Unbeknownst to me, the Creative Director shared the letter with the entire company.70,000 people throughout the world. He also showed it to Steve Jobs. Steve Jobs cried. From that day on I believe that my son truly felt comfortable in his own skin and secure in his mission to think different.