But the way he walked across that same stage wearing that robe was far different than when I did one year earlier. For me, it was the final steps of a long, long journey. I finally was getting out of Oakland County and this was the proof, the diploma in my hand. But my brother seemed to levitate and just float across the stage. His feet didn’t even seem to touch the ground.

Where I saw an end, my brother saw a beginning.

There was a new life to be lived for my brother. One without expectations or judgments, predispositions or teenage cruelty.

He had his diploma in his hand and he was headed to college, a real four-year university.

That was the happiest day of my life, and maybe it’s not clear why. But if you knew my brother has Asperger Syndrome, a mild form of autism, would you understand?

April is Autism Awareness Month, yet few people are aware that autism has many forms. Even fewer know it is the fastest-growing developmental disability, with 10 to 17 percent annual growth. And how many people know that in 10 years, the annual cost to combat autism will be between $200 billion and $400 billion?

What no one knows is how to cure autism. But it’s time people learned how common this disability is not only in America but the world at large.

It is important that this generation take autism seriously, as the disability is rapidly on the rise. And for people who make fun of autism or use the word “autistic” in a derogatory manner, it could be your children who have autism.

My brother was never expected to go to college when he was younger. Maybe a trade school or community college, but the idea of living alone and going to a four-year university wasn’t even a thought.

Through early childhood education about his disability, though, he was able to shatter those expectations. I can’t give enough credit to my parents, who devoured every book on autism they could find to help my family understand my brother’s disability.

It feels odd to write “disability,” though. If you met my brother, you’d never know he had a “disability.” I never think he does anyway, and I have no reason to do so. He was in classes with all the other students in high school, hung out with all my friends and did all the things I do.

Still, though, he was picked on because people knew this word — autism — didn’t apply to them. And that made my brother different. That made my brother a target.

He was teased and ridiculed growing up, and that experience caused me to grow up much faster than I planned.

What is a fifth-grader supposed to say when kids come up to them saying, “Your brother, he’s really weird. Did you know that?”

No, I didn’t. He’s perfectly normal, just as anyone with autism or any other developmental disability is normal. It’s the people who point out flaws or differences who are abnormal — those are the people who deserve ridicule.

My younger brother is my role model for what he went through and for what he has overcome. No child should have to come home crying after school for five straight years, to yell at God for making him different, to question his place in the world.

But then there are people who use the word “autistic” so freely as an insult to describe someone’s level of intelligence.

Hopefully people have seen “Rain Man,” the 1988 film that earned Dustin Hoffman the Academy Award for Best Actor in a Leading Role, in which portrayed an autistic savant, a person who possesses amazing skills that most people do not have. The character Hoffman played was not some creation of the writer’s imagination. He was based on real people.

And those real-life examples are becoming more common now as autism numbers increase. But people with autism are no different than you or me. People with autism are our family members, co-workers, classmates and friends — but they’re people, first and foremost.

It’s time to be aware of that.

Zack Colman is the State News opinion writer. Reach him at colmanz1@msu.edu.