Alex is entering 6th grade in the fall, and he will go to a new school.

It’s been six years since we toured special-needs schools. Back then, as Jill points out, we were looking for a kindergarten, and kindergarten classrooms for the autistic don’t differ much from kindergarten classrooms for the typically developing.

So this will be new. First stop was the school of Ron’s, Alex’s old terrific EI special-educator who’s now unit teacher of a special-needs site in a New York City public school.

I got to the meeting before Jill this morning; I rounded a corner and there Ron was. “There he is!” Ron said. A friend. He’s greyer (”More dignified,” I told him) but otherwise the same spark and firm handshake.

I did know  what to expect six years ago but now, I’m unsure what to look for in a school tours.  Here are the same tiled walls, same small bathrooms, same construction paper and marker artwork festooning the corridors.

Jill’s biggest jump start on this next-level search for Alex was a phrase she heard at another special-needs middle school. “We have,” the unit teacher of that school told her, “an expectation of college for our students.” We had never heard any educator say anything like that about Alex before, and it was like a strong new scent.

Still, with the budget crunch I foresaw late last year, I was hoping Alex’s current school could make an exception and perhaps keep him another year. Better to be with the people who’ve taken you from stop-and-stares to reciting “The Pledge of Allegiance” when the money dries up.

“Then Obama came through the funding,” Ron notes.

So it’s up we look. Suddenly I have to start from square one with people who’ve sometimes seen but not really met Alex, telling them all the clever cute stuff he does. How he tricked me out of the boys’ bedroom last night so he could get the cat off Ned’s bed. How he tricked Jill into taking her hand off a doorknob once, because he wanted to make a break for it. How he says clearly, “I want cookies!”

Ron’s school was similar to the one Alex is in now — some rocking, some stimming, wheelchairs parked in the halls. Classrooms had the velcro schedules (”sweeping”; “work time”; “clean up”), the looseleaf binders of simple sentences in big print. “Who wants to read me the recipe?” one teacher asked.

The classrooms were smaller. In one, colored cloth shaded the fluorescent overheads to cut down on distraction. In another, students used a computer to read and relate the life cycle of the butterfly. Science class. “That right, a chrysalis,” the teacher said. Ron shows us yet another loose leaf with a checklist of jobs the older students here perform at a local golf course: pick up trash, clean tables, stock storerooms.

We’re looking forward to Alex’s future. He could have one here.

“If there’s an opening,” Ron said.

(Great NY Times piece on the effect of swine flu-related school closings on special-needs parents.)

[Image: Credit: Valeriana Solaris (flickr.com)]

Soon as December started, my students started asking me what we were getting Charlie for Christmas. I fumbled with an answer—what do you get for the child who doesn’t ask for anything?—and they seemed quite incredulous that he’d no desire for any electronic devices or a football jersey with X player’s last name emblazoned on it. I’ve been used to telling people that things are different with Charlie but, on further reflection, the thought occurred to me:

Charlie, at 11 1/2, is getting closer and closer in age to my college-students. Certainly there’s more than a few similarities between him and the tall guys with really big sneakers or Timberlands with legs too long to fit in the desks and always fishing around in a beyond dog-eared notebook for the homework they forget they had to do. But it’s been a new thing to conceive of, that, before I know it, Charlie will be nearing the age of a college freshmen—a young adult—an adult.

Well of course—-like anybody, Charlie is going to be an adult for most of his life. With his limited expressive language (two and three word sentences) and his struggles with his academics (finally finally he is writing both his first and last names), I guess some would say that Charlie “seems” or “is” a lot younger than his age; that, “mentally” he’s at preschool level or some such. I guess this might seem to be the case to some when they first see Charlie, taller than all of his cousins on Jim’s side (and that includes the cousin in his 5th or so year of college), and when some hear Charlie humming more than saying words, and when they see Jim and me hold Charlie’s hand as we cross an icy parking lot. But time and again I know, never presume too little competence, to little understanding.

Often there seems to be a sense of division—of interests, of needs, of priorities—between parents of young autistic children and autistic adults. Parents of younger children tend, understandably, to focus on early intervention and educational services, and ways to obtain and pay for such services. Talk about “autism rights” might strike some as absurd and beside the point in trying to teach a child to say his own name. But—while my son clearly has a lot of challenges and is most likely always going to need a lot of support to work and live—I find that, more and more, discussions about autistic adults’ needs and autism rights speak to him and his situation.

My son is tall and strong. I don’t believe that restraints or any physical procedures, and certainly not any aversives, are how to help him, at school and elsewhere. He’s in a school district that understands this but that’s not everyone and my son needs always to be treated with respect and in ways that acknowledge his sense of self, his dignity. Too often, this gets forgotten. Charlie has his reasons for organizing his stuff in the living room in a certain way and we don’t see this as odd or aberration, but as Charlie making sense of the world around him, in his own way, in a way that we’ve come to appreciate and then some.

I mean, I like to order the stuff on my desk and in my bag in a certain way; last thing I want to be doing is scrambling for the car key when I’m flying off to meet Charlie’s school bus.

The question that keeps playing in my head, truly, is: When Charlie is the same age as my college freshmen, will he be as tall as the tallest guys and with those seriously big feet?

Life 101: That’s how the University of Arizona’s Chapel Haven West program is referred to in a story on yesterday’s ABC News. The program helps young adults with autism learn “to live independent and productive lives.”

“Just friendships, job interviews, actually filling out resumes and bringing them to a job, having a roommate,” said Betsey Parlato, president of Chapel Haven. “These are all things that you and I take for granted, but for someone with autism it’s a monumental challenge.”

In a social skills class, University of Arizona teaching assistants show the students the “hidden rules” that help them navigate their surroundings and interpret changing social cues.

“Not to stare inappropriately and that kind of stuff,” said Mackenzie [Smith, who's described as obsessed with politics]. “And about teacher-student relationships and that kind of stuff.”

“They have to be taught as if they have never seen before what kind of behavior is, for instance, at a concert,” Parlato said. “Is it all right to talk and laugh loudly at a concert? And then there’s a distinction made — well, what kind of concert? And they actually have to learn it.”

Special education teachers also assist students about skills such as using the bank, cooking, and home repair (changing a light bulb) (sounds like more than a few of us might benefit from a refresher in some of these…..).

Go here to learn more about Chapel Haven West’s residential, education, recreation, supported living, and employment programs.

Thanks to all who sent the kind birthday regards. My birthday coincided with the last day of classes at my college and the morning was packed with review sessions prior to exams and a couple of phone calls about matters that needed to be figured out by today (meaning Wednesday, i.e., yesterday) and some missing files of a rather important nature. (Two found, one still missing.) At 11am a student came in to talk about her graduate school applications; she had a bag lined in red tissue paper (a little soggy from the rain) and gave it to me. Inside was a hardcover version of my Latin textbook.

Since I first taught my student Elementary Latin four years ago, I’ve been through three or four paperback versions of the book. The cover inevitably gets ripped off and the book’s spine splits, and the corners get ruffled and ripped, and a couple of pages fall out and become occasional bookmarks. So having a much more durable hardback book should help. But getting one was something I just would never have done on my own. I have plenty of (worn and weary) copies of the textbook and I know some students struggle just to pay for their book. I can’t say how grateful I felt that my student had noted all this, and helped me out.

I’ve worked for most of Charlie’s life and while the demands of a job certainly make things more harried and add to the stress, I’ve also gained a lot of support from mycolleagues and students. Jim and I are in a constant conversation about Charlie and autism and much else; we both also agree that having “other interests” (here’s a longstanding one of Jim’s) and reaching out to others, both those who have a connection to autism and those who don’t, has been essential.

Jim’s schedule changed much in the past few years and he can be home more, but when we first moved back to New Jersey in 2001 with half of a job for the three of us, he had to work much longer hours, plus we lived in central New Jersey and Jim was working in the Bronx. Charlie and I spent a lot of time with just the two of us, and those were the days when I couldn’t go grocery shopping with him. Soon as I turned my back, Charlie’d be opening a container of something and eating. I initially started blogging in June 2005 on a hot June day when Charlie was floundering in a summer school program (that was not at all “appropriate“) and I was scheming about how we were going to pass a long afternoon when even the playground was off limits, the slides scorching hot under the sun.

The internet’s a rich, unregulated, and sprawling source of information, about autism and therapies and treatments and who knows what. I’ve found it to be as much a source of community, especially as a parent isolated by circumstances and grateful for support and help from someone out there, anywhere. First there was email for me and then blogging and now there’s been the rise of all the “social networking sites.”

Ive been very excited that one of my sister mom-bloggers, Bonnie Sayers, has organized Autism Twitter Day for next Tuesday, December 16th. Here’s what it’s about (via Left Brain/Right Brain; also see the autism group on Twitter, via I Speak of Dreams):

Autism Twitter Day – Tuesday, Dec 16th pacific standard time – 9AM, 12:30 PM and 8 PM. Prizes will be given out and a panel will be available with information and to answer questions.

This is open to twitter members, specifically those who are members of the autism community, whether it be a parent, sibling or relative. If you are on the spectrum you are welcome to take part. Most of the prizes are geared to children and young adults with autism or asperger syndrome.

The hashtag to be used for autism twitter day is #ASD. This means when you post a tweet that day which is on the topic of autism – positive autism awareness, please use the hashtag, either in front or at end of the tweet. Open up a window at www.summize.com and input #ASD to follow along with the conversation at the specified times. Most likely they will run longer than one hour. Stay tuned here and to my blog for prize and panel info.

We will be testing your knowledge on autism spectrum disorders, this is how the prizes will be awarded.

Bonnie has assembled an ever-growing collection of prizes, ranging from a children’s hammock (Charlie is too big for this, I suspect) to software to storytime felt sets. I’m not a big Twitter-er (my Twitter id is autismvox) but will be sure to be Twitter-ing on December 16th, and I don’t think I’ll be alone.

I certainly wasn’t for my birthday. We had dinner at a diner a couple of towns over, Jim and Charlie on one side of a booth and me opposite, and then it was home and opening presents and my guys were (as always) very nice to me, though I didn’t get anything on the order of the Autism Twitter Day prizes likes Mary’s Gone Crackers or a hardback version of my ancient Greek textbook.

So after a sunny Sunday topped up with exuberant bike riding and one of his all-time favorite meals at his all-time favorite Jersey hamburger stand, Charlie woke up on Monday morning with heavy-duty sniffles, a gurgly cough, and a hot forehead. Jim had gone out to wait for the bus while I got Charlie ready and I found myself running out to tell Jim that Charlie wouldn’t be going to school today. I went back inside, where Charlie was standing up, rather wobbly, and assured him he could stay home and before you know it he was stretched out on some cushions with a sleeping bag over him, sound asleep.

Jim came back in and asked the next, very pressing question: What were we going to do about work?

It’s a perennial issue for us; it’s the perpetual dilemma of the working mom and dad. Sick child; you both have to work—and even if we had daycare, we couldn’t drop off a sick child there. And I guess at such moments, when your child (however old he is) is coughing and has a hot forehead, that good old instinct kicks in. After briefly considering bringing Charlie with me, and as soon nixing the idea, I sat down and started typing messages to my students to explain that there’d be no class; we’re up-to-date with the syllabus, and one missed class was not going to make a big difference (and we’d still have the weekly Thursday quiz…….). As I was looking over my calendar and Jim was getting ready to walk to the train, I recalled that there was something at 12noon I couldn’t miss, a lunch with my college’s President and students.

“What are you going to do?” Jim asked.

“Email,” I said. “And we’ll see.” Email to an administrative assistant; to students about the classes being cancelled; to a student with a babysitting inquiry. I could drive Charlie in at 11.15am and he’d probably be ok staying in the car—it wasn’t as cold as I thought—and he’d be right in front of my office and if I could just find my student who’d offered to babysit…… I told Jim I’d figure it out.

A sleeping boy on a Monday morning at home. Unexpectedly, everything was quiet and I found myself with a space of time to get something I really needed to get done, done. (Well, more done than I had thought I might be with it on a Monday morning.) I typed, Charlie slept, Jim called me when his train got delayed. A secretary called and we reviewed plans for the lunch and she suggested another student to watch Charlie and I typed really fast, 11am came, and I roused a groggy Charlie.

After a cold start to the morning, the sky was clear and Charlie and I got the full panoramic view of the New York city skyline as we drove in on the Pulaski Skyway. We got into Jersey City and found a small car parked right in the center of the two parking spaces in front of my office; a student told us just to park in front of a neighboring house. (Yes, Jersey City’s streets are pretty crowded.) I hastily introduced Charlie to the student who was going to watch him; he repeated her name and said “no” about getting out of the car. She smiled and—most of the college’s buildings with classrooms are up the hill and a number of student dormitories nearer the bottom, with my office in-between—a couple of her friends were hanging out by my car in a short while.

The lunch turned out very well. When I came back, I saw Charlie through the backseat window but not the student watching him. As I walked up to the car, I saw her sitting beside him in the backseat and opened the door: “He insisted I sit in here with him,” she said. She told Charlie “bye” and he said “bye” in return (and I mentioned that, uh, she wouldn’t have been able to get out because the child safety locks are fastened on the backseat doors).

I looked behind and up (it’s a one-way street going down and not wide) and another student stood in the middle of the street until we had safely backed out, Charlie requesting something to drink.

Funny how what once would have seemed a crisis—Charlie sick! no babysitter! can’t miss work! no parking space unless I drive my car between a cinder block and someone’s bumper—-just becomes part of a day.

In my case, a quiet day with Charlie. And the fact that I got to spend it with Charlie (shopping a little as the fridge was almost empty, eating, slumping in a cushion chair, sniffling, getting really really bored and suddenly longing for “school!!!”, folding laundry, trying to finish that thing that needs to get done, making chicken broth with green onions and garlic)—that made my day.

(Tuesday morning update: Still coughing; another day home for Charlie, with Jim.)

Thinking again about what happens for autistic kids after school ends: At Midwestern State University in Texas  Kansas, six students are living in the “initium house,” KAUZ reports. Three of the students are on the autism spectrum and three are peer mentors. They have daily study groups and weekly social skills training and counseling sessions and this “unique living situation” is working so far—a new beginning (initium is Latin for “beginning”) for all.

As of this Wednesday, the fall semester is underway at my college and I’m explaining how to pronounce v as w in Latin to one class, and leading another in reciting and writing the 24 letters of the Greek alphabet. I’m teaching early in the morning thanks to Charlie being in middle school, which starts much earlier than his elementary school. I’m a quite energetic teacher, a necessary feature (I think) if you’re going to instruct college students in “dead languages” with complicated grammatical systems. At some point, some student’s attention will seem to waver, as indicated by eyes focused out the window rather than on the dry erase board, by a student saying “huh” when I call on their name.

I used to just think, ok, this student’s not absorbing anything—-not paying attention. Then I had Charlie, Charlie was diagnosed with autism, we started to figure out that he needed to be taught in very specific ways, and some, oh, 8-plus years of teaching Charlie ensued; some 8-plus years of me learning and relearning, students learn in different ways. Indeed, students show they’re focused and paying attention in different ways: It’s not every student who’s going to be sitting up straight in her or his seat, eyes on the dry erase board and book open. Certainly, I’ve time and again realized that Charlie is more than aware of what’s going on around him and of what’s being said, even when his body posture and eyes looking to the side and head down would suggest he’s not.

Yesterday’s Science Daily reports on a new study in the August 28th Neuron, Subliminal Instrumental Conditioning Demonstrated in the Human Brain:

“Humans frequently invoke an argument that their intuition can result in a better decision than conscious reasoning,” says lead author Dr. Mathias Pessiglione from the Wellcome Trust Centre for Neuroimaging at the University College London. “Such assertions may rely on subconscious associative learning between subliminal signals present in a given situation and choice outcomes.” For instance, a seasoned poker player may play more successfully because of a learned association between monetary outcomes and subliminal behavioral manifestations of their opponents.

Researchers used functional magnetic imaging to study the brain circuitry associated with subliminal learning—learning occurring without the brain consciously processing contextual clues. It was found that, even when the brain does not consciously process such clues, “subjects nonetheless developed a significant propensity to choose cues” that were paired and associated with monetary rewards, even when the cues were abstract and could not be seen. As the abstract to the study notes, “even without conscious processing of contextual cues, our brain can learn their reward value and use them to provide a bias on decision making.”

Regarding being conscious or not while trying to learn something: So often Charlie has said a sentence, a word, 100%-plus clearly once, or sight-read a piece on the piano; when asked to say the same thing again or play a few measures again, he is, more often than not, unable to do what he just did. It’s as if, when he’s consciously trying to do something (and particularly something that he has not mastered, or that is new), some “interference” ensures and the words are garbled, he hits the wrong notes. Charlie often does best on the first attempt and without being too aware that he’s trying when, perhaps, he’s relying on intuition. He knows when the pressure is on for him to do something—to perform.

For all that eye contact may be overrated, college students do need to learn to look up, look people in the eye, and speak clearly and sufficiently loudly to be heard, and Charlie too, at times. But perhaps there’s more than one way of showing you’re interested and listening, and being there.

Classes start Wednesday at the Jersey City college where I teach: It’s a small college in a very urban setting. I’m not sure what the percentage of students on the spectrum at my college might be. (The noise level—-the college is on a major thoroughfare, Kennedy Boulevard—-was one reason that one Asperger’s student told me he did not find the college right for him.) More and more students with Asperger’s are attending, and will be attending, college, today’s MSNBC reports:

Many students with Asperger’s or other autism-like disorders face new challenges in a college setting. The syndrome hampers communication and social skills, so along with difficulties staying on top of their studies, these students may struggle with making friends and living more independently. They also may be more reluctant to ask for help.

It’s a problem colleges and universities are “very aware” of as the first big wave of children diagnosed with autism-related disorders moves beyond high school, says Gwendolyn Dungy, executive director of NASPA, a Washington-based organization of student affairs administrators.

“We’ve been very interested in it and finding out how ready colleges are for these students,” she said. “We want to establish a climate for success.”

While higher education institutions usually make accommodations for students with disabilities, the law does not require them to provide the extent of services that students receive in kindergarten through 12th grade.

College students have to learn to be their own advocates; as the MSNBC points out, this is even more necessary, and potentially more challenging for students with Asperger’s. It’s very natural for me to mention Charlie while I’m teaching and this has occasionally led to students mentioning a sibling or relative who’s autistic; in one instance, a student himself emailed me that he was on the spectrum. And I very much always hope, I might hear more stories like these, and that we’ll all be hearing more such stories.

We’re on the beach and I look up and see a small airplane pulling a banner that advertises a certain movie whose words have been under discussion here.

Kind of sums up much of the past two weeks.

• A “Feral Child” Found in Florida?
  In 2005, a girl named Danielle was found amid the most literal squalor and neglect; she was diagnosed with “environmental autism.”
• The Parent Activist
  Once the parent of an autistic child, always the activist (and I don’t mean about mercury).
• Amanda Peet Says Something Sensible
  “My main message to parents is that they should not be taking medical advice from me or any other celebrity. They should look to their pediatrician, the AAP and other experts.”
• Autism, Representation, and the Case of Hannah Poling
  The words one uses to describe and represent autism can profoundly shape our understanding of it.
• What Sound Does a Color Make?: Auditory Synesthesia
  Synesthesia is an “involuntary joining in which the real information of one sense is accompanied by a perception in another sense”—-and now it’s been found that some people “hear” colors.
• Beyond Anecdotal Evidence: Clinical Trial of the GFCF Diet
  The University of Texas Health Science Center at Houston has begun one of the first double-blind, clinical studies about the gfcf diet.
• The Skies Aren’t So Friendly For Autism Assistance Dogs Either
  Karen Shirk, the director of 4 Paws for Ability, and three trained autism assistance dogs were blocked from boarding a Qantas flight at the Los Angeles Airport, en route to traveling to Waikato in New Zealand.
• On the “Autism Card” and a Deficit of Compassion
  About “compassion deficit disorder” and Michael Savage, and college admissions.
• A Thunderous Slight: Disabilities Groups Call for Boycott of Movie, Tropic Thunder
  More than a dozen disabilities groups—including the Arc of the United States, the National Down Syndrome Congress, the American Association of People With Disabilities—-are calling on Monday for a boycott of the movie Tropic Thunder, for its used of “the r word.”
• Changes at the Beach House
  Another year at the beach house with a boy who’s growing up.
• Mitochondrial Disorders Common in the General Population, But What About for Autism?
  An article in the July 31st American Journal of Human Genetics suggests that mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA) mutations are “common in the general population” and the usual suspects offer the usual over-rhetorical “interpretation.”
• The Last Acceptable Prejudice?
  Hollywood’s got the “developmental delays”—is being “a little slow to get it”—-at least when it comes to understanding why mocking the “retarded” may be the last acceptable prejudice.
• YouTube May Be Evil, But Thanks for the Memories
  Charlie discovers YouTube and its seemingly infinite store of old kids’ videos.
• Genetic Predispositions and Environmental Triggers
  How often have you heard it said that a child may have a “genetic predisposition” to autism, but that it’s an “environmental trigger”—-it’s something in the environment—-that leads to a child “having autism”?

Compassion Deficit Disorder is the title of an August 7th article by writer Judith Warner in the New York Times. Starting with Michael Savage’s over-the-top claims that autism is incorrectly diagnosed in 99% of cases and that it’s just a way to seek “undue sympathy, victim status, and services” for autistic children, Warner writes in the next paragraph about comments by Rick Davis, Senator John McCain’s campaign manager, last week about Barack Obama as

….[playing] “the race card” by noting that Republicans appeared to be trying to suggest to voters that the Democratic candidate “doesn’t look like all those other presidents on those dollar bills.”

There’s a perception—amorphous and not fully acknowledged—out there, Warner writes, that certain kinds of “differences,” of “gender, race, class, status and ethnicity” and also of disability enable some and certain individuals to have advantages, to be given preferential treatment. College admissions are Warner’s particular focus, as she refers to a conversation with her niece, an “incoming senior at a large, suburban high school in the Midwest”:

Her classmates, she said disgustedly, seem to view the college admissions trials as an all out game of war, waged by combatants who are perennially flipping cards of gender, race, class, status and ethnicity, ready to cheat if they don’t like the luck of the draw. Some students, she noted, managed miraculously to discover their non-white ancestry just days before they had to check off their race on admissions forms. These same students had spent their junior years bashing Hillary Clinton for “playing the gender card” (the oft-repeated phrase.) They bewailed the terrible unfairness of a college application system that, they believed, gave unfair advantage to racial minorities and students from economically disadvantaged homes.

Admission into college, and into certain highly selective, elite, Ivy League sort of colleges has become so competitive that students who are, Warner writes, “mostly white, mostly comfortably middle- or upper-middle-class,” feel disadvantaged as college admissions officers brush aside their applications in favor of students who, well, are not. Warner speculates that these students, and, too, the likes of Michael Savage and some campaign managers, all have a sort of “compassion deficit disorder”:

To accuse someone of playing some sort of card — race, gender, or whatever — is to assume they’re trying to take unfair advantage and to assert that they have no genuine right to express a grievance or even to mere self-assertion. That such accusations have flowed so thick and rich in the past year of presidential campaigning and now circulate unquestioned among our next generation of college students, reflects two realities: one is the degree to which the meaning of the historical battle of America’s long-discriminated-against populations has been corrupted, and the other is the degree to which everyone seems to feel that the deck is stacked against them.

The comments following Warner’s article were typically revealing, with numerous remarks about the unfairness of the college admissions process, some about autism being diagnosed and one (#195) in particular about Asperger Syndrome being a diagnosis “overused by parents wanting to have a label that will provide privileges and special services for a child who is bright but what we used to call ‘nerdy,’” and much more.

On first reading all this—especially what could be called the hand-wringing about college—I felt a bit impatient. Charlie’s educational challenges are far beyond worrying whether he won’t get into Yale; we’d have a major party if he read a few words in a book and I don’t mean anything by James Joyce. At this point, Charlie’s most likely not going to college. Jim and I are both college professors and have too good a sense of what Charlie would have to do to get through freshmen year, let alone the rest. Charlie most certainly does not have to attend college (or get himself mainstreamed) to make me feel proud of him; really, it’s beside the point. It’s a cliché, but raising a kid like him gives you mounds of perspective about what’s really important, and being able to wear a “Harvard parent” sweatshirt and put those stickers on the back of the stationwagon matters—-not.

In the interest of “full disclosure,” I will note that there’s a couple of cards I could play, or maybe that someone played for me when I was applying to college over two decades ago. I’m (1) female and (2) Chinese American, third generation, and I made sure to do all the kinds of things students today do to look like Top College Material: played musical instruments, competed in musical competitions, played in youth orchestras, ran cross country, won races, sang in the chorus (though I can’t sing), studied three languages. Et cetera. Further disclosure: I went to an Ivy League college, and then Ivy League graduate school, and then—-two years after I’d gotten my degree—-had a little boy who put me on the path to the hardest educational challenge I’ve ever faced. It’s not been easy, but it’s the truth that raising Charlie and trying to understand him has been the best learning experience I’ve ever had. I never sought admission and at times I’ve been an unwilling student. The cards that I’ve learned to deal have not been “playing” cards as much as flashcards, and Language Master cards to prompt Charlie to talk, and cards fastened to his backpack so he’ll know what his bus and locker numbers are, and the card I slip into his pocket that says “My name is Charlie—I have autism—please call my mom and dad IMMEDIATELY.”

Out of all the comments on Warner’s article, this one stood out to me the most was #44:

I am a Emergency Medical Technician in Jersey City New Jersey and a father of a Autistic child. Most of the children I treat for ashma [sic] are poor. My son, well he is autistic. Neither one of my jobs are “frauds”, please, get real.
Bill Bayer
— Posted by William Bayer

The college where I work is in Jersey City, which is the most ethnically diverse city on the East Coast. My husband Jim and I would love to live in Jersey City but the services for a kid like Charlie aren’t the same as they are in the suburbs, and so that’s where we live. Many of Jersey City’s residents are immigrants; the schools have all the problems of schools in a large, very urban, school district. It’s nice to be able to fret about college admissions. It’s necessary to “get real” and see who really has real needs, and where the compassion needs to be.

What would be the Ritalin equivalent for “CDD,” should one be sought……..