Don’t be Daft

I used to complain about sunlight.
“Dad, it hurts my eyes,” I’d say.
“Don’t be daft,” was his reply,
“Enjoy the sunny day.”

When cold, my fingers would turn white,
All circulation gone.
“Don’t be daft, we’re all the same,
Now stop your whining, son.”

I’m daft because of foody fads—
I can’t swallow if it’s slimy.
I’m daft because I interrupt
The programmes on the telly.

I’d leave the room to be alone;
They’d call me antisocial.
When they’re the ones who wouldn’t speak
To me at my disposal.

But when they told me I’m autistic,
A gentler truth came into play.
I learned there are others just like me,
I know I’m not daft today.