"Trying is the first step towards failure." - HOMER (Simpson)
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Happy Autism Day
Calois and Che dutifully and conscientiously reminded me that today is World Autism Day! har har har
1 comment:
Anonymous
said...
ahahaha, ron, being autistic means you are special.. read on..... :)
Here are 10 things every child with autism wishes you knew.
1. I am a child with autism. I am not "autistic." My autism is one aspect of my total character. It does not define me as a person. Are you a person with thoughts, feelings and many talents, or are you just fat (overweight), myopic (wear glasses) or klutzy (uncoordinated, not good at sports)?
2. My sensory perceptions are disordered. This means the ordinary sights, sounds, smells, tastes and touches of everyday life that you may not even notice can be downright painful for me. The very environment in which I have to live often seems hostile. I may appear withdrawn or belligerent to you, but I am really just trying to defend myself.
A "simple" trip to the grocery store may be hell for me. My hearing may be hyperacute. Dozens of people are talking at once. The loudspeaker booms today's special. Muzak whines from the sound system. Cash registers beep and cough. A coffee grinder is chugging. The meat cutter screeches, babies wail, carts creak, the fluorescent lighting hums. My brain can't filter all the input, and I'm in overload!
My sense of smell may be highly sensitive. The fish at the meat counter isn't quite fresh, the guy standing next to us hasn't showered today, the deli is handing out sausage samples, the baby in line ahead of us has a poopy diaper, they're mopping up pickles on Aisle 3 with ammonia. ... I can't sort it all out, I'm too nauseous.
Because I am visually oriented, this may be my first sense to become overstimulated. The fluorescent light is too bright. It makes the room pulsate and hurts my eyes. Sometimes the pulsating light bounces off everything and distorts what I am seeing. The space seems to be constantly changing.
There's glare from windows, moving fans on the ceiling, so many bodies in constant motion, too many items for me to be able to focus - and I may compensate with tunnel vision. All this affects my vestibular sense, and now I can't even tell where my body is in space. I may stumble, bump into things, or simply lay down to try and regroup.
3. Please remember to distinguish between won't (I choose not to) and can't (I'm not able to). Receptive and expressive language are both difficult for me. It isn't that I don't listen to instructions. It's that I can't understand you. When you call to me from across the room, this is what I hear: "*&^%$#@, Billy. #$%^*&^%$&*" Instead, come speak directly to me in plain words: "Please put your book in your desk, Billy. It's time to go to lunch." This tells me what you want me to do and what is going to happen next. Now it's much easier for me to comply.
4. I am a concrete thinker. I interpret language literally. It's very confusing for me when you say, "Hold your horses, cowboy!" when what you really mean is "Please stop running." Don't tell me something is a "piece of cake" when there is no dessert in sight and what you really mean is, "This will be easy for you to do." When you say, "It's pouring cats and dogs," I see pets coming out of a pitcher. Please just tell me, "It's raining very hard." Idioms, puns, nuances, double entendres and sarcasm are lost on me.
5. Be patient with my limited vocabulary. It's hard for me to tell you what I need when I don't know the words to describe my feelings. I may be hungry, frustrated, frightened or confused, but right now those words are beyond my ability to express. Be alert for body language, withdrawal, agitation, or other signs that something is wrong.
There's a flip side to this: I may sound like a little professor or a movie star, rattling off words or whole scripts well beyond my developmental age. These are messages I have memorized from the world around me to compensate for my language deficits, because I know I am expected to respond when spoken to. They may come from books, television or the speech of other people. It's called echolalia. I don't necessarily understand the context or the terminology I'm using, I just know it gets me off the hook for coming up with a reply.
6. Because language is so difficult for me, I am very visually oriented. Show me how to do something rather than just telling me. And please be prepared to show me many times. Lots of patient repetition helps me learn.
A visual schedule is extremely helpful as I move through my day. Like your day planner, it relieves me of the stress of having to remember what comes next, makes for smooth transitions between activities, and helps me manage my time and meet your expectations. Here's a great web site for learning more about visual schedules http://www.cesa7.k12.wi.us/newweb/content/rsn/autism.asp
7. Focus and build on what I can do rather than what I can't do. Like any other human, I can't learn in an environment where I'm constantly made to feel that I'm not good enough or that I need fixing. Trying anything new when I am almost sure to be met with criticism, however constructive, becomes something to be avoided. Look for my strengths and you'll find them. There's more than one right way to do most things.
8. Help me with social interactions. It may look like I don't want to play with the other kids on the playground, but sometimes it's just that I simply don't know how to start a conversation or enter a play situation. If you can encourage other children to invite me to join them at kickball or shooting baskets, I may be delighted to be included.
9. Try to identify what triggers my meltdowns. This is termed "the antecedent." Meltdowns, blowups, tantrums or whatever you want to call them are even more horrid for me than they are for you. They occur because one or more of my senses has gone into overload. If you can figure out why my meltdowns occur, they can be prevented.
10. If you are a family member, please love me unconditionally. Banish thoughts such as, "If he would just ..." and "Why can't she ... ?" You didn't fulfill every last expectation your parents had for you, and you wouldn't like being constantly reminded of it. I didn't choose to have autism. Remember that it's happening to me, not you. Without your support, my chances of successful, self-reliant adulthood are slim. With your support and guidance, the possibilities are broader than you might think. I promise you I'm worth it.
It all comes down to three words: Patience. Patience. Patience.
Work to view my autism as a different ability rather than a disability. Look past what you may see as limitations and see the gifts autism has given me. I may not be good at eye contact or conversation, but have you noticed I don't lie, cheat at games, tattle on my classmates, or pass judgment on other people?
You are my foundation. Think through some of those societal rules, and if they don't make sense for me, let them go. Be my advocate, be my friend, and we'll see just how far I can go.
I probably won't be the next Michael Jordan, but with my attention to fine detail and capacity for extraordinary focus, I might be the next Einstein. Or Mozart. Or Van Gogh.
They had autism too.
Freelance writer and consultant Ellen Notbohm is a columnist for Autism/Asperger's Digest and co-author of 1001 Great Ideas for Teaching and Raising Children With Autism Spectrum Disorders (Future Horizons). She favors "common sense" approaches to raising her sons with autism and AD/HD. She lives in Oregon.
1 comment:
ahahaha, ron, being autistic means you are special.. read on..... :)
Here are 10 things every child with autism wishes you
knew.
1. I am a child with autism. I am not "autistic." My autism is one
aspect of my total character. It does not define me as a person. Are
you a person with thoughts, feelings and many talents, or are you just
fat (overweight), myopic (wear glasses) or klutzy (uncoordinated, not
good at sports)?
2. My sensory perceptions are disordered. This means the ordinary
sights, sounds, smells, tastes and touches of everyday life that you
may not even notice can be downright painful for me. The very
environment in which I have to live often seems hostile. I may appear
withdrawn or belligerent to you, but I am really just trying to defend
myself.
A "simple" trip to the grocery store may be hell for me. My
hearing may be hyperacute. Dozens of people are talking at once. The
loudspeaker booms today's special. Muzak whines from the sound system.
Cash registers beep and cough. A coffee grinder is chugging. The meat
cutter screeches, babies wail, carts creak, the fluorescent lighting
hums. My brain can't filter all the input, and I'm in overload!
My sense of smell may be highly sensitive. The fish at the meat counter
isn't quite fresh, the guy standing next to us hasn't showered today,
the deli is handing out sausage samples, the baby in line ahead of us
has a poopy diaper, they're mopping up pickles on Aisle 3 with
ammonia. ... I can't sort it all out, I'm too nauseous.
Because I am visually oriented, this may be my first sense to become
overstimulated. The fluorescent light is too bright. It makes the room
pulsate and hurts my eyes. Sometimes the pulsating light bounces off
everything and distorts what I am seeing. The space seems to be
constantly changing.
There's glare from windows, moving fans on the
ceiling, so many bodies in constant motion, too many items for me to
be able to focus - and I may compensate with tunnel vision. All this
affects my vestibular sense, and now I can't even tell where my body
is in space. I may stumble, bump into things, or simply lay down to
try and regroup.
3. Please remember to distinguish between won't (I choose not to) and
can't (I'm not able to). Receptive and expressive language are both
difficult for me. It isn't that I don't listen to instructions. It's
that I can't understand you. When you call to me from across the room,
this is what I hear: "*&^%$#@, Billy. #$%^*&^%$&*" Instead, come speak
directly to me in plain words: "Please put your book in your desk,
Billy. It's time to go to lunch." This tells me what you want me to do
and what is going to happen next. Now it's much easier for me to
comply.
4. I am a concrete thinker. I interpret language literally. It's very
confusing for me when you say, "Hold your horses, cowboy!" when what
you really mean is "Please stop running." Don't tell me something is a
"piece of cake" when there is no dessert in sight and what you really
mean is, "This will be easy for you to do." When you say, "It's
pouring cats and dogs," I see pets coming out of a pitcher. Please
just tell me, "It's raining very hard." Idioms, puns, nuances, double
entendres and sarcasm are lost on me.
5. Be patient with my limited vocabulary. It's hard for me to tell you
what I need when I don't know the words to describe my feelings. I may
be hungry, frustrated, frightened or confused, but right now those
words are beyond my ability to express. Be alert for body language,
withdrawal, agitation, or other signs that something is wrong.
There's a flip side to this: I may sound like a little professor or a
movie star, rattling off words or whole scripts well beyond my
developmental age. These are messages I have memorized from the world
around me to compensate for my language deficits, because I know I am
expected to respond when spoken to. They may come from books,
television or the speech of other people. It's called echolalia. I
don't necessarily understand the context or the terminology I'm using,
I just know it gets me off the hook for coming up with a reply.
6. Because language is so difficult for me, I am very visually
oriented. Show me how to do something rather than just telling me. And
please be prepared to show me many times. Lots of patient repetition
helps me learn.
A visual schedule is extremely helpful as I move through my day. Like
your day planner, it relieves me of the stress of having to remember
what comes next, makes for smooth transitions between activities, and
helps me manage my time and meet your expectations. Here's a great web
site for learning more about visual schedules
http://www.cesa7.k12.wi.us/newweb/content/rsn/autism.asp
7. Focus and build on what I can do rather than what I can't do. Like
any other human, I can't learn in an environment where I'm constantly
made to feel that I'm not good enough or that I need fixing. Trying
anything new when I am almost sure to be met with criticism, however
constructive, becomes something to be avoided. Look for my strengths
and you'll find them. There's more than one right way to do most
things.
8. Help me with social interactions. It may look like I don't want to
play with the other kids on the playground, but sometimes it's just
that I simply don't know how to start a conversation or enter a play
situation. If you can encourage other children to invite me to join
them at kickball or shooting baskets, I may be delighted to be
included.
9. Try to identify what triggers my meltdowns. This is termed "the
antecedent." Meltdowns, blowups, tantrums or whatever you want to call
them are even more horrid for me than they are for you. They occur
because one or more of my senses has gone into overload. If you can
figure out why my meltdowns occur, they can be prevented.
10. If you are a family member, please love me unconditionally. Banish
thoughts such as, "If he would just ..." and "Why can't she ... ?" You
didn't fulfill every last expectation your parents had for you, and
you wouldn't like being constantly reminded of it. I didn't choose to
have autism. Remember that it's happening to me, not you. Without your
support, my chances of successful, self-reliant adulthood are slim.
With your support and guidance, the possibilities are broader than you
might think. I promise you I'm worth it.
It all comes down to three words: Patience. Patience. Patience.
Work to view my autism as a different ability rather than a
disability. Look past what you may see as limitations and see the
gifts autism has given me. I may not be good at eye contact or
conversation, but have you noticed I don't lie, cheat at games, tattle
on my classmates, or pass judgment on other people?
You are my foundation. Think through some of those societal rules, and
if they don't make sense for me, let them go. Be my advocate, be my
friend, and we'll see just how far I can go.
I probably won't be the next Michael Jordan, but with my attention to
fine detail and capacity for extraordinary focus, I might be the next
Einstein. Or Mozart. Or Van Gogh.
They had autism too.
Freelance writer and consultant Ellen Notbohm is a columnist for
Autism/Asperger's Digest and co-author of 1001 Great Ideas for
Teaching and Raising Children With Autism Spectrum Disorders (Future
Horizons). She favors "common sense" approaches to raising her sons
with autism and AD/HD. She lives in Oregon.
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