A 16-year-old starts his own computer consulting and repair business, Hire the Brain—impressive. Today’s Columbia Tribune tells how Collin Driscoll, who has Asperger Syndrome, started his company with his father and, too, how he’s learned to deal with his sound sensitivity.

Several months ago, [Driscoll's] mother convinced him to take a trip by himself to his aunt’s home in Kansas and to help her trucking company fix its computer system. It was a big step for Collin, but he enjoyed it, and at his aunt’s encouragement decided he wanted to start the business with his father, Steve, an IT programmer who formerly worked for large companies but was forced into semi-retirement after suffering a stroke.

“I’ve gone from being the geek to being his driver,” joked Steve Driscoll, who marvels at his son’s ability with computers.

Go here to the webpage of Hire the Brain, which notes “Why pay for the whole squad when all you need is one good brain?”—why, indeed?

Six deep-sea divers have been enlisted by the city of New York to repair a valve at the bottom of a 700-foot shaft in Dutchess County, yesterday New York Times reports. The shaft is located in the Rondout-West Branch tunnel, which is 45 miles long, 13.5 feet wide, up to 1,200 feet below ground” and which brings half of the water supply to New York city from reservoirs in the Catskill Mountains. For more than a month, the six divers have to live

in a sealed 24-foot tubular pressurized tank complete with showers, a television and a Nerf basketball hoop, breathing air that is 97.5 percent helium and 2.5 percent oxygen, so their high-pitched squeals are all but unintelligible. They leave the tank only to transfer to a diving bell that is lowered 70 stories into the earth, where they work 12-hour shifts, with each man taking a four-hour turn hacking away at concrete to expose the valve.

And more about how the divers work:

Three divers at a time climb into the steel bell, an orb that is lowered down the shaft for 20 minutes to reach the pumping equipment in the tunnel. The bell is tethered to a bundle of cables carrying air, communication lines, electricity and water. Each diver works for four hours and rests underwater for eight before returning to the tank at the surface, where 32 more employees of Global Diving and Salvage, the Seattle company running the project, pass meals, clothes and books through an air lock.

In the saturation control room, Patrick Boyd, a life-support technician, monitors the divers’ air on a panel of screens, one of which reads 2.26 percent, for the amount of oxygen. While underwater, divers often get more oxygen in their mixture to keep them alert. John Lapeyrouse, a dive supervisor who is one of the few who can understand the helium-riddled voices, one of the side effects of what is called “saturation diving,” talked to Mr. McAfee as he worked the other day.

Apparently, the divers can ” request whatever food they like, including steak and fresh salads” but because “the air pressure in the tank dulls the taste buds,” they have to add a lot of “Tabasco, salsa and jalapenos.” And when their work is done, they must “remain in the tank for a week to gradually wean themselves off helium.” Says Robert Onesti, who’s running the project for Global Diving.

“It’s not for everybody. It’s heavy construction work, and it’s deep.”

You can say that again: I’ve come to love swimming thanks to Charlie, but dislike going underwater. Charlie, on the other hand, seems to thrive on being in deep water and, indeed, being under it. Often when we swim at the YMCA pool, he positions himself just where the water is almost over his head, and crouches down under and then propels himself out, and then ducks down under, jumps up out—-repeat, repeat, repeat.

Before he goes to sleep, Charlie always wraps his feet and legs tightly in at least two fleece blankets: Deep pressure seems not merely comforting, but essential, to his system. I’ve said it before, but I don’t know what he, or we, might have done in the past before the invention of polarfleece. And I’ve given up getting potentially scratchy sweaters for Charlie and shirts with stiff cuffs and collars: If he needs to wear those when he’s older for special occasions, he and we can deal.

Who knows but Charlie might, indeed, like scuba diving (I wouldn’t be the one going under with him, that’s for sure)—being under so much water— living underwater for a couple of weeks in a pressurized chamber might (who knows, again) appeal to him.

There’s something out there that any of us, with our diverse talents, can do, even if you have to go to the bottom of the ocean to find it.

Weekends used to be really tough for our family. Charlie thrives on the structure and busyness of school, and try as we might to fill Saturday and Sunday with activities, it just never seemed to be enough. Now that he’s older, and feeling very secure about his school situation, weekends have been better—-nonetheless, I think a lot about how necessary it is that Charlie will always have lots to do, will have work to do that is meaningful and uses his talents, for his whole life. Today’s Baltimore Sun has an article about vocational programs for autistic and developmentally disabled adults in Maryland. Located in Ellicott City, the Linwood Center provides vocational programs for individuals who are not able to find jobs in the community; some participants have also been able to find jobs at places like Wal-Mart and Sears.

I hope very much that Charlie will be able to work in the community, among others, with others. He really does like to be busy and have things to do; he likes, too, to be among people. Certainly he’s heard us telling him “good job” for doing this or that well all these years and on the top of my list is making sure that they’ll be a good job out there for him, and for the duration of his life.

Labor Day today and everyone seems to be talking “back to school.” I’ve been back to teaching at my college for a week and Jim starts this week. Charlie, however, doesn’t go back to school till next Monday, September the 8th. He perked up on saying “school tomorrow!” yesterday night—I hated to tell him, “one more week.” So if I’m still in sort of vacation mode here for another week, believe me, we’re all just waiting to see the yellow schoolbus pull up next Monday morning.

The reason (or the reason we’re being told) that school is starting late for Charlie is because of “new construction.”" One the projects mentioned a couple of times has been some new classrooms at the high school, including a kitchen and other facilities that would be meant only for special ed students. Our district has been preparing for a larger number of students—more than a few with autism, like Charlie—moving up to the high school and needing pre-vocational training. So assuming that the rooms will be solely for the use of the special ed program, the new construction is very much to Charlie’s benefit.

Yes, though Charlie’s only 11, we’ve already begun to think about vocational training. It’s very early, I know, but based on where Charlie is academically—-reading means working on a few individual words; math is a lot of counting and number recognition (Charlie’s been learning to use a calculator but he’s not yet doing simple arithmetic)—something like college is rather, and even simply, unlikely. A job involving some physical activity would be good; I don’t see Charlie sitting at a desk in front of a computer, but moving around and doing things: Working in a kitchen or something involving food preparation, or cleaning up something (working in a park maybe?). I suspect Charlie will himself indicate where his preferences lie.

No matter what his age or school status, we’ll keep working on reading, writing, and ‘rithmetic with Charlie; whatever age he learns these in is right on time. Charlie is a boy of few words but he notices a lot and, more and more, he makes it his job to tell us.

Sunday being the day before Labor Day with a clear, clear blue sky, we went back to the beach. Charlie’s been saying no to swimming: A chlorinated pool is no ocean, and some of the pools at our YMCA have been closed for maintenance. He did say “yes” to going to the ocean and so down the Parkway we went on Sunday. Charlie’s anxiety reached a high point at the precise place where the same had happened going back to the beach twice earlier this summer and my mom got a big bonk on the nose. We stopped at a rest stop and my mom and I switched places in the car and Charlie’s rapid, nervous verbalizations peaked and then lessened as we neared the ocean.

Charlie ran right into the water. It was warm, and the lifeguards were in ultra-relaxed mode, with swimmers going far beyond the flags before being whistled at. Charlie made his usual headfist forays straight into and under the waves and, a couple of times, headed out to see swimming on his back, headfirst and happily smiling. We swam and swam; other swimmers were worrying about jellyfish but Charlie, occasionally scratching at his back, kept turning back into the waves.

We had dinner at a favorite seafood shack and Charlie, as he’s been doing all summer, ate a roll and went through a bunch of ketchup packets, then ate his lettuce and a Jersey tomato slice when I asked him if he wanted them or not, and some bits of burger. Most of Charlie’s French fries went untouched. Because of being gluten and casein free for so many years, Charlie’s eaten his share of crispy, oily potatoes many times over and it’s ok with me if he turns his nose up at them for newer tastes.

There was some, but not too much, traffic going back home on the Garden State Parkway. Charlie smiled and bantered with me (still in the back seat) about a game called Farm Families that he used to adore and some of his older, long-said-good-bye to toys (”Remember how you used to sleep with the garbage can by your bed?” I asked, at one point). We were three in the backseat with my dad on the left and Charlie on occasion stretched out his legs in the center console of the car and almost moved the gear shift.

After that, he turned his attention to the trunk of our station wagon and said to me, “Yellow boogie board.” Last week, coming back from the beach, he’d pulled out the boogie board and, in the midst of an unhappy beach house rentrée, scratched some deep groves into it. There was n room for a big boogie board in the beack seat and I told Charlie we’d get it out when we got home. He flashed me a look and then squirmed and leaned his head into my arm.

It was past 11pm when we got home. Charlie ran in and as I was pulling out the wet towels and swimsuits, Jim said to me, “You know, I left the yellow board by the showers at the shore—-I was going to rinse it off.”

Think I’m going to have to start telling Charlie to remember to tell me, and us, certain things because he’s not going to forget—-and I think he’ll do a real good job.

The June 29th Herald (Sharon, PA) describes a program that helps young autistic adults transition from high school to adulthood. The program is run by St. Anthony’s Point and St. Michael’s Harbour, Inc., Hermitage. After participating in it, 23-year-old Michael Mondak is working in the Community Library of the Shenango Valley and matriculating at the Shenango campus of Penn State University; 20-year-old Shane Myers is working at Farrell Golden Dawn and Big Lots in Hermitage, and will soon be working full-time. Both note that, besides work and life skills, the program has taught them something more:

…..the program seems to have taught them a lot about themselves as well as career and life skills.

Myers said it helped him see that his disabilities wouldn’t stop him from getting a job. And the staff is nice and willing to help with anything, he said.

Mondak said it helped him to find a job that suits his strengths and to help him develop friendships.

“We’re no different than other kids, other young adults …,” Myers said. “We can get a job like regular people. We can do anything a regular person can do but it may take a little longer. Or we might pick it up faster than regular people, so there can be some plus sides.”

Indeed, a lot of plus sides.

The Spring semester is almost over at the college where I teach and “getting some kind of job” is the main response from students to the question “what are you planning to do this summer?”. And—it occurs to me on this last day of April with May and Charlie’s 11th birthday right around the corner—-what kind of job will Charlie get some day?

Today’s Southeast Missourian describes the Tailor Institute, which is now offering skills training sessions and social outings for “high-functioning” adults on the autism spectrum. The Institute operates under the Southeast Innovation Center and is currently training three high schoolers and two college students. One student works for the Southeast Missourian and scan negatives. The other student works for the the Center for Regional History at Southeast Missouri State University, where he is also a part-time student; he “files papers, archives documents and will work on a project over the summer making a map of a cemetery in Oran, Mo.”

Institute director Elaine Beussink says that, autistic adults are able to find employment, it’s “sustainability” that is the issue:

“Because of the dynamics of the spectrum disorder, they may be perceived as rude, impolite or insensitive. Those may be things needed to maintain employment. If you appear insubordinate or are too rigid, those are complaints employers may have for releasing an employee.”

Charlie’s IEP meeting and annual review are on Friday. He’s going to middle school and more and more of the skills that he is working on are pre-vocational, including in areas such as math (he’s working on addition and subtraction, and money—-he’s had some trouble understanding the different values of the coins). Charlie’s choices for a job will be very limited but I know a steady job will be invaluable when he’s grown up.

Just as some parents of autistic adults have told me that they are less and less, and less, concerned with tracking down what caused to be autistic, so finding jobs—real jobs in the community—-is a major concern to begin to work on. How can companies be encouraged to hire disabled workers?

Last night I went to see a friend who had recently gotten tenure at the college where he teaches. We started graduate school together back in 1990 and have been through various jobs, households, cities. Another friend who had also started her studies with us walked in the door, and there was a lot of catching up to do. Everyone asked about Charlie and—-with a clear memory of the boy I had left eating his dessert before his eel sushi, seated opposite my parents and giving me a quick “bye Mom”—-I said “he’s doing really good” without a second thought.

And then it struck me: It was 17 years ago that I first met my friends and sat across from then with cups of coffee and books in smoky cafés and dim-lit libraries. 17 years: Where in the world has the time gone?

I have been “kind of” busy and extremely preoccupied for at least a good 11 of those years. It seemed impossible that so much time could have passed, and yet I’ve living proof in that tall boy telling me “bye.”

I have not been able to stay in contact with friends as much as I would have liked to at all. Working, taking care of Charlie, spending time with him and Jim, the usual round of shopping, laundry, house cleaning (and car cleaning; Charlie’s shoes have been muddy), take up every moment plus. Many aspects of my job make it possible for me to have a more flexible schedule and so to meet Charlie’s schoolbus every day (Jim puts him on the bus). On the other hand, I do a fair amount of work at home via email and the internet so that it’s possible to, in effect, work 24/7, in addition to taking care of Charlie 24/7.

I’m grateful to have a job at a college that enables me to do all this. And yesterday I was grateful to be standing amid old friends and faces last seen years and years ago and toast my one friend with champagne and say “I think we made it.”

Words that resonate deep in the heart.

Amid all the interesting developments in the autism world today—the NYU Child Study Center’s ‘town meeting’, David Kirby’s latest interpretation of ‘evidence’ for a link between autism and vaccines or something in vaccines, a little politicking—I’ve been fielding emails from various colleagues from work, regarding the scheduling of student presentations. It has been made very clear that the schedule does not work for one colleague, due to other, very pressing work demands and shouldn’t I have realized this?

In responding, I’ve been a bit tempted to insert this sentence:

I have a son with autism and I am going to great lengths to get him a babysitter so that I can attend the presentations at that time of day, and at the risk of severely disrupting my son’s own schedule and overall well-being—-I have to go back home to meet his bus and then turn right around after briefing the babysitter to go to the presentations; my husband would take care of my son but he has to work (as you note that you do)……..

Stop, I say to myself: Stop the excuses. Sure, I have some complicated circumstances; sure my colleague does, too. Who doesn’t?

I know, deep in my heart, that it helps Charlie to have changes in his usual routine and that the babysitter is glad to spend time with him. I know that flexibility is an asset.

But ah, the excuses I could make!

And don’t need to.

“As a parent, I saw the future and so the question is, given our position, what do we do about it? Maybe we could be an example, maybe we could use our position of leadership to try to change the work environment.”

So Walgreens executive Randy Lewis—who has a 19-old-son with autism—says in an ABC news report on companies employing disabled employees. More than 40 percent of the 700 workers at the Walgreens distribution center in Anderson, South Carolina are disabled. Another quote from Lewis:

“People come to me and say, will this work in my environment? Yes, it will. This is not just a good thing to do, the right thing to do. This is better…..When you walk through this building, there is a sense of purpose. Everybody knows why they’re here. Everybody helps each other. This has transformed the people that work here.”

My son’s school district has a vocational program for special needs students, should that be the right educational direction for them. Students start by working in offices and buildings around the school district; a supervisor constantly canvasses the community to find local businesses that might consider employing a disabled student for an internship—-and, job by job, to change the work environment.