You know that feeling when you're watching a movie and the perspective suddenly shifts, making the hero look like the villain? Or when you realize the person you've been pitying actually has a much cooler life than you? That's exactly what happens when you open Why Johnny Doesn't Flap: NT is OK!.
It’s a kid's book. But honestly? It’s a bit of a psychological gut-punch for adults too.
Basically, the book is written by Clay and Gail Morton, and it does something brilliant. It flips the entire script on how we talk about autism. Instead of an "expert" or a "normal" kid explaining why an autistic child acts "weird," we get an autistic narrator who is genuinely worried about his friend Johnny. See, Johnny is neurotypical (NT).
And in our narrator's world, being neurotypical is the thing that needs explaining. It’s the "disability."
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The Bizarre World of the "Normal" Kid
In the story, our narrator is incredibly patient with Johnny. He’s empathetic. He’s kind. He’s basically doing all the emotional labor that neurodivergent people are forced to do every single day in the real world.
He notices that Johnny doesn't flap. When Johnny gets excited, he just... sits there. Or maybe he smiles. To the narrator, this is a bit concerning. Why wouldn't you move your body to express joy? It seems repressed. It seems wrong.
But the narrator's mom—who is clearly the MVP of this book—steps in with a classic line: "Mom says that everyone's brain is different, and different isn't always wrong."
It’s a line we’ve heard a thousand times in "special needs" classrooms, but here, it’s being used to defend the kid who doesn't have a diagnosis. The irony is delicious. It's droll. It's deeply smart.
Why Johnny Doesn't Flap and the Problem with "Normal"
Most of us grow up with this invisible yardstick. We measure everyone against "The Norm."
If you make eye contact, you're "normal." If you arrive at 4:00 PM for a 4:00 PM party, you're "on time." But the book tears this apart. Johnny is "hopeless when it comes to punctuality." He might show up at 3:58 or 4:03. To the narrator, who lives by a precise internal clock, this is a glaring deficit.
Think about that for a second. We spend so much time trying to "fix" autistic kids—teaching them to make eye contact even if it hurts, or forcing them to stop "stimming" (like flapping)—that we forget these behaviors are often just as logical as ours. Or even more so.
The authors, Clay and Gail Morton, aren't just writing a cute story. They’re academics and parents to an autistic son. They know the "intervention" world inside out. They've seen the therapy sessions where kids are taught to be "social" and "flexible."
The Myth of the "Social" Obsession
One of the funniest parts of the book is when the narrator describes Johnny’s social life. He says Johnny is maybe a little too obsessed with being social.
Johnny always wants to play with other kids. He doesn't have a specific, deep passion—like hydraulic forklifts or World War II. He just sort of... drifts. To the narrator, this looks like a lack of focus. It looks like Johnny doesn't have a "topic" he knows everything about.
It makes you wonder: why do we value "small talk" over "deep knowledge"? Why is a kid who can name every part of a crane considered "impaired," while a kid who just wants to "hang out" is considered the gold standard of development?
The Genius of the "Note for Parents"
If you pick up a copy, don't skip the back of the book. The Mortons include a "Note for Parents" that stays perfectly in character.
It informs the reader that as many as 67 in 68 children may be neurotypical. It suggests that if your child doesn't have an "NT" kid in their life, they probably will soon, so it's important to teach them tolerance.
It’s a parody of the clinical language found in every "How to Talk to Your Child About Autism" pamphlet ever written. It’s a middle finger to the pathologization of difference, delivered with a polite, academic smile.
Does it actually work for kids?
You might be thinking, "Will my 6-year-old get the satire?"
Probably not. At least, not the meta-commentary part.
But that's actually why it works. For an autistic child, seeing a protagonist who thinks they are the benchmark for "normal" is incredibly empowering. It validates their internal reality. For a neurotypical child, it’s a healthy dose of humility. It makes them realize that their "normal" habits—like staring into people's eyes (which the narrator finds a bit creepy)—might actually be uncomfortable for others.
Alex Merry’s illustrations help here. They’re a bit flat, a bit muted. Some critics say they look a little "bland," but they're actually designed to be easy for autistic readers to decode. No overwhelming visual noise. Just the facts.
Beyond the Book: Real World Impact
We live in a world designed for "Johnnys."
Schools are built for people who can sit still, handle bright fluorescent lights, and navigate "cryptic idioms" (another thing the narrator finds confusing about Johnny). When we talk about neurodiversity, we often frame it as "including" people who are different.
But Why Johnny Doesn't Flap asks us to do something harder: it asks us to question why we think we're the ones who get to do the "including" in the first place.
If you're a teacher, a parent, or just someone who interacts with humans, this perspective shift is vital. We have to stop seeing autism as a "broken" version of "normal." It’s just a different operating system.
Honestly, the "NT" world is pretty weird when you look at it from the outside. We say "break a leg" when we mean "good luck." We get offended if someone doesn't look at our eyeballs while we're talking. We value "fitting in" over being authentic.
Who's really the "odd" one there?
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Actionable Insights for a Neuro-Affirming Life
If this book teaches us anything, it’s that we need to change how we show up for the people around us.
- Audit your language: Stop saying things like "despite their autism" or "suffers from." Use "neuro-affirming" language that respects the person’s actual experience.
- Respect the "flap": If someone is stimming, they're regulating their nervous system. Don't stare. Don't try to stop them. It’s their version of Johnny’s (lack of) movement.
- Check your "NT" bias: The next time you're annoyed that someone is "too blunt" or "too obsessed" with a topic, ask yourself if they're actually doing anything wrong, or if they're just not following your specific, unwritten social script.
- Read the book with your kids: But don't just read it. Talk about it. Ask them what they think is weird about how "normal" people act. You'll be surprised by the answers.
Next time you see a kid who isn't "flapping," or who is "too social," or who speaks in "puzzling idioms," just remember: it's okay. Being neurotypical is just another way to be human. Different isn't always wrong.
To truly embrace the message of the book, start by observing your own "neurotypical quirks" this week. Pay attention to how often you use idioms that don't actually make sense, or how much energy you spend on eye contact. Recognize that your way of experiencing the world is just one of many, and that the "Johnnys" of the world are just as much a part of the neurodiverse spectrum as anyone else.