when kindred spirits meet.

Boredom took me to the bargain book table in the children’s section of Barnes & Noble today, but destiny led me to her: an Irish woman who was old enough to be my mother, also named 8741, who married outside her race (Arab) and works in a therapeutic school and who raised (and still is raising) her adult emotionally disturbed son.

As I combed through the shelves for a book about T783’s new favorite topic, Pinocchio, she warned me, “Be careful that he doesn’t get obsessed.”

That was a strange thing to say, I thought — a strange thing to say about my typical kid T783 but something right on the money to say about a kid like E-Niner.

Our conversation meandered from Pinocchio to the topic of race — how none of her kids look like her either — and then to special needs. “I think I’d like to adopt a child with special needs,” she said.

I’m sure I looked at her with a face that yelled out “Why the hell would you want to do that? You have no idea.” But my outside voice said, “Interesting you say that. My older son does have special needs — but not physical ones.”

And that’s where two kindred spirits collided.

“Do you walk on eggshells around him?” she asked.

“I used to,” I said. “I could. But I don’t. Not anymore. I’ve decided that no matter how violent he gets, he needs to know that I am in charge.”

She looked impressed. I sounded impressive, but then added, “Though that doesn’t mean I don’t get absolutely frustrated and utterly exhausted. I’m not saying it’s fun or easy.”

“Oh, I know it’s not easy,” she said. “I work at a special needs school with all sorts of kids. In fact I’m here here today because one of the kids with autism knocked me on my butt and I can’t go back to work until my tailbone heals.”

She told me all about the school where she works — which could potentially be a place E-Niner could attend. She told me about the types of kids who go — many with physical disabilities, many others with emotional disturbances.

I explained to her that what is so difficult for me is that E-Niner’s issues are not apparent on first glance. He looks like a normal boy. When people treat him like a typical kid and he doesn’t respond in a typical way, people don’t get it. Sometimes they even get a little offended.

And then she started telling me about her son.

He was infatuated with The Little Mermaid when he was young — obsessed. He decided that he wanted to be a merboy and marry Ariel. His whole life became the The Little Mermaid movie, and everyone he encountered had a part. He pretended this story for three years.

I told her how my son has converted his family and environment to suit the Disney flick of the day — Chicken Little, Cars, Wall-E. How when he’s Wall-E, our house is “earth;” our car is the spaceship; how Joe is M-O (the robot that constantly cleans — a fitting analogy).

“I don’t want to alarm you,” she said, “but we came to find out my son is schizophrenic.”

And do you know what I said to her, totally off the cuff?

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not alarmed. We’ve been told that E-Niner has psychotic episodes. So that whole business is nothing new to me.” That is what my outside voice said.

My inside voice was all, “What the fuck you talking about, woman? Don’t worry? You’re not worried in the slightest that a whole slew of psychotherapists think your boy has psychotic episodes? Speaking of psychotic, what kind of psycho bookstore conversation are you having right now? ‘Can you hand me that 50 percent off Frosty the Snowman book, and did you find Seroquel or Risperdal more helpful anti-psychotic meds?’”

All the while, while my insides were freaking out, I realized that this woman has been in my shoes exactly. I’ll bet she’s freaked out hearing the things come out of her mouth before too. I’ll bet there was a time in her life when she’s told some random (and seemingly empathetic) stranger that her son had psychotic episodes, and later had trouble digesting it.

Here is a mother — finally someone — who I can relate to. I have been searching and searching for a person who’s been there, done that, and here I met her in the bargain section at Barnes & Noble. And not only does her adult son have special needs, but she works at a therapeutic school, and she’s had to deal with raising a multi-racial family.

I felt like she was me fast-forwarded thirty years. And look! She survived! And look again! She works in a therapeutic school — she still wants to help! And look some more! She wants to adopt a special needs child. Wants to. Even when her own schizophrenic son is living with her at home. Holy baloney, people survive what I’m going through!

I’ve seen the future. It ain’t so bad…and I have Destiny to thank for it.