Awareness and acceptance...two things I've always struggled to understand during autism awareness month. They mean different things to different people as we prioritize their meaning based on our own experiences. It's fitting that this month Will is undergoing his re-evaluation through the school district where we are subjected to parent questionnaires that ask questions like "Is your child odd? Is your child strange? Does your child do strange things?" It baffles me that such absurd, subjective questions still persist in 2017. How can acceptance happen when we are still asking these questions?
Recently, I had the privilege of babysitting my best friend's kids. She also has a child with autism. As I sat with them in the early morning hours watching cartoons, my best friends daughter joyfully jumped all over the living room and squealed during her favorite parts of a cartoon. Her brother and sister did nothing. They did not look at her, they did not ask her what she was doing, they didn't ask me what she was doing, they were not scared, they did not say it was strange, nor were they distracted from watching the cartoon. Why? Because to them, this life is normal and it's a good life. I've been reflecting on Will's experience at preschool this year as more and more stories flood in from the therapists who join him each day in class. There is the boy who could talk to Will for hours even though Will rarely says a word back, the boy who watches how Will is playing with a toy then joins him and narrates their play, the girl who exuded joy because Will chose her during a class game, the group of boys who follow Will around the playground and copy him in an attempt to connect, and then there is sweet M.E. (initials to protect identity of course) M.E. is Will's first friend and by that I mean a child who chose to be his friend without any previous connection through our friendship with the parents. From day one, she was ready to help in whatever capacity was needed. She studied his therapists and began mimicking how they spoke with him and using behavior strategies that most adults have a hard time learning. She learned what games he liked and asked his permission to play. She learned when to give him space and that it was okay to communicate that she needed space. Not a day has gone by that she has not made an attempt to connect and communicate. Their friendship has had its ups and downs as Will learns to navigate the social complexities of friendship, but M.E. has not wavered. Will has hit, kicked and bit her yet she still pursues his friendship. You may be thinking what kind of mother allows that to happen to her child and what kind of mother am I to let it keep happening? Her mother and I have a running dialogue. I am honest when I'm notified he has aggressed toward M.E., I make sure both M.E. and her mom are okay and we make decisions on whether or not they need a break from each other. Is M.E. a hero because she takes pity on and has compassion for the special needs kid despite his differences? No, she is a special friend who doesn't see "differences." She sees a kid who breathes, eats, loves and hopes just like she does. Yes, he is different from her, but that's his normal. Their normals are different but she knows that makes neither of them less than or greater than the other. And she knows different normals can still be friends. Acceptance happens when we are aware that the things that make us different are beautiful and interesting and when there is an understanding that no matter how arduous, some of the best things in life are worth the effort.
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Charming, quirky and incredibly loving. Will loves his friends, swimming, the iPad, the Avett Brothers, observing the world upside down, climbing, jumping and being chased.
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October 2017
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