In the burbs: A mother of a six-year-old peanut allergy sufferer campaigns for a ban of peanut butter from Seymour, Connecticut, schools. Bringing peanut butter near this kid, concerned mother Lisa Searles says, is like pointing "a loaded gun" at Matthew (Republican-American, 4/7/07).

In the city the next day: The assistant rector of a large, multi-ethnic church invites all the children to participate in an egg hunt. "The eggs were donated, and we have no idea what's in them, so look and decide if you want you kids to eat what's in them," she says.

Spot the difference: Where the trees grow, rearrange reality to create the version of normal I would like to spoon-feed my son. Where the pavement grows, you are cordially invited to deal with life.

The story of the one-woman anti-peanut butter police force has been a topic of conversation since it appeared. A neighbor put the question, "Why should this boy be denied a normal social life over peanut butter? What's the big deal if nobody eats peanut butter?"

We might ask why one boy with an allergy should dictate the dietary habits of every other kid in the school. But there are bigger questions, ones this little boy whose mother says he is such a wreck "his nails are chewed down to nothing" might wonder aloud someday in his therapist's office.

That is, what's normal, and why is this illusion so important to his mother that she is making a spectacle of his allergy? What is the standard-issue social life of a six-year-old? Why is it so essential to his mother? Why not accept your little boy for who he is and make allowances for his needs?

Is it possible that more harm is done by fetishizing the allergy and inducing everyone around you to focus on it so that your kid is the "peanut allergy sufferer" rather than the little boy.

I used to substitute teach at Bethel Middle School, another little Connecticut burb. Very often I found myself filling in for the genius or the jailer--the special teachers of the exceptionally gifted (whatever that is) or the exceptionally uncooperative. The room for the latter was a far-flung interior classroom to which the miscreants were discharged when they did not behave in their regular classes. The children in both rooms were bright. The former had had more opportunities to do worthwhile things. The latter were prescribed Ritalin. I got these kids just before the next pill, it seemed.

Among both sets of would-be scholars, I would read E.B. White's Stuart Little. This is a fun, sensitive, beautiful book about being very different but going on ahead and being yourself. Stuart turns his world on its head just by being Stuart. Stuart's not hung up on his being a mouse. That boy is just doing his thing. In fact, being a mouse becomes an asset. Stuart is ingenious--kids, whatever way you label them, get that.