The other day I sat down with a book—look, it’s a lockdown, there’s a lot of sitting down with books going on—in this case, Chasten Buttigieg’s I Have Something to Tell You.
I feel like this book provided me with a lot of things, not the least a burning curiosity about Wisconsin.
Mostly I was amazed at how much this book instantly resonated with me, who was once a terribly confused autistic child who had never even heard of autism. I’ve never been able to experience that kind of feedback loop before; it was unexpected. Chasten Buttigieg’s description of his own journey, the feeling of not-belonging, of feeling different, of knowing this being different was considered wrong somehow, immediately clicked with me, however different the reason. This book showed me a kid (I’m past 40 now, I get to call 18-year olds “kids”) struggling to make sense of himself in this world, and the thought of someone seeking to hurt that kid was utterly repulsive.
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