Not only is April the time of year we celebrate Earth Day, it is also National Autism Awareness Month. Not knowing much about Autism or parenting a child with Autism, I asked Becca from Momicillin to share a little with us about her amazing 7yr old son Henry and his journey. - Shannan
My mother was a special education teacher for a few years back in the 70s. In fact, she taught in my elementary school. I'd see her take the kids from the “specials” room way down at the end of the hall, past the library, to the bathroom or to the lunchroom. The kids were labeled “Emotionally Disabled (ED)” or “Learning Disabled (LD)”. I never saw those kids in a classroom outside of their own.
Across the street from our school was an educational facility for adults with disabilities. Out on the playground, we'd see them walk to and from their school. Sometimes the kids threw rocks at them, and called them names.
Until my son was two years old, that was the extent of my awareness of people with disabilities. That sense of “otherness”: the kids down at the end of the hall, the adults who shuffled past our school with their heads down, no doubt hoping they wouldn't be verbally abused.
My son Henry is almost seven years old. He's in the first grade. He has autism, brown hair, and green eyes. He loves pizza, guacamole, and ice cream. He loves Elmo and swimming. On the scale of autism functioning, he is somewhere in the middle. His verbal skills are approximately that of a two-year old. We don't know if he'll ever speak well, but he's getting all the help we can give him: speech therapy, occupational therapy, a wonderful special ed program and lots of time with his “typical” peers in his first grade class.
He's not “other.” He's one of us.
And he's part of his class. A few times a week, one of his teachers sends me videos of circle time. In one video, a ball is passed back and forth between the kids. When it's Henry's turn, one of the girls next to him helps him grab the ball, gestures to him to roll it on, and then leans against him, holding his hand. In these videos, there's always at least one girl holding Henry's hand. (The ladies love Henry!)
Each week his classmates take turns being Henry's “buddy”. It's the buddy's job to push Henry in the swing in the motor room, read him books, and just hang out with him. One child was going to miss her week due to a family vacation. When she discovered this, she burst into tears.
At the end of the last year, a party was given in Henry's honor and I attended. The kids were asked to share something they knew about Henry, and they knew him well. They knew the books he liked, the foods he liked, they knew that he liked fans and strings and finger-painting. One little boy, struggling to share something no one else had shared yet, said, “I'm sorry your brain is different, Henry.” “You don't have to be sorry for Henry,” his teacher said. “It's okay that he's different.”
I think of how lucky these kids are to know Henry, to know my son and his sweet smile, his gentle nature, but also those times when he struggles to control himself, when he cries or screams, when he needs a break from the classroom. They see who he is. As they grow, they'll move past pity and onto greater understanding. They are already aware of him in a deeper way than I ever was of the “special” kids in my school, down at the end of that hall. I think of Henry's future as he moves through school, his friends surrounding him, buoying him up. I already mourn the loss of these early years of relative innocence, and dread the stage that seems inevitable: when some kids turn mean.
Henry will be with these classmates all through school. The girl who holds his hand, the boy who understands that Henry's brain is different: they'll be with him, understanding him, perhaps even protecting him. This is his circle, these are his friends, and this is where he belongs.
During college, like many students I had the pleasure of waiting tables at a local restaurant. One of my co-workers had a 5 year old son with Autism. I’d never met a child with Autism before and I didn’t really know much about it. After we’d gotten to know each other better she invited me over to her house to meet him. That was the day I fell in love with “G”. His passion was music and he loved to dance. He knew all the words to the best 80’s songs (that’s my kind of kid!) and he carried a small radio with him where ever he went. “G” was special, he lit up the room and his spirit was contagious. Today “G” is almost 20 years old, and while I don’t see him very often, he forever touched my life. Do you know a child with Autism? How have they touched your life?