My son on my lap, and the tree, all a-light,
I pondered the Grinch at holiday time,
Hating the noise, the singing, the standing in line.
The Dr. (Seuss) said he saw no reason for it….
His head, or his heart? His shoes, or their fit?
It sounded familiar, this dilemma to me,
Then it came to me suddenly—he’s got SPD!
I saw it so clearly, as nothing before,
Hiding up on the mountain, behind his closed door.
It made so much sense, his ears that were ringing,
His disgust with the Beast, and for all the Who’s singing.
He wasn’t really stealing, what he filled in his pack,
He was just trying to contain what he couldn’t hack.
While he surely wasn’t making all the best choices,
It’s the best he could do amongst all the voices!
“Do this.” “Do that.” “Go here.” “Go there.”
“Big smile. Now sit still in your chair!”
Grandmother’s perfume. Granddaddy’s cologne.
Having to wear itchy clothing, and talk on the phone.
January, February, March, and the rest….
They know what to do. They’ve passed all the tests.
Then come Octobers…Novembers…December.
And all the routines get put in a blender.
Costumes, and crowds, adult expectations,
Lacking a schedule on family vacations.
The moral of this yule tale is a cinch,
There’s more than meets the eye to this Grinch.
So what he actually learned
On the mountain that day,
That helped him feel able
To come to Who-ville and play,
Is to take Christmas joy
In short, manageable doses.
A little bit at a time,
Like the O.T. proposes.
So happy holiday time—
To each, every one.
Remember there’s always more than
One way to have fun.