Tag Archives: Autism Awareness

Sigh….The Bottom Line is Always Autism…

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The last blog I wrote was about my son’s graduation from Art School.  Now that he is done with school, his dream is to move to Hollywood, work for Disney, and become a famous animator.  In the best-case scenarios, there are people who listen to him expound on his dreams, kind of nod their heads and humor him.  In the worst-case scenarios, there are people who laugh at him and dismiss him as unbearably childish and unrealistic.  As a parent, I always want to encourage my children’s dreams, while also feeling a parental responsibility to help them recognize what reality looks like.  As an artist myself though, I know that reality is not always what it seems, and that you don’t get anywhere in the art world if you don’t dream big.  And anyway, who am I to say that his dreams won’t come true?  You make dreams come true moving step by step through the opportunities that either come your way, or that you help bring into being by networking and plain old hard work, (and of course a lot of luck of being in the right place at the right time.)

So, he took the first step to get himself closer to his dream, applied for a local summer art job that was posted on the job board of his college, got the interview, got the job, and was elated!  His first art job, and the first job that he had applied for straight out of college.  Things looked rosy.

His job coach checked in to see if she could help him out by doing some shadowing.  The supervisor assured her that that wasn’t necessary, that she had done all the training with him and that he did well and was succeeding at the job.  Things still look rosy.  He really enjoyed the job, was super proud of himself at the end of each day, though he admitted that there were some stressors and challenges that came up occasionally.

After a few weeks on the job, his job coach checked in again and was assured that not only were things going well, but this summer job could also likely turn into a year-round job because they always needed people who weren’t in school to stay on.  We all were breathing happily.  So nice when things look rosy.

Two days later he was fired.  It took four days to get the clear picture of what happened.  He was horrified at the initial reasons given, swearing that none of that had happened.  Eventually a different story emerged that he acknowledged had happened.  The final story was far less awful than the initial reports, and very questionable if these were grounds for being fired…the reasons given were definitely social mistakes, definitely reasons to speak with him and give him some feedback and explain that he had made poor decisions in those instances.  But to fire him?

Back story to the job requirements: the job was to take souvenir photographs for guests at a local recreation site (purposely being vague here).  The company emphasized over and over that it was of utmost importance to take as many photographs as possible as this was how they made money.  My son took that directive very much to heart and was very intent on taking as many pictures as humanly possible during each of his shifts.

So what were his breaches of protocol that led to him being fired?  One was that because of something that one of his team members was doing, which was out of their control but that wasn’t clear to my son, his job of taking as many pictures as possible was made harder.  So he was yelling at that team member to change what they were doing.  Not cool.  But no one gave him that feedback.  And he never realized that what he had done was not cool.  They just shut down the photo booth for the day and sent him home, citing a problem with staffing, but not actually telling him that HE was the problem with staffing.

If you don’t recognize a problem, you can’t fix it.  Or as he says, if I knew better, I would not have done that, so thinking “You should know better,” doesn’t ever help me know better.

The second reason that he was fired was a case of social faux pas: he was talking about scenes from Star Wars with a kid wearing a Star Wars shirt in a way that the parent didn’t like.  So the parent went and complained to someone.  But no one told my son directly that he should not have been speaking about these particular scenes; he was told that he had said something stupid.

When I finally got the full story, I can totally understand that a parent may have been upset about the conversation (apparently the kid was about 12 and my son was talking about some of the violent war scenes in one of the movies…why?  I have no idea.  I have never heard him talk about those scenes before.) I’m not sure that I would have gone to speak to someone else, I think I would have directly intervened in the conversation, but that’s just me maybe.

A major challenge for people with autism is not being able to read social cues.  Not being able to see that this child, or this child’s parent, was uncomfortable with the interchange. 

It may seem as though I am stating the obvious in these bold statements, but these things are obvious only to those who live in the world of people with disabilities, in the world of people who get confused by social interactions and struggle to follow social cues.  Part of why I do what I do, leading programs about invisible disability awareness, is because none of this is obvious to anyone who doesn’t live in this slice of the world.  While people know the word “autism” they don’t necessarily look at my son and think, “Oh, he just doesn’t know that this is not the way to work with other team members, or he just doesn’t see that he is making someone uncomfortable with the way that he is speaking.”  They just look at him and think he’s not okay.  And they may even be afraid of him.  He’s a full-grown guy who doesn’t seem like he understands how to speak with other people.

When we finally got the full story of the reasons that he was fired, my son was horrified at the way his behavior had been perceived and was so sad that he had made his team-mates unhappy and made guests uncomfortable.  He was sad that he lost the job of course, and humiliated that he had been fired, but more than anything he was horrified that he had made others uncomfortable.

He spends his days trying to understand the world.  I wish the world would spend some time trying to understand him and other people like him.

Bottom line that we all learned:  people with autism need a different kind of on-the-job training.  When a supervisor says that he has done well with the training, we need to then say, “that’s awesome, now how can we do some more training regarding the inevitable social situations that are going to come up in this job and cause some stress for someone who isn’t super fluid  with social interactions that are always full of surprises?”  He can do the logistics, he can learn the technical end of things, and that is wonderful.  And that makes people think that he doesn’t have a disability.  What he and others like him need are extra days of training about the social interactions, all of the surprises, all of the possible changes to the technical routine.  He needs role playing about the pace of the job, about what you do when someone gets impatient with you, how to read those social cues in the context of this job.

There is never a way to prepare for absolutely every contingency scenario, but there are definitely ways to prepare for many of them.  Here’s to more on-the-job training for future art-world jobs, whenever they appear.

And here’s the song Social Cues Blues…things my son has struggled with over the years….

 

 

He Didn’t Think He Could, But He Did….

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Well, he did it.  My now 26 year old son with autism graduated from Art School, with a BFA in 2D Animation.  The adventures and the learning were endless, and priceless.  He is someone who learns from doing, who understands reality through his experiences, and works endlessly to figure out what conclusions he should draw from life.  The ambiguities of typical American university life were a little crazy-making, and the journey pretty darn bumpy at times.  But he did it.  Including the Covid part, this latest experience shared by many 18-28 year olds, of going to university in your pajamas in your bedroom on zoom.  For someone who has a tenuous grasp of reality to start with, university during Covid sure didn’t help him stay grounded.

There were lots of moments when I questioned whether it had been at all fair to him to even encourage him to start this process.  It was all he wanted to do, art and animation have long been his passion.  But was it just too hard?  My friend Bob Blue*, an amazing educator, musician and songwriter who developed MS in his later years, wrote a song called The Little Engine That Couldn’t.  I’m sure many of you remember that inspiring little book from our childhood, The Little Engine That Could.  I do, and it was truly inspiring for me.  But the point of Bob’s song is that sometimes we are asking kids to do something that they actually can’t do, and no amount of perseverance is going to change that.

My son really wants to be neurotypical.  And no amount of perseverance will ever make that happen. He experiences autism as a curse, because in his eyes it makes him socially awkward and is the cause of his learning challenges.  He was angry with himself that all of his friends graduated in four years, “the way you are supposed to, like my sister and all of my cousins”, and it took him six years.  It was really hard for him to recognize how amazing it was that he was even at this incredibly well-respected art school, in a department that has produced many grads that go on to work in the animation industry.  Also a school that only 70% of the applicants get into, and has only 50% graduate in the typical 4 years.  So he was by far not the only one that took longer.

My wish for him is that he will accept himself, accept his autism, and learn to find the treasures that are hiding inside.  We’re not there yet.  As much as we try and support him and show him that his autism is part of why he is such an amazing artist, he frets about the things that don’t come easily.

And from that point of view, the college experience was pretty stressful.  Most of the institution didn’t seem to understand him as a person, and didn’t seem to understand autism in general.  From their point of view, they bent a lot to accommodate him and his lack of understanding of social cues. From my point of view….well yes, but that is of course what one does (bends and accommodates) to include people who are wired differently or who have different ways of accessing material and learning and life in general. You accommodate them because you understand that there are multiple ways to learn and maneuver life, not just one.  You admit them to your institution because you cherish the beauty that is created when you have a student body made up of vastly different perspectives.  It’s not a burden to bend and accommodate, it’s just what one does…according to me anyway.

There was no in person graduation ceremony because of Covid, but we were invited down to campus so that he could receive his diploma in person and get a picture taken with the president of the university. As we were waiting in line, maintaining physical distancing for Covid safety, a security guard was directing the line and letting families go in one at a time.  He saw my son, gave him a fist bump, and crowed a great big “Congratulations, my man!  You did it!  I am so proud of you, think of all of those afternoons you were hanging out with me thinking it was too hard, but here you are, you did it!”  Turns out they were on first-name basis.

We went inside, where a second security guard waited, and the same scenario repeated, but this time, she and my son were referencing a number of conversations they had had when he was feeling like he just couldn’t pull it together to go back to class, but with her support, he had made it through those particular days.  She pulled me aside and said, “He is so smart.  Part of his trouble is that he is way smarter and way more observant than everyone around him.  He notices things, and he cares, and most of the world just doesn’t.  He has such a beautiful heart.”  Wow.  It’s pretty rare for me to run into anyone that recognizes this outside of his immediate family.

We continued through the process, he got his diploma, and a third security guard came over to us, gave him a big hug and said, “Dude I am soooooooooo proud of you!  I am going to miss you so much!  Now that campus is opening up again, even though you are graduating, come and visit. You know where to find me.  If you need to talk to someone, just come on down.”

That’s pretty much when I lost it.  I kept it together externally in order to follow socially acceptable American protocol, but inside I was sobbing.

We left the building.  A line of professors from his department were standing there, to cheer each graduate.  We had heard them whoop it up for the student who had walked out in front of my son.  They called out a slightly tepid cheer for him, clapping politely.  Was it just me or was the restrained response a huge contrast to the hearty, genuine well-wishes of the security guards?

We have always noticed that he seems to find his angels, his protectors, the folks that get him and love him when so many others seem to recoil from him.  And he certainly did have angels amongst the professors and the original learning support team as well, they just didn’t happen to be there in that line-up.  On that day, it was the security guards who had his back, who were his cheerleaders.  They aren’t the ones that can write the letters of recommendation to prospective art jobs, but they definitely would if they could.

Thank you to his broader team of angels as well…many of you are receiving this…I hope you know who you are!

*Bob Blue’s website: https://www.bobblue.org/

– and the lyrics to The Little Engine That Couldn’t

THE LITTLE ENGINE THAT COULDN’T words and music by Bob Blue © 2005 Bob Blue

Have you heard the story about the brave engine
Who climbed to the top of the hill?
If not, please don’t worry; it’s told all the time,
So there’s still a good chance that you will.

There once was an engine (no, not the same engine)
That tried, but did not have success.
The more the poor engine kept huffing and puffing,
The less it could do it – the less!

In Engine School, this engine did all his homework
And tried to do well on each test,
Believing what all of his teacher had told him –
That all they required was his “best.”

The engine that could did so well in that school
That he rarely got worse than straight A’s.
His teachers believed that he studied so hard,
And they all gave him honors and praise.

The engine that couldn’t was not very happy;
He thought of himself as no good.
He didn’t know why Engine School seemed so easy –
Such fun, to the engine that could.

That’s why, when they needed a brave volunteer
For that awful, impossible climb,
He started repeating, “I think I can,”
Thinking he really could do it this time.

“I think I can” wasn’t so right for this challenge.
A much better mantra would be,
“I know I cannot,” since the hill was too steep,
Which one glance would let anyone see.

That “hill” was a mountain!  Last year they decided
To build a long tunnel – down low.
If anyone wants to go up to the summit,
The road is the best way to go.

The engine that couldn’t was still mighty good –
He had no trouble pulling a train,
As long as the places it went could be reached
Via good tracks, and level terrain.

If not, then this wasn’t the engine to use.
There were other ones built for the task.
If asked, it just might volunteer, so
I think it is better to simply not ask.

I don’t think whoever is hearing these words
Is a person in charge of a train.
For all I know, people don’t run them;
They’re run by computers, and hard to maintain.

The engine that could was a fine little engine.
I’m very impressed that he could.
But engines that can’t should admit that they can’t.
They would be better off if they would.

 

But engines that can’t should admit that they can’t.
They would be better off if they would.

 

 

A person’s right to fully participate in all aspects of society….

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Shepherding children to adulthood is a bit of a whirlwind. The school years are often one long race from morning ‘til night. But as any parent of both a neurotypical child and a child with autism can testify, there is great variance in the nature of whirlwinds… both my husband and I realized early on that our parenting style changes dramatically depending on which offspring we are with at any given moment.
Just a mundane example: Looking back at the 13 years that our neurotypical daughter, who is now 26, was in school, we dutifully appeared for the standard parent-teacher conferences and events where her teachers heaped praise on her. In contrast, during the 16 years that our son, who has autism and is now 24, was in school, we were there for IEP meetings multiple times per year for ongoing consultations with teachers and administrators multiple times per year, disciplinary meetings, emergency meetings, negotiations about behavior plans, and then of course those same parent-teacher meetings and events. Vive la différence! I was a virtual stranger to my daughter’s educators; I was a regular installation for my son’s.
I began my teaching career before I had children. I loved learning about the theory of multiple intelligences and different learning styles and used this information regularly as a music teacher. This background in education and child development certainly helped in parenting as well. As a disability advocate now, I often run into parents who honestly don’t know that their children’s development is different than what it should b, because they are not in a field that requires that knowledge. Having a background in education helped me identify early on that our son was wired differently, and that all those big books about the stages of child development did not actually apply. I knew we were in foreign territory, and I knew that I didn’t know what to do.
Our son is a poster child for multiple intelligences and different learning styles. I am eternally grateful for all the educators who have worked hard over the years to figure out how to reach him, encourage him and recognize his strengths. As a parent and educator in the world of special needs, I know both how difficult this can be and how essential it is. Along with these wonderful teachers though, there is sadly also an equally long list of educators who did or still do not seem to have any patience or desire to work with someone who’s learning style was or is outside of their comfort zone. Some were downright abusive, some just impatient, most (of this list) just could not figure out what his story was.
Fast forward: Our son is working very hard to finish art school, where he is studying hand-drawn animation. Art school has been an amazing blessing for our son. He has learned so much, and the school has mostly put up with his very unique learning curve. No complaints. Well…. maybe just one.
Not a complaint actually, just a plaintive wish. I so wish that anyone interfacing with students, of any age, would have some understanding of invisible disabilities like Sensory Processing Disorder and autism. Though there are certainly many people with autism older than my son, he is of the “tsunami” generation, when the numbers of kids diagnosed with autism exploded from 1 in 10,000 in 1970 to 1 in 1,000 in 1995…and of course the explosion has continued, because now, (depending on which office of the CDC you listen to), the numbers are either 1 in 39 or 1 in 58. The statistics for Sensory Processing Disorder are even higher, 1 in 6. Autism is no longer rare. Sensory Processing Disorder is everywhere. Mental Health departments on college campuses are expanding beyond any recognition of the mostly unused offices that they were in my time.
So, educators of any age need to know what autism looks like, beyond the dry words of description in the book. When my son verbally expressed his excitement on the first day of the semester’s drawing class, he did so in a way that seemed odd and not age-appropriate to the neurotypical professor. He then leaned over to compliment another student’s work, and the professor saw someone who didn’t seem to understand personal space. And then he dropped his metal water bottle a few times. Apparently, he also didn’t understand that the class was supposed to stand in two lines to show their work at the end of the day, and he was pacing back and forth waiting. In short, he was exhibiting signs of autism, and using strategies to help him process the sensory overload at the end of the day. And at the end of this class, as instructed by the Learning Support Office, he handed the professor his letter of accommodation explaining about his disabilities.
I only know all of this because, despite the letter, the professor reported to the department chair that he didn’t know what to do with my son because he was disruptive, and I was called in to hear that my son was being put on probation for the entire semester. What is the nature of the probation? That he is not allowed to make any noise on campus.
I am definitely convinced that the professor is doing the best he can with what he knows. I do not think bad of him. A classroom is a public space and growing up we all figure out how to conform our personal expressions in public so as to be culturally appropriate. My son needs to learn what works around neurotypical people and what doesn’t. Ableism is still around big-time. So, I’m not complaining, I’m just repeating my plaintive wish: I so wish that anyone interfacing with students, of any age, would have some understanding of invisible disabilities like Sensory Processing Disorder and autism. And of course, why confine this wish to educators interfacing with students? I so wish that people everywhere would have some understanding of invisible disabilities like Sensory Processing Disorder and autism.
In Item 2 of Sec. 12101 of the ADA Amendments Act of 2008, it says:
(2) in enacting the ADA, Congress recognized that physical and mental disabilities in no way diminish a person’s right to fully participate in all aspects of society, but that people with physical or mental disabilities are frequently precluded from doing so because of prejudice, antiquated attitudes, or the failure to remove societal and institutional barriers;

 


Sigh.

https://tacanow.org/autism-statistics/
https://www.ucsf.edu/news/2013/07/107316/breakthrough-study-reveals-biological-basis-sensory-processing-disorders-kids

Thanks-giving and Compassion-giving

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Though our world and Western society are forever changing, and many people bemoan the loss of “the good old days,” the annual American tradition of Thanksgiving is coming, as it does every November in the United States. The name of the holiday serves its purpose well: to remind us to give thanks for our blessings. And in Judaism we have a wonderful “first thing in the morning” blessing of giving thanks every day… giving thanks that we woke up and can still breathe! It’s not something to be taken for granted at all … and it is easy for me to be thankful for the simple things in my life, the things that I might not pay attention to because they have always been here, such as air to breathe, water to drink, enough food to eat, clothes to wear, a roof over my head, warm clothes and a heated home in the cold season, a loving family…really I don’t actually need anything more than that, and I have so much more.

As a parent, I spent lots of years trying to teach my now young-adult children to have the perspective to be able to recognize the blessings in their own lives, to recognize that “there but for fortune” (to coin an old Phil Ochs song) their lives could be far less comfortable, and though perhaps their circumstances are less than Hollywood fantasy movie-ish, they have so much to be thankful for. Both have definitely grown to understand that, but…my youngest struggles on a daily basis to maneuver the world with autism, Sensory Processing Disorder, anxiety and severe learning challenges.

While he definitely has much to be thankful for, and certainly “there but for fortune” he would not be where he is today, it is also very true that the world he walks through is not at all the same world that I walk through. He often says to me, “You have no idea what it is like to be me.” This sentence became the title of a song that I wrote in an attempt to explain Sensory Processing Disorder to teachers and community members who do not understand the seemingly pointless melt-downs that happen in public for so many children and young adults these days.

Having a son with autism has taught me compassion on a very deep level. I do think that as a young adult I suffered from “ableist” arrogance: I was very capable academically, I could play music and sing, I could run and do athletics, I could speak and hold my own in intellectual small talk and crowd banter, I could walk through the streets of Jerusalem (my home in my twenties) and pay attention to everything that was happening, but then turn all of that stimulation off and relax at home once I got there. None of these daily activities ever crossed my mind as something that everyone couldn’t do, as something to be thankful for. In retrospect I realize how very naïve I was of course.

My son is a kinesthetic learner, and excels at his passion, drawing and animation. He is also a talented singer. But that is where the overlap between his skills and the skills I had at his age end. He struggles to retain facts taught in academic classes. He says his brain literally hurts when he is trying to memorize details. He cannot run or coordinate his body well. He cannot follow small talk on any level; growing up in an intellectual Jewish home has made him far more insecure in this area than had he grown up in a home with people who were less talkative. But more than anything, walking through the streets of Columbus, Ohio, where we live now, is one long string of stressors and fears.

Ableism and othering go hand in hand. Having been thrust into the world of special needs by virtue of my son, I have been given the gift of needing to understand the world through eyes that do not see what I see. Ableism is a word that has been coined to refer to how much of western society is structured, under the assumption that everyone has the same physical abilities, and that if you have a “disability” you are inferior. Othering is when you choose to differentiate between those you think are similar to you, in whatever way you are choosing to define yourself, and others who are different and therefore not part of your “group.” We live in a time where othering is rampant and dangerous and very much in the spotlight. Ableism is much more subtle, especially in the case of autism and Sensory Processing Disorder, which are conditions that are often invisible to the external eye.

I know that my son suffers from Sensory Processing Disorder and I can often help him through overload. But what about the person on the street who is clearly having a hard time, perhaps a person on the street who does not like my bumper stickers or my political pins? I don’t know that person, but I think it is fair to say, just as my son says to me, that I have no idea what it is like to be them.

So, at this time of Thanksgiving, I am consciously saying thanks for the many blessings in my life, from the mundane to the more complex. I am also reminding myself never to assume what someone else should be thankful for, never to assume that I have any clue what someone else’s life challenges are. I am asking all of us, whoever we are, to practice a little understanding and perspective and tolerance as we enter the darkest time (season?)of the year…to bring the light of compassion and stop the practice of othering. Because, I/you have no idea what it is like to be them…

Autism Awareness, Passover, Easter and Miracles?

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This year, as occasionally happens, Passover and Easter are both on the same weekend.  Passover starts on Friday night, March 30, and Easter is on Sunday, April 1.  While each holiday is celebrated by different religions of course, both holidays focus on historical events, and both holidays tell of miracles, miracles that are central to the narrative of each holiday.  (Yes, I know that there are disagreements amongst historians about whether or not the events relayed in each of these holidays actually happened, but I contend that even if the facts are not exactly the same as the religious stories, the symbolism is helpful!)

So what is a miracle?  The first definition usually involves divine intervention:  A surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency.  The second definition is more how I tend to use the word:  A highly improbable or extraordinary event, development, or accomplishment that brings very welcome consequences.  These second kind of miracles happen every day, but sometimes we have to change our perspective in order to notice them.

Growing up Jewish, the miracle of Passover, the parting of the Red Sea, always captivated me.  The Passover story, with the Hebrews enslaved for generations, an abusive, disrespectful Pharaoh, Moses as a hesitant and unwilling but eminently capable leader, negotiations that continually flip-flopped as to the outcome of the Hebrews’ release, and then that climactic ending of the sea parting as Pharaoh and his army were bearing down on the fleeing Hebrew slaves, was an extremely powerful metaphor for me throughout my childhood.  So much of my adult attitude to life can be tied to that story: don’t believe you are what others may be trying to make you (a slave), don’t be convinced you deserve abuse even if that’s all a figure of authority is dishing out (got a Pharaoh in your life?), don’t think you can’t be an effective mover and changer even if you’ve never done something before (Moses stuttered and still was the right person for the job of the chief negotiator),  don’t take no for an answer when freedom and justice are the issue at stake (those in power don’t always want change, to say the least), don’t despair regardless of how bad circumstances look, don’t give up, and don’t believe that what looks like a wall can’t move and change, because after all, who would ever think that the water could part to allow the Hebrews leaving Egypt on foot to escape the Pharaoh’s armies with their horses and chariots.  Totally a story of the underdogs winning in the long run.  Of course, this is only one chapter in the long history of the Jewish people, and not all the chapters have positive endings, but this particular chapter ends with a great deal of hope.

As I am not Christian, I am not as intimately familiar with the Easter story, but I do know that the sense of hope, the sense of miracle, the sense that sometimes events happen that are “highly improbable and extraordinary” that permeates the Passover story is also paralleled in the Easter story with Jesus rising from the dead on Easter Sunday.

And what does all of this have to do with the world of autism?  As a mother of a child with autism, I spent many years praying for a miracle, and every year, these holidays make me reflect back on the desire for that miracle.  At first, I prayed that one day my son would just miraculously wake up and feel better, that his dis-ease in the world would just be a temporary thing that we could chalk up to a rough beginning.  When that didn’t pan out, I prayed for a cure.  While there are certainly families that have tried numerous medical and health interventions that we haven’t tried, we did chase lots of different therapies down in our hope for a miraculous cure.  None did the trick, but one very smart practitioner said to me, “You are looking for one key.  There isn’t one key to unlock everything, but everything that you are doing will help a bit.”  While that perspective was helpful in some ways, I noticed that I had now expanded my desire from wanting just one miracle, to wanting all of the miracles that would help.  Through the years, in speaking with other families in the world of autism, I discovered that my desire for a miracle was not unusual….

I don’t even remember at what point I stopped looking for a miracle.  My son is now 23.  He is a talented artist.  He still struggles with a lot of things, but he has also far exceeded the fears that were propelling my need for a miracle.  And he personifies the story of Passover, those same qualities that I gleaned growing up are his daily fare:  don’t believe you are what others may be trying to make you (a label, someone who is limited, someone who is disabled), don’t be convinced you deserve abuse even if that’s all a figure of authority is dishing out (despite a stream of bad experiences with impatient and teachers who could not understand him, he continues to love to learn), don’t think you can’t be an effective mover and changer even if you’ve never done something before (every new life requirement is scary, but he never lets his disability stop him from tackling the new challenges, despite the anxiety and the self-doubt),  don’t take no for an answer when freedom and justice are the issue at stake (he has unfortunately endured many false accusations, and has had to learn to self-advocate under some really unpleasant situations), don’t despair regardless of how bad circumstances look (sometimes those due dates for assignments just pile up, but he has learned to take a deep breath and keep moving), don’t give up (I have endless awe at his ability to get up each day and go back into the world, no matter how hard the day before was), and don’t believe that what looks like a wall can’t move and change (this is probably the definition of his life!)

So, maybe, when I consider miracles as “highly improbable or extraordinary events, developments, or accomplishments that bring very welcome consequences” I realize that we have been living a life of ongoing tiny miracles.  The autism is not gone, that miracle did not happen, but perhaps the Passover miracles did?  Sometimes the water parts in metaphorical ways!  This song is called Miracles Happen.