Quirky is probably the best way to describe my son, Max. From the age of one, he formed an unbreakable bond with a pair of fluffy snow boots, wearing them throughout 2009—even during the summer, paired with shorts and no socks. The smell of his tiny feet was something else entirely, a reminder of his stubbornness.
He soon transitioned to a pair of fireman rain boots that a neighbor gifted him. Max took immense pride in being prepared for rainy days, relishing every opportunity to jump in puddles from ages two to three. But his quirks extended beyond his footwear choices.
One day, I opened his toy box and was startled to see it nearly empty. It took me a while to discover that he had meticulously packed his toys into various backpacks, which he insisted on carrying everywhere, even falling asleep with them strapped to his back. To this day, he still enjoys an artfully packed bag.
However, when Max got sick, his quirks developed into a more serious condition. The cute little habits he once had transformed into compulsions that he felt compelled to act upon—this is what childhood OCD feels like. He would constantly battle with thoughts that demanded to be addressed, leading to a flurry of anxiety and worry about being judged by others.
Alongside OCD, he also grapples with a tic disorder, which manifests in various repetitive movements and sounds, from eye blinks to throat clearing. When overwhelmed, his concern about others noticing these behaviors grows. He embraces being different in a positive way but fears being seen as “different-bad.” Thankfully, he has made significant progress in managing his condition, largely thanks to weekly sessions with his cognitive behavior therapist and various life changes.
While we still face tough days, we also experience wonderfully joyful moments. I am continually amazed by how his unique perspective allows him to ponder issues like death and the world’s problems that many kids his age overlook. His ability to express affection openly, combined with his honesty, makes him both charming and relatable.
Just last week, Max started second grade. On the second day, he came downstairs wearing his shirt inside out and backwards. This sparked a lighthearted conversation between us:
Me: “Oh, so you’re doing that? I didn’t realize it was a school trend.”
Him: “Yeah, I like it this way.”
Me: “You know you might get a lot of questions?”
Him: “Maybe, but I think it will be fine.”
When he returned home, he had changed his shirt—still inside out, but no longer backwards.
Me: “Oh, you changed?”
Him: “I got tired of being questioned. They thought I was confused, but really, it was them.”
Max understands himself better than anyone else does, and he has come to terms with being the one who breaks the mold. His differences intrigue those around him, and his vibrant personality, filled with unique quirks, makes him truly special.
Let’s talk about his socks. They’ve never matched—except for a brief period in kindergarten when I was desperate to control something in my life. Max would unfold the matching pairs I created and deliberately choose two mismatched socks. Eventually, he’d simply rummage through the laundry, picking two random socks without regard for color or pattern. Lately, he has become a bit more intentional; at least one sock must be tall, preferably patterned or bright, and white socks are a definite no-go.
This trend has become so popular that other moms have thanked me for easing their laundry burdens since their kids now refuse to wear matching socks. You’re welcome—but it’s all thanks to Max.
Curious, I asked him about his sock philosophy.
Me: “So, what’s the deal with your socks?”
Him: “They don’t match.”
Me: “I get that, but why?”
Him: “Because everything in life doesn’t need to be exactly perfect. It’s ok for things to be different. Different is interesting, and I want an interesting life. Plus, I can never find the matches anyway.”
His words brought tears to my eyes. I feel incredibly fortunate to have this remarkable soul in my life.
Me: “I’m so happy you chose me as your mom.”
Him: “I didn’t choose. God sent me because He knew we’d be good together.”
I can’t argue with that.
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In summary, parenting a uniquely spirited child like Max is a journey filled with challenges and beautiful moments. His quirks make him stand out, and while we navigate the complexities of his condition, I am continuously reminded of how special his perspective on life is.