I always knew my parents operated on a different wavelength than most.

For one, they are both exceptionally smart. My mother is a former mathematician, who studied the various levels of infinity as part of her master’s thesis. My father is a computer programmer who, at 17 years old, was one of the youngest people to ever be able to communicate with ships in morse code. They met at a party for members of Mensa, a club for the highly intelligent.

But their gifts have come with challenges. My dad struggles with eye contact and can become easily overwhelmed in social settings, where emotion and nuance can short-circuit his systems. My mother has difficulty with executive function, and finds it tough to stay neat and organized. Regulating their emotions and reading social cues don’t come easily to either of them.

My father was first diagnosed with what was then known as Asperger’s syndrome in his 20s. My mother has never been officially diagnosed as autistic, but identifies as such. When I was a child desperately wanting to fit in with others, I found their neurodivergence to be embarrassing. I wanted what I thought other kids had: parents who got them to school on time, who didn’t have unpredictable, emotional flare-ups or constantly messy homes.

Now as an adult, living in a time when neurodivergence is more openly discussed and understood, I’ve come to see their quirks not as flaws but as unique features of who they are. I’ll call my mom when I’m struggling across a tricky math problem, knowing she’ll light up with excitement at the opportunity to assist me with her expertise. I love watching my dad pour himself into his ham radio community, where friendships are forged without the pressure of eye contact.

That’s why, when I first heard RFK Jr vow to the

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