Who doesn't like men? Banshees, maybe.

The funeral rocked. As much as a funeral can rock. Everybody was on their best behavior. We remembered the good things about grandpa and nobody came to fisticuffs by the grave site, which was a very real concern for me. Although Niko, out of his element, spent the time doing his death metal scream on the other side of the cemetery with Dad and Luke while I bent my head and tried to look pious during the dedication.

Do any of you struggle with how much information to give out? When Niko was diagnosed with Williams, we had been living in the same area for a while, and he was a year old. So he was already established and it didn't seem to change any of our friend's perceptions of him. Or at least they were generous and gracious enough that we didn't pick up on it, if it did. Then we moved to this (insert colorful language of your choice here) city, and all of a sudden, for the first time, we had to say, "This is our son Niko and he has Williams." And people were taken back. What is this strange syndrome? Is that why your son simply cannot sit still? Is that why he throws back his head and howls like a banshee on crack? Do you believe in banshees? And how would a banshee get crack? The public must know.

I don't know how to address this at large family gatherings. (Williams, not banshees on crack.) It's always been easy because my side of the family doesn't gather so much, so it never came up. I've always been an open person. In my opinion, it's always easier if people know things because then they can be prepared enough to behave appropriately. Unlike, say, when people get a divorce and it's a huge secret and suddenly you get a verbal caning for asking them to remind their husband that he's singing in church next week. Yeah, some of you guys know what I'm talking about.

Uh...I mean, that's just a random example.

I don't want people to think that Niko's misbehaving, because he isn't. He's doing the best that he can. I want people to be sensitive to the fact that he processes thing differently. But I also don't want to be tottering around pointing at my son and saying, "Niko? Williams. Deletion of the elastin gene. Delayed and loud." Because that's just stupid.

Other funeral highlights: Pervy uncles that somehow found God, emo cousins that suddenly turned respectable, and questions about my outfit, which was a black, white, and gray dress with my 4 inch Red Stilettos of Death. My response? "Grandpa's dead. I'm not." Also, my great aunt blinking her big blue eyes at me innocently and asking if my husband likes men. "No, he's married to ME", I say, prompting a long debate with my brother about men we know who do actually like men, but are still married to women. One of our super enjoyable "Psychology major vs. Sociology major" rows. We put on gloves and boxed. Every argument had a thesis statement and was backed up by three points. Turns out she just meant, does he like men to, you know, play basketball with, and stuff. Oh.

Booya.