Fair Representation

Last week one of our local news stories highlighted the dissatisfaction many teachers within our school district feel about the district’s new “Behavior Education Plan” discipline policy. This new policy is described as a plan which “aims to keep more struggling students in the classroom instead of kicking them out of school when they misbehave. The idea is to focus more attention on getting at the deeper issues that are causing students to act out.” This policy is a sharp turn away from the district’s old zero-tolerance policy, which entailed potentially suspending children who’s behavior was disruptive and/or unsafe in the classroom setting.

A representative of our teacher’s union suggested that the district should hire mental health professionals who can get to the root of a student’s issues. These professional would handle these challenging cases that, according to teachers and administrators, often involve students with “mental illnesses”, thus allowing teachers more time for providing learning opportunities to the other students in the class.

I’m a licensed professional counselor. I think that providing desperately needed mental health services to students is imperative. I agree wholeheartedly that until root issues are uncovered, explored, and worked through, challenging and disruptive behaviors will continue to plague classrooms throughout the district. I believe that heavy handed punishment like suspension is not the answer for kids unable to effectively cope with uncomfortable feelings or frustration, trust the adults in their classroom, engage appropriately and safely with their peers, or regulate their moods. Mental illness is real and profound and ever-present. And for many children, mental illness presents itself behaviorally. More services and supports absolutely need to be provided to kids who cannot always behave safely or appropriately in the classroom; for children with mental illness.

Here’s my issue. The one….ONE….teacher quote cited in the news article described being “bitten, slapped and pinched” daily by a child with Autism. Call me over-sensitive. Call me biased. Call me whatever you want, but I’m sorry this is precisely why so many of our kids with autism are misunderstood. Too many in the educational field know autism. But they don’t KNOW autism. They’re not even close. And it’s an awfully bitter pill for this mom to swallow.

Indulge me for a moment, I feel a rant coming on……Here are a few facts that I feel many educators needs to be reminded of:

1. Autism is a NEUROLOGICAL CONDITION. It is not an emotional disturbance, behavior disorder, or mental illness.

2. “Emotionally Disturbed” children are not “Autistic” children.

3. ALL behavior is communication.

4. The root issues underlying challenging behavior in autistic children are not the same root issues underlying challenging behavior in children with mood disorders, anxiety, ADHD or whichever mental illness du jour we’re diagnosing.

5. “Counseling” or talk therapy may not be meaningful, relevant, or helpful for a child with autism ( see points 1-4 ).

6. Autism Specialists and Behavior Interventionists are not one in the same.

You see, when you clump all children who may be “disruptive” as Behavioral Problems, you presume, and inaccurately so, that my child somehow has a choice in how his neurology manifests itself. You place the onus to “act right” on the shoulders of kids who do not experience, process or understand things they way you or I may. You take accountability away from the school environment for providing appropriate and reasonable learning environments to all children. The plain truth is this: by building and implementing policy around the belief that children acting in a controlled manner in the classroom is the measure of disciplinary success you further embed children like mine in their greatest academic enemy……full inclusion in a regular education classroom. By using children with autism as your “examples” of why such a policy isn’t working you perpetuate misleading, unfair, and inaccurate information about what Autism is and means. And at the end of the day all children with special needs, weather they are physical, neurological, mental/emotional, or behavioral, are the ones losing out.

Fully Present

This morning we had our first progress meeting. Every six weeks members of “Team A” convene to share progress and observations, problem-solve concerns and check in with one another. As the meeting was finishing up I overheard A’s OT ask my husband something and the only word I heard was “grandfather.” I didn’t think anything of it and wrapped up my conversation. As I sat down next to my husband I heard “He said he wanted to ask how he was.” and the pieces immediately started to fall into place.

“Wait, what did A say?” I asked, incredulously. I held my breath and felt my heart swell as A’s OT retold the story of how at the end of last week, using proloquo2go and yes/no on his IPad, A communicated that he wanted to see his grandfather and wanted to ask how he was doing. “I’ll email you the therapy note”, she said, having no idea of the enormity of what she was telling us. No idea of the tremendous significance of the thoughts A had shared. No idea that she had just, in that moment, confirmed what I always hope and want to believe- that this child of mine is an active participant in life. He gets it.

What A’s OT did not know was that a few weeks ago my father, A’s grandfather, had been hospitalized for a significant surgery. She didn’t know that I had shared with A that his beloved grandpa was going to have to be in the hospital for some time and was going to have to have an operation. That I had asked A to pray healing thoughts for his grandpa. That I told A he would get to see his grandpa when he was feeling better. The hubs and I both sat there. Shocked. Amazed. Proud. So incredibly proud. My eyes welled briefly and I told her about my father. I silently thanked her for giving those thoughts of his value….for not blowing them off.

He never ceases to amaze me, my Mr. A. I am learning so much from him about life, love, purpose and perspective. I am learning from him to follow my gut and always trust that this child of mine…..autism and all… understands compassion. understands empathy. understands relationships and values them. I’m learning that care and compassion come in many forms; that the gift of empathy takes different shape. No, he may not call on the phone to check in or decorate a sympathy card. He may not wrap his arms around you in a comforting hug. He may not do any of that. But don’t be fooled. It’s a disguise. Because found deep within this boy of mine is a full heart and a kind spirit. I know this with every fiber of my being.

Shortly after I got home I received an email copy of the therapy note. There it was in black and white along with a note, from A’s OT, saying “His voice is being heard. I can only hope he continues to express more and more in ways that we can hear! Half the battle is we need to be listening.” Team A,folks. Team A.

Up for the challenge?

Challenge yourself, friends. Never assume quiet is weak and loud is strong.

It’s happened more times than I care to remember. It’s a difficult and infuriating reminder of the “ugly side” of parenting a child with special needs. It tugs at my mama heart and ignites my mama fury. People view my child as less than…as not fully formed. There’s no doubt that we’re all guilty of silently sizing up and taking inventory of the people we interact with. Comparison and judgement are simply parts of human nature. I get it.

So here’s the deal- My son doesn’t talk. You know it. I know it. He knows it. It’s glaringly obvious. At times it hangs heavy in the air – “He doesn’t talk”. And weather a person cares to acknowledge it or not,it taps into deep-seeded beliefs about disability that influences how we interact with and perceive the different-abled individuals we will inevitably share this life with.

Ten years in and I’ve come to accept the following: many people who meet my nonverbal child believe either a). Because he can’t speak he also can’t hear what is being said to him or about him or b). Because he can’t speak he is dumb. It’s often times subtle and vague…..these beliefs. But it’s always there. It’s embedded in the tone and rate of speech individuals use when talking to A. It’s etched in their faces when they are not so inconspicuously staring at him. It’s exposed through language when people comment, incredulously, that they “can’t believe that A REALLY understands what he/she is saying.” As I said, it’s always there.

Neither of these things is true though. See,communication and language are not one in the same. Language is not a prerequisite for intelligence. Hearing and speaking are two separate senses. Perpetuating the belief that disabled means less than, less able, less productive, less successful, less competent does nothing….I mean absolutely nothing, to help my child develop a sense of purpose and worth.

Years ago, when A was in first or second grade one of the support staff members who was providing weekly therapy services in school proudly shared during an IEP meeting that she had A doing “work” during the school week. Do you know what this “work” was? It was emptying the recycling bins in the trash and shredding paper. Deep breath. This “work” would help prepare A for future vocational opportunities, she exclaimed. And, A really likes paper so this was “so rewarding for him.” Read that over one more time, if you would. Pause and mull that over for a moment.

Hold.The.Eff.Up.

In this one conversation this person revealed her hand. She told me everything I needed to know about what she believed about my child. About what she believed his vocational trajectory might look like (because we all know what we’re going to be as six and seven year olds…. * eye roll *). She shared the lens with which she viewed my son’s abilities and set her expectations of him. Did she ask him if he enjoyed these tasks? No. Did she ask him if he wanted to sort recycling when he grew up? No. Did she ask him if he felt valued and fulfilled? No. He doesn’t talk, right? So, how would he a) know what the answers to those questions are and b) ever be able to communicate an answer, opinion, or thought, for that matter?

I think it’s high time we start challenging ourselves to examine and change our expectations of what disability means rather than blindly set expectations based on what we’ve always believed disability to be.

Little Boy See. Little Boy Do

I’m sitting on the couch with A and I’m petting our family cat. Something catches my eye and I hold my breath for a moment……A is watching me. He’s watching me pet the cat’s back and then he takes his hand and pets her back too. I move my hand to her ear. He’s watching….Intently. He slowly moves his hand to pet the cat’s ear. I move to the cats’s paw. I wait. I watch. A moves his hand to her paw. Holy shit, people. A is copying me. This has not happened before.

When A was young we spent two years doing intensive, twenty -hour-a-week, in- home therapy trying desperately to get A to copy behavior. It never happened. He wasn’t having any of it. This love of mine wasn’t organized enough to get his body to do what he was watching and being told to repeat. Try as he might, he could not fulfill this task request. And it frustrated him and it frustrated us to no end.

When A entered school “copying” was intricately woven into nearly all of his IEP goals. Year after year goals weren’t being met, in part, because A could not (or would not, depending on who you talked to) demonstrate this skill.

Theories a- plenty were floated. He isn’t comprehending what he’s being asked to do. It’s too complex of a neurological task. He’s too inattentive. He’s being uncooperative and opositional. It’s his autism. I don’t recall really ever hearing “Be patient. It will come in time. Let him show you.” I can’t say that much “theory” was rooted in a foundation of presumed competence or in the belief that in the right environment or under optimal circumstances connection, communication and intelligence would be found within.

Here we are in fifth grade and A is 5 weeks into a partial week private school placement being funded by the public school district we live in. A placement A’s dad and I fought long and hard to make happen. A placement that has cost us thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars to advocate for because it’s necessary. A placment that intensely focuses on regulation, communication and building sustained attention. A placment that has yielded clear, measurable, brilliant progress. A placement that has brought together educators who’ve learned about autism with autism specialists who are acting as educators to work together. To collectively teach and be taught a few things from my son. A placement that has begun to set the stage for depth of life, mind and character to slowly be revealed. I do believe the call for “the real A to please stand up” has been answered.

And as I move my hand gently from spot to spot on the cat, I watch quietly, adoringly. I feel honored to have a front row seat to my son. Copying- it took ten years to bare. And in that moment ten years worth of “it’s not gonna happen” was silently shattered into a million pieces and blown away with the wind. Forgotten.

Non-Speaking

He points feverishly and determinedly at his mouth with his fingers. Over and over throughout the day. At first glance one might think he’s trying to communicate hunger or thirst and reflexively offer A something to drink. Maybe ask him if he wants a snack. On the surface it would appear my child is never satiated. His needs are not being fully met. To a degree I would agree. But I believe more and more it’s not food and drink he is needing. Requesting. Craving.

It’s communication. Connection. Dialogue.

As hard as it is to say, I sometimes forget the profound impact of A’s lack language. He never had language so it’s all we’ve ever known. It’s almost become second nature for me to presume that I will intuitively eventually “get” what he he trying to communicate through a lot of trial and error, frustration and mindful guesswork. But it’s not working anymore. I can’t keep up. Because as my son is growing and maturing he has far more to communicate with me. Opinions and ideas. Preferences and perspective. He’s ten. At an age where many kids are just beginning to understand and grasp the power of their words. The value of their individual beliefs and point of view. The motivation that spills forth from their ideas and dreams.

My boy, in many ways, is trapped. His voice absent and my guessing not good enough. Can you imagine? I am awestruck by the joy and contentment I consistently see rather than the very understandable despair and anger one might expect. Me saying “Tell me” seems so inadequate and almost perverse in these circumstances. So is it possible that this gesture of hand to mouth is communicating to me….to all of us…. both “I have something to tell you” and “I cannot tell you what I need to say”? If that’s the case this boy of mine is communicating and engaging all day long, every single day. What he’s “saying” is huge.

To presume that non-speaking autistics are not fully there or are not understanding is grossly misaccurate. To presume that a relatively simple hand gesture could only mean a fairly basic and obvious request is demeaning and reinforces the notion that non-speaking individuals are not capable of complex, deep thought. I need to remind myself of this often. In my haste to “hear” what A is communicating I’m missing the more complex interactions he’s craving. I’m engaging him in one-way communication for yet another day, reinforcing his identified role of “listener.” All the while preventing myself from being open to the level of depth of thought and curiosity hidden in A’s mind.

We all need communication. Real communication.

My wish for A is that he will continue to soldier on and encourage his silent voice to thunder through other means…weather it be writing, music or signs. My prayer to myself is to continue to muster up the strength to keep on trying,keep on listening,and keep on understanding even when I don’t know how.

Summer….sorta like my frenemy

One of the great aspects of summer is that the days are long. There are plenty of hours of sunshine to burn through. One of the not-so-great aspects of summer is that the days are long….. As we ease our way into August I find myself feeling exhausted by 10:30am and ready for bed by 4:00pm. It’s also right about now that my Facebook updates get a whole lot more snarky and I may or may not suggest running myself over with my car or stabbing my eyes out. In other words, I’m burned out, tired of feeling like the cruise ship social director and about ready to break some shit if I hear “I’m bored” one more time.

I don’t know about you, but the pace of our summer vacation days can best be described as frantic. We are constantly in motion. Driving here and driving there. Picking up and dropping off. Going, going, going. Someone always had somewhere they need to be and I’m the only one driving. I have not eaten my lunch sitting down once this entire summer.

Summer months are precious around these parts because we only experience twelve weeks, give or take, of beautiful temperatures, hot sunshine, and drawn out evenings before the season starts a changin and we’re digging our fall jackets out. There is so much to do and so much to see while the time is right. Boating, fishing, swimming. Bonfires, picnics and bbq’s. Parks and baseball and fairs. I want to get as much in as possible because a. Well, it’s fun and I’m all about fun and b. If not now, when? This is the stuff of life, as a parent, and I am grateful.

Life with A adds another layer. Every day we manage and work through the same obsessions- the lawn mower and our neigbors yard. Every day we clean up the same messes- ripped up grass from the lawn, thrown mulch, and dumped baskets of fidgets. And every day we…. meaning “me”…..try our hardest to not get frustrated with the seemingly non- stop hair pulling. My hair is the longest it’s ever been since having children and A likes to run his fingers through it. However, his version of running his fingers through it feels more like a yank or a tug. The repetition is exhausting. The dynamics can be incredibly difficult.

A requires a watchful eye on him at almost all times. Unstructured down time is almost always an open invitation for trouble or a big mess. He rarely wants to be alone and constantly will check to make sure I am close by. If he can’t find me he will look for me. It’s really very sweet and tremendously endearing. I recognize that it likely calms and reassures him. Truth be told, it’s also a bit suffocating. There is no place off limits…..if I’m in the bathroom?? Doesn’t matter. I’m trying to play something with E or Bug? Not gonna happen. I’m on the phone? Let’s blow a harmonica to get my attention.

We’ve had a really good summer. A summer that is so much unlike the hell we experienced last summer. The fun has most certainly outweighed the not-so-fun and I know each of my kids will have special memories to hold onto. It’s still damn hard though. I constantly wrestle with my anxiety and stress because I am in a constant state of heightened arousal. I battle with going places and doing things I know E and Bug really want to do, because I know it’s going to be really, really hard for A. I have to pause and try not to snap when E or Bug ask why A can’t just stay home with one of his respite workers while we go do an activity. It’s a reasonable question, but it hurts my heart because I know what they are saying is that having A along makes things more difficult. It reaffirms the fear I have that despite twisting, turning and contorting myself to make sure E and Bug not feel like it’s always about A they do….

Summer vacation is a lot of hard work for our family. It’s a lot of hard work for A. It’s no picnic, figuratively speaking. By the end of August I’m usually left wondering “Did I do right by my kids? Did I do enough?” Better yet, “Did I do enough of the right thing?” Still, I’m grateful.

Grateful for every advantage that we’ve got, for every smile on my children’s faces this summer,for every time A dealt with his frustrations rather than melting down. I am grateful that we had more good days than bad.

I’m grateful for this beautiful family of mine. You can bet your ass that I’m also grateful for the buses that will most certainly be picking my family up for school in 25 days…..

Butterflies

Today was a beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly. The sky a brilliant blue. And on this day twenty plus families with children, adolescents, and young adults with autism all came together to meet, celebrate, and support one another. For three hours a remarkable sample of the vast and unique autism spectrum came together to share a meal and share stories. Pony rides, face painting, and a bouncy house kept the families there. It was acceptance and understanding that brought them there.

A year ago last April we participated in the Stories of Autism Project ( you can read more about it here: http://www.storiesofautism.com). My friend, and local photographer, Carrie Anciaux (http://www.carrieanciaux.com) has fully embraced this project and has shown the local autism community so much love and respect. For the past three years Carrie has used her tremendous photography skills to beautifully capture the spirit and spunk of our kids. For many autistic individuals who struggle with language, or don’t have spoken language accessible to them, Carrie’s pictures have allowed them to bravely tell their stories.

Many of the families that Carrie has photographed got together today. True,this was a day to have fun, but it was also a day for families and children to safely and comfortably connect. It was an important opportunity for my neurotypical children to fully experience the autism spectrum. It was a moving experience for me to actually catch A in a moment where it registered for him:”I’m not the only one. I’m not alone.” He was sitting in the bouncy house with two other boys- one a few years older and one his age -and I sat and watched A as this revelation was processed. I quickly filed that moment away under my “best moments ever” category.

We ended the picnic with a butterfly release. It was beautiful and symbolic, indeed. It was a reminder that autism acceptance is liberation, not defeat. As I watched the butterflies spread their wings and try to take flight I kept thinking about all the dreams of these kids surrounding me and how critical it is for us, as a community, to do everything we can to help them take flight.

“Autism is not the end of the world, it’s the beginning of a new one, just open your eyes and see….”-Sally Meyer

Because it’s the right thing to do

I’m here. I know I’ve been really sporadic with posts this summer. It’s partially due to the chaos of summertime with three kids, and a whole heck of a lot to do with me not feeling comfortable writing about this very huge thing that’s gifted me with restless nights of sleep and huge, overwhelming anxiety.

I apologize for the annoyingly vague nature of this post, because I get how irritating it is to have to sit and maybe wonder “What the hell is this person talking about?”, but I am intentionally being vague because I don’t want to do anything that may in any way, shape, or form negativity impact the impasse we find ourselves at over A’s fifth grade placement. We have fought for months, and continue to fight, for a fair and appropriate education for our son. It’s a fight that has been exhausting, infuriating, and, at times, heartbreaking. I will not back down, however. A will no longer sacrifice and struggle with each step towards his educational goals because of money, insufficient resources, or an unconventional learning style. We will fight tooth and nail for our child’s opportunity to be taught in an optimal learning environment…..because it’s the right thing to do. I will not accept “We can’t do that” anymore.

And when the time is right, I promise I’ll write more about this. I will share our story.

The one thing that has struck me the most, after months of tense meetings and difficult conversations, is just how hard one has to work to get their different-abled children what they need, and deserve, in order to be productive, motivated, and successful in school. The red tape, double-talk, and game- playing is not for the weak of heart. The hoops parents are made to jump through: impossible.

I’d be lying if I said I don’t sometimes get really fucking angry….angry at the absurdity of it all. Or that I sometimes mourn for A and for the six years of “education” he’s never going to get back. For him being a part of an educational system that believes in him….sort of. For being evaluated, assessed and graded by a system that was never meant for a kid who understands the world in a way that’s different from neurotypicals. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t question myself constantly- “Am I doing everything I can to advocate for this kid?”.

This right here is my motivation. This is why I’m not backing down. This is me showing A “I hear you.”

I can hear you.

It seems like you don’t know that,

Do you?

I am sitting here,

In this chair.

Trying as hard as I can.

Or I was, at least.

Are you?

You ask me questions,

But you won’t wait for me to answer.

You talk so fast.

And you don’t check that I am ready.

When I’m quiet I’m good

When I’m noisy I’m bad

You boss me around,

Press this,

Touch that.

If I do or if I don’t,

It doesn’t matter.

You have already decided.

You have decided that I can’t.

You have decided I can’t hear you.

You have decided I can’t understand.

But I can,

I can hear you,

I can understand.

Maybe I don’t understand every word.

But I do understand your tone.

I understand that text message

Is more important than me.

I understand your data sheet

Is more valuable than me.

I can hear you.

When you talk about:

Your husband,

Your traffic jam,

Your student who is too low to get it.

I can hear you.

I know that student is me.

I know, and,

I can hear you.

– poem found at http://teachinglearnerswithmultipleneeds.blogspot.com/2014/07/i-can-hear-you.html

Future Planning- The Stuff Heart Palpatations are Made of

The future. We all think about it and try to imagine what it might hold for each of us. We try not to, but inevitably, make assumptions about the future based on current-day decisions, behaviors and choices. The future holds so much possibility and beautiful potential. The future also paralyzes me with fear and doubt.

I am the first to challenge myself and others to not make assumptions about what A is capable of based on what he may be doing or not doing today, this month or even this year. He continually reveals more of himself and more of his perspective, personality and abilities the older he gets. He is a hodgepodge of unique strengths and a child who’s behavior manifests a panoply of challenges across the board. Yes, this is all very true.

However, the world we live in is an inhospitable one for my firstborn. And I know that he will need someone to care for him throughout his lifetime. I know that the way in which he makes sense of things presents many challenges. He trusts everyone and questions the motives and intentions of few. He is unable to consistently and accurately discern the dangers inherent in day to day life. He is consumed, some days, with too much frustration, confusion and anxiety to properly handle daily living skills. So when his peers are applying to, or heading off to college, my husband and I will be filing paperwork for a guardian advocate for A. It’s a future that’s enormously difficult to think about. My feelings and thoughts a tangled mess squeezing gently around my heart. I know it will be a necessary and important step in providing A with the security and safety of good care and decision making, but it feels so invalidating and subordinating. It feels counterintuitive to all that we’ve been taught about parenting our children across childhood. It just doesn’t feel good. It’s painful.

A few months ago my husband and I had an emotional conversation in which I tearfully proclaimed “We can’t ever die.” No, I don’t have a choice about eventually dying, but the thought of A navigating this world without his dad and I buffering, supporting and guiding him is just too much to bear. I can’t imagine not being here for him and I can’t imagine asking anyone else – his siblings, my sibling, other family members to take this responsibility. As irrational or dramatic as this may sound, I honestly feel like we will be abandoning him when we die. I know- because I’ve talked to other parents of children with special needs and I’ve read, and read, and read some more about this- the profoundly difficult and daunting task of future planning for our children makes thinking about the future overwhelming and frightening. For me, it saddles me with sadness, fear and guilt that is immeasurable. The impossibly difficult questions sometimes haunt my dreams….

Who will care for A should my husband and I die? Who? Who? Who?

Who will watch E & Bug? Can we really ask someone to care for all three of our children?

Would we separate them? How could we do that!

Who really “gets it”?

Who do I trust to support and advocate for my child as if he was their own?

How will he do without us around?

Will he see that we tried our very best to plan for him?

Will he be OK?

I know, I know…..one never truly knows what the future may hold. There are aspects of his life that right now I can't imagine him managing independently down the road. I may be very pleasantly surprised though. I certainly hope that proves to be the case. And this is what I choose to focus on for now. The belief that A is not anywhere close to being done showing us what he's capable of keeps me satiated for the short term.

Plans for future guardianship will need to be addressed. Decisions and choices will need to be made. Conversations will need to happen with E and Bug….assuring them and informing them that we do not expect them to be responsible for their brother when we are no longer able to. I am thinking about the future…..and trying not to.

Look at Him Now

It’s remarkable to me what a difference a year can make. I catch myself every so often thinking about just how different a child A is from one year ago. How everything from the way he carries himself to the tone of his communication with us is so disparate from those dark, desperate days….so sophisticated…so harmonious.I find myself breathing more deeply, laughing more often, sitting back and letting go a bit more each day….okay, maybe a tiny, itty bitty smidge more…..but, I’m doing it nonetheless.

It’s a year later and we’ve moved from explosive, compulsive behavior to a more organized, focused boy. We’ve moved from frantic, impatient communication to communication rich in intention and full of depth. We’ve moved from restless irritability and anger to contentment. I am both amazed and humbled by what I’ve witnessed. This kid, who struggles mightily some days just to participate and demonstrate, has matured by leaps and bounds.

A’s development trajectory has always been so completely different than his peers. He’s done things his way and on his unique time table since the day he was born. At times the difference has been obvious and painful. The frustration and anxiety borne from the tremendous difficulty he has with some of the most mundane skills of daily living will never be lost on me. That which is easiest….almost intuitive….for us, is a mountain of a task for A. But, at the end of the day, he is continuing to develop and grow and mature. I need to remind myself of this and relish in this fact. I think many parents of children with special needs need to be reminded of this. Our kids ARE developing. Our kids may be delayed, but they all have the beautiful potential to learn and mature. Just because your child is unable to do something one year, please don’t allow yourself to buy into the assumption he will never be able to do it.

So to those of you being told your child has no joint attention…that he doesn’t seem to understand anything people are saying to him. Those hearing he cannot follow one-step directions or do activities with a group. I say this: “Patience. Let your child show you what is possible. Don’t be afraid to dream big dreams for your kids.” I promise you, no expert or doctor, teacher or therapist, knows what next week, next month,or next year will reveal about your child. Expect growth and development in completely unexpected, unconventional manners.

What I wish someone would have told me eight and a half years ago when A was given an autism diagnosis is that it’s my limited imagination and rigid expectations that hold the power to extinguish hope, not his “limitations.” I wish I would have kept a list of all the things I’ve been told or read A would not be doing. Just so I could lay that list down and watch my shining star tap dance all over it.

Trust in your child and wait to see what happens next. It’s going to be amazing. I promise.