The Best Kind of Different: Our Family's Journey With Asperger's Syndrome Read Online Free PDF

dignity—while their minds remain intact. We were both so affected by his story and his struggle, we desperately wanted to do something. A great woman named Ellyn Phillips, president of the ALS Association, offered us the opportunity to spread the word as spokespeople, an offer we happily accepted.
    That was also the year Curt began to establish his reputation as a “big game pitcher.” I have so many memories of that year, on and off the field—going to the playoffs, watching my husband break a National League Championship Series record by striking out the first five batters of the game, hearing my heart pound like a hammer, all because of this energy he created.
    Ironically, I almost didn’t get to see some of the most exciting moments. The wives weren’t officially allowed on the road, in hotel bars, or anywhere that might be considered the players’ space. The team leaders of that early 1990s Phillies team were a selfdescribed “Macho Row,” who stayed out late after games and, in my opinion, showed no respect for their wives. If a young player like Curt didn’t do what they did, he’d find himself the target of their immature behavior. (I could write a book about those guys alone. All I can say is that karma is a tough thing, and in the end, they all got what they deserved.)
    Curt didn’t want any part of that, and he had a saving grace: He could handle their making fun of him, because the bottom line was that they wanted him to have the ball in their most important games. There was a game in Pittsburgh—the final game, when Philly would clinch the National League East pennant. One of the veteran wives said to us younger women, “You get in your car and go.”
    “But we’re not allowed,” I said.
    “Well, I’m going and so are some others,” she insisted. “You don’t know if you’ll ever get this close to a World Series again. You want to see this!”

    She had a point. To sit through all those home games and then not be allowed to watch the most important moments in person? Not be allowed to celebrate? Sure enough, I got in my car and I went. We won the National League East that night. We were going to the playoffs. It would be eight years before we went to another postseason, so I’m especially glad I went.
    I say “we” went to the World Series because when you’re married to a baseball player, it’s as if you’ve both been hired by the team. It’s kind of like when a couple says, “We’re pregnant,” when it’s obvious who’s carrying that baby. It still belongs to both of them, the same way the baseball life belonged to both of us. Often I’ll say that “we” were traded, or that “we” were on this team or that team. That’s what you say when you’re a baseball wife. As a wife you may not be on the payroll, but you’re the one who takes care of everything in life that your husband can’t do—be it packing or parenting. Very few professional athletes’ marriages work any differently.
    In Philly, it wasn’t easy being a rookie wife. It was a very veteran team, with players who’d been there a long time. Back then, that was more common on many teams. The wives were no different. In the same way the rookie players had to earn their way up the ladder, the wives did as well, and often there was more hostility in the stands than in the clubhouse. That’s one of the hardest things about being a baseball wife. You find yourself in new cities, whether just for a short while or for a few years, and you know no one. As if that’s not hard enough, the other wives are reluctant to bond too strongly with new women—especially women who are just the players’ girlfriends—because you never know when your men will get traded. And you also never know when the women will get traded for younger models. It’s very hard to get close to a woman and become really good friends and then see her gone the next season.
    But by the 1994 season, a whole new wave of young players had come in,