29 Marbles

A consistent theme in my writing here is that parenting an autistic child is, first and foremost, nothing more than parenting a child. Yes it is different, and sometimes (OK, much of the time) more difficult than being the parent of a “normal” child, but that doesn’t change the fundamental nature of being a parent.

In response to Steve D’s call to revisit a favorite post I am reposting Enjoying the Scenery, which I originally posted in February 2006. I don’t know if this is my absolute favorite, but it is right there at the top.

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Sometimes our kids surprise us. We try and try and try to get them to do something, understand something, say something. They go for a long time, apparently ignoring (avoiding?) all of our best attempts. Then, all of a sudden, when we aren’t really looking (or when we’ve kind of given up), they do it, understand it, say it.

At those moments we feel good, not just for our kids and their accomplishments but for ourselves. Sometimes it is hard to put in the long hours, day after day, never quite knowing if it will pay off or not. This is especially true for the parents of autistic kids. But what can you do?

Here is a quote from George Leonard’s The Way of Aikido that struck a chord with me as I’ve been thinking about parenting and autism.

What we call “mastery” can be defined as that mysterious process through which what is at first difficult or even impossible becomes easy and pleasurable through diligent, patient, long-term practice.Most learning occurs while we are on the plateau, when it seems we are making no progress at all. The spurt upward towards mastery merely marks the moment when the results of your training “clicks in.”

To learn anything significant…you must be willing t spend most of your time on the plateau. [T]o join the on the path of mastery, it’s best to love the plateau, to take delight in regular practice not just for the extrinsic rewards it brings, but for its own sake.

Another way of looking at it comes from a saying I heard a while back, but can’t remember where:

A truly happy person enjoys the scenery on a detour

How’s the scenery on your detour?

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Two years later, I can tell you that the scenery is beautiful on this detour of ours. The road does get a bit rough at times, and I have to keep my eye on the road to keep from driving off, but that would be true on any other road as well.

With IEP season upon us (at least for us), I thought it would be worthwhile to re-post this, which I originally posted last August. The text has been altered slightly based on Joe’s recommendations to the original.

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As a young Army officer, I read Sun Tzu’s Art of War many times (in different versions). When I transitioned into the civilian workforce, I realized that many of the ideas would translate to the world of business. (Not literally, of course. For example, Sun Tzu’s demonstration of leadership ability using the Emperor’s concubines as soldiers.)

The Art of War can also be applied to many other common activities, such as the IEP. You can pull from many quotes, but here is my favorite:

Know the enemy and know yourself; in a hundred battles you will never be in peril. When you are ignorant of the enemy, but know yourself, your chances of winning or losing are equal. If ignorant both of your enemy and yourself, you are certain in every battle to be in peril.

Of course, this may need some translation* into more relevant wording. Such as:

Know the district administration and their stated (and unstated) goals and resources, and know your rights and what is best for your child; in a hundred IEP meetings you will never fail to get what you need.When you are ignorant of what the district’s goals or resources are, but know your rights and your child’s needs, your chances of getting what you need in the IEP are 50/50.

If you are ignorant of both the district’s goals/resources and your rights and needs of your child, you are certain in every IEP meeting to get what you get, and probably not what you really need.

Of course, this important piece of advice can just as easily be translated into the school district perspective, I’ll leave that exercise to you.

Based on my personal experience, conversations with other parents, and conversations in the blogosphere, my guess is that most people (from both sides) go into IEP meetings knowing themselves, but not their “enemy.” As a result, we often see winners and losers in the outcomes of IEPs, the result of hard fought battles that leave everyone bitter and exhausted.

What would happen if both sides heeded this advice and came in knowing themselves and the “enemy”? According to Sun Tzu, both should expect to win. But both sides can’t “win”, can they?

To that I answer a resounding, “Yes, of course both sides can win.” Wouldn’t that be a nice change?

* (If you are interested in some thoughts on translation within a language, check out my post Knowledge in Translation on my No Straight Lines blog.)

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What would you think if your friend/neighbor/sibling told you that they had left their 9 year old son at a department store in mid-town Manhattan, by himself, because “he had been begging for me to please leave him somewhere, anywhere, and let him try to figure out how to get home on his own”? Would you call Child Protective Services, or would you say “good for you”? Would you ever do something like that?

After you’ve had a chance to think about it for a second, check out the essay Why I Let My 9-Year-Old Ride the Subway Alone by Lenore Skenazy (also available on her new blog, Free Range Kids).

Was I worried? Yes, a tinge. But it didn’t strike me as that daring, either. Isn’t New York as safe now as it was in 1963? It’s not like we’re living in downtown Baghdad.

Anyway, for weeks my boy had been begging for me to please leave him somewhere, anywhere, and let him try to figure out how to get home on his own. So on that sunny Sunday I gave him a subway map, a MetroCard, a $20 bill, and several quarters, just in case he had to make a call.

No, I did not give him a cell phone. Didn’t want to lose it. And no, I didn’t trail him, like a mommy private eye. I trusted him to figure out that he should take the Lexington Avenue subway down, and the 34th Street crosstown bus home. If he couldn’t do that, I trusted him to ask a stranger. And then I even trusted that stranger not to think, “Gee, I was about to catch my train home, but now I think I’ll abduct this adorable child instead.”

Long story short: My son got home, ecstatic with independence.

Long story longer, and analyzed, to boot: Half the people I’ve told this episode to now want to turn me in for child abuse. As if keeping kids under lock and key and helmet and cell phone and nanny and surveillance is the right way to rear kids. It’s not. It’s debilitating — for us and for them.

It’s that last sentence in the excerpt above that really caught my eye. It is no less true for our autistic kids than it is for our non-autistic kids. There are obviously some differences that need to be allowed for, but only by being given independence - true independence - can kids learn how to be independent, and parents learn how to accept that independence.

Sure there are risks, and there will be mistakes and issues along the way. But isn’t that what life is all about?

As you can imagine, there was a huge negative reaction. But she also received some support from her readers. Check out her follow up, America’s Worst Mom, for the details. Security expert Bruce Schneier also weighs-in on his blog, that is worth a read as well.

The anecdote The Family Doctor , published by Julie Obradovic on Age of Autism a couple of months back, is a well told story of how she finally succeeds in converting her brother, a pediatrician, to her understanding that vaccines are bad and likely a cause for autism. If you are new to the question of autism and its causes, and come across this story early on in your search for answers, chances are it might be pretty influential.

But something has been bugging me about the story since I first read it. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, so I haven’t written about it until now. It was a discussion I had with Autistic Bitch From Hell in the comments to my recent post A View From the Middle that made me realize what was so troubling to me about the story.

Here are Obradovic’s brother’s thoughts on autism and an autistic child:

“I tell you, I would rather she got Polio than Autism. At least her mind would be in tact. At least she could talk to me, experience life with me. No offense, but some of the stories you send me about these kids? Well, if they were horses, they’d be put down just to ease their misery. What parent can watch that, or live with that? What child deserves that?”

In other words, an autistic life is not worth living. And an autistic child is not worth parenting. With this mind-set, it is no wonder that they want to find a way to eradicate autism.

I just hope those of you trying to learn more about autism take this attitude into account when you read stories and opinions about vaccines as the cause of autism.

A couple of weeks ago, I was asked to give a short talk on autism. Here’s a rough transcript of what I said.

A few years ago, a friend asked me the question: “If someone told you there was a pill you could give your son that would cure his autism overnight, would you give it to him?” Sounds like an easy question, right? (general murmur of agreement from the small audience)

I hadn’t really thought much about it for some time, as it had been nearly ten years since his autism diagnosis, so I answered with a very non-committal, “I don’t know, I guess so.” That evening I gave the question some more serious thought, and was surprised by I learned.

If the child study team that gave us the diagnosis had asked that question right after giving us the diagnosis, when our son was just barely three years old, I would not have hesitated. I would have given him the pill right then and there, no questions asked. (Well, maybe “do you take credit cards?”)

But if you had asked me five or six years later, as my son approached 10, my answer would not have been so quick in coming, or quite so easy to make. At almost 10, he was still autistic, but he was so much more. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it would be impossible to separate his autism from the rest of him. If we cured the autism, what would be left? Or, I should say, who would be left? Would it be the son I knew and loved, or would it be a “new” child that I would need to get to know all over again? Would I like this new child, this new addition to the family? Would he like who he had become?

Ask me now, when my son is nearly 17, and it would be even harder for me to answer. Although in some ways it would be much easier, because what I’ve realized is that at this point in his life it is not my place to make that decision for him. If someone came to me today and asked that question I would very quickly respond, “Don’t ask me, ask him; it’s his decision to make, not mine.”

This may be a surprising answer to those of you that don’t have experience with autism. But if you are a parent, you know exactly what I’m talking about. When our kids are young, it is up to us to guide them, direct them, and protect them. As they get older, we help them discover who they are and what they want to be. And then we “let go,” we let them leave the nest.

It is the same for out autistic kids, even if the path is a bit longer or rockier.

If you are an autism parent, what are your thoughts on this? If your autistic adult (or nearly adult) son or daughter were offered and accepted a cure, how would you feel? How would you feel if they were offered a cure and declined?

(If this topic sounds familiar, it is because this question - and some of my thoughts on the question - were the subject of one of the earliest posts on this blog.)

I had lunch with an old friend recently, and the topic of conversation wound its way to autism. I, of course, am the parent of an autistic son. As it turns out, his nephew is also autistic. He wanted to understand autism, and I wanted to help him understand. But I didn’t know where to start.

Sure, there are many angles from which to approach the question. I could start with: Vaccines cause autism, once they have it, it’s a long struggle to recover them. Or how about: Nothing “causes” autism, it is just another aspect of this neurodiverse world we live in.

As far as treatment: Chelation, to get rid of the mercury and other metals. Or: A special diet that is almost impossible, and incredibly expensive, to adhere to. Or: ABA. Or: (add your favorite treatment here).

To tell the truth, I don’t know what to believe about autism. And it is not for a lack of trying. This post, according to my WordPress stats, is my 201st posting to 29 Marbles. I have covered a lot of autistic ground in the last 3 years. Over the course of those 3 years, and 200 posts, and numerous comments to other blogs by parents, autistics, and others with an interest in autism, I’ve considered a lot of different ideas and seen my beliefs and thoughts about autism oscillate a bit as I considered new things. I always seem to come back to the middle though, where I don’t really know what to think.

Over this time, I’ve also had the opportunity to observe how the views of others have evolved. In most cases, it seems, the longer someone has been blogging and thinking about autism the more their beliefs, and their blogging, have gone toward the extremes of the debate. Just check out Age of Autism (for the extreme view of the bio-med position) or Neurodiversity.com (for the extreme view of neurodiversity).

The thing is, I don’t really believe any of those things. Or, maybe it would be more accurate to say I believe in all of those things. Autism is, after all, a spectrum of disorders, so it only makes sense that the causes and cures (assuming either exist) would constitute a spectrum as well.

For someone to say that all autism is nothing more than mercury poisoning is irresponsible, though I don’t doubt that at least one case of autism could be traced directly to mercury. To say that all autistics live miserable lives and will never be happy or able to live and function on their own is simply untrue, though it goes without saying that there are some autistics whose life will be exactly like that.

On the other hand, to say that all autism is solely the result of genetic factors - with no influence from environmental triggers - is irresponsible, though I sincerely believe that some cases of what we call autism are indeed purely genetic manifestations. To say that all autistics have the potential to live happy lives and live and function on their own is as untrue as the opposite example above, though obviously some autistics will find happiness and success on their own.

Some will say I’m just wishy-washy, a waffler, a flip-flopper. I prefer to think that I’m simply staying open minded, because when you get right down to it not all the evidence is in. Not even enough evidence is in to say anything specific about autism in general.

And that, I think, is my point on this, World Autism Awareness Day. If you are new to autism, because you have a newly diagnosed child or you are just curious, enjoy the view from the middle for a while. Listen to what the extremists and fundamentalists have to say and think about it for yourself. Pay attention to your own instincts. Get to know your child - as he or she is, not how you wish they were - and figure out what YOU think is best. Not just for the child, but for you. For your spouse. For your other children.

There is no simple answer, no matter what you hear, and there is no simple path to follow as you make your way through the world of autism.

Today is an election day here in the U.S. The ability to participate in our government is one of the key transition points from adolescence to adulthood, but just one of many transitions that teens – and their parents – must make. For autistic teens, and their parents, this transition brings with it some unique challenges and considerations.

Over the past several years, I’ve written several pieces on this subject. In keeping with the spirit of the day and what it represents, it seems appropriate to repost this one.

I originally posted Whose life is it anyway? Thoughts on guardianship, autism, and growing old on 03 March 2006:

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As part of planning for the future, parents of autistic kids must consider many things. Key among them is this question of guardianship.

When a child in the United States turns 18 they are considered an adult, their own person. They can vote, they can enter into legally binding contracts, they can join the military (and if they are male they must
register with selective service), etc. In order to rescind this legal right, parents must petition the courts and establish alternative guardianship. Obviously, not a decision to be made lightly.

On the other end of the age spectrum, adult children often must make care decisions for their aging parents. Many times this results in these elderly parents living out their final days in a nursing home, with every aspect of their lives controlled by the administrators of the home. Again, not a decision to be made lightly. (I think we’ve all heard the horror stories.)

The film Almost Home, recently aired on PBS, talks about a different kind of way to run a nursing home.

ALMOST HOME offers an inside look at the lives of these residents, their families and those who care for them as each adjusts to the challenges of growing older. ALMOST HOME filmmakers Brad Lichtenstein and Lisa Gildehaus introduce couples bonded and divided by disability, children torn between caring for their dependent parents and their own families, nursing assistants doing difficult work for near-poverty wages and visionary nursing home director John George, who is committed to transforming his century-old hospital-like institution into a true home.

Under George’s leadership, Saint John’s On The Lake is reinventing its 135-year-old medical model of care (think hospital) with a social one (think home). His goal is to transform the way people see nursing homes—not as institutions of boredom and despair but as vibrant communities where residents live rich and fulfilling lives. To succeed, he will have to win over skeptical managers, resistant nurses, overworked and underpaid nursing assistants, complacent residents and often-overwhelmed family members.

The key change in my mind is that the residents here retain as much control as possible of their own lives. They can wake up when they want to, instead of the usual scheduled wake-ups. Meals are tailored as much as possible to what the residents desire, not a typical bland hospital menu. (If someone has lived a good 90 years, and wants some bacon for breakfast, they should be able to get bacon for breakfast!) They have a cocktail hour every Monday where *gasp* they can drink cocktails.

Whose life is it to live? It is the individual’s, of course. But, as the parent of an autistic teenager, that is somewhat easier to say than to act on. Any thoughts from autistic adults (several of whom I’ve recently gained as readers) or parents of autistic adults that have already gone through this are greatly appreciated.

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