In 1955, I gave birth to a child who "marched to a different drummer." I predicted then if he didn't shape up, he'd goose-step his way right into the unemployment line or the boys' industrial school.

As a child he wandered away from home to see parades...got his arm caught in a construction pipe...and figured out if he coughed on his brother's cupcake, he got an extra dessert.

He sold our canceled checks door to door, registered us for a free ham (and a visit from an encyclopedia salesman), made the first overseas phone call by direct dialing from a private home without directory assistance, and made history by catching a broken leg at camp.

In 1966, I wrote that parents are awed by genius, adjust to the average child, and are compassionate toward the slow learner.  But the child who stands apart and is none of these things only puzzles, confuses, and tries their patience.

They fear for the future of this rare, unpredictable child who is not only out of step with the world, but if there's a puddle or a pile in front of him...will step in it.
 What has happened to this child-turned-man whose destinyfilled me with apprehension?

He lost his billfold in the Grand Canyon, but the trip back to look for it "was worth it."  He forgot birthdays, but when he remembered, the gifts were warm and personal and melted your heart.  He set a record for having a tape deck installed and stolen within three hours, but held no malice.  He left his space maintainer in a sandwich he was reheating in the microwave oven, but paid for a new one with money from his paper route.  He borrowed the car and when the radiator boiled over, poured Orange Crush in it, but he was contrite.

His mail consists of brochures from causes and needs all over the world.  His desk is scattered with unpaid traffic tickets and his billfold holds three duplicate driver's licenses.  He runs his car on E, writes 35 checks a week, and has never bought a bottle of shampoo.

I have never heard him say, "I'm too busy to talk to you."  Never heard him complain, "The world is rotten."  Never known him to be intolerant.
 He dreams impractical dreams.  He tries the patience of Job.
 But with his childlike trust and his zest for living, who am I to say that the drummer he marches to will not take him to the stars?

   Reprinted with permission from AT WITS END by Erma Bombeck
        (©) Erma Bombeck
        Courtesy of Doubleday Publishers At Wits End ©1967