If You've Met One Person with Autism...

About a month ago I took the boys to Field Day at Clara Beth’s school. If you have an elementary student and you’ve ever been to Field Day, you know exactly what I mean when I say it is SENSORY HELL. Loud, chaotic, overwhelming, hot, and right in the middle of nap time. But my big girl really wanted me to be there, so I was there. Needless to say, it was a tough afternoon for my sensory challenged boys. Micah had it easy. I strapped him in the stroller, gave him his pacifier, and let him veg out to his heart’s content. Jude, however, wanted so much to get out, run around, and play with the big kids. He was overwhelmed and struggling, but he wasn’t going to let it stop him. I watched him fight his way through his sensory overload and manage to have a pretty good time despite the challenges he was working through. I was feeling so proud of him, because I knew how hard this was for him, and he was handling it like a champ.

So imagine my frustration when the following happened: One of the teachers walks up and starts talking to me. I don’t know this teacher well, but she knows my daughter (because, of course, everyone in the school knows my daughter), and apparently she’s heard that Clara Beth’s younger brother has autism. So she walks up to me, and in an overly sympathetic and unnecessarily slow voice, with extra enunciation, she asks me “How is he doing? You know, with his schooling?”

I say “Oh. Well, he’s doing really well. He just ‘graduated’ from his early intervention program and he’s about to start at a typical preschool next month.”

“That’s great! You must be thrilled. Ya know,” she begins to whisper now, like she’s telling me a special secret… “I have one in my class this year, too.”

Wait. She has one WHAT? A boy named Jude? A 3 year old? A puppy? Uhhh.....

But she goes on…”He’s pretty verbal for an autistic kid, and usually he does fairly well, but he does have his Rain Man moments…”

Stop. Did she really just say that to me? I think she actually did. Um, I’m fumbling around in my brain, trying to think of a response that doesn’t involve cuss words. I've got nothing…

Doesn’t matter that I’m speechless, because she goes on to tell me all about this kid in her class - a kid who sounds pretty darn incredible, but who shares nothing in common with my son except a diagnosis.

But it gets better. In the middle of her monologue, the wind starts blowing pretty hard. I’m holding a squirming and impatient Jude (who this teacher has not yet said a word to) in my arms, and he starts to complain. “I don’t like that wind! I don’t like it, Mama!”

“Ohhh,” gushes the teacher. “That’s wonderful! How great that he can tell you that he doesn’t like it. That’s so wonderful! You must be thrilled.”

Now I'm biting my tongue. She thinks she knows Jude, yet she still hasn't even attempted to talk to him and has barely even looked at him. I want to tell her that my son speaks in complete sentences and has verbal skills at the high end of normal for his age. I want to tell her that he bears little to no resemblance to Rain Man, except that he might be able to do that crazy math stuff in his head. I want to tell her that she sounds kind of ignorant, and as a teacher shouldn’t she know that no two kids with autism are alike? I want to tell her that he probably has more going on in his brain than she does. But I'm pretty sure I won't be nearly that articulate. Plus that last part is kind of mean. It's totally true, but still mean. And I'm afraid that the words that will actually come out of my mouth might get me kicked off the elementary school grounds, so I just laugh and say “Oh yes. He has no trouble letting us know when he doesn’t like something.” Then I walk away. As quickly as possible.

It’s not the first time something like this has happened, and it probably won’t be the last. When I mention that my son is on the spectrum, people love to start telling me about their cousin’s neighbor’s grandson who is also on the spectrum. Why do they feel the need to do this? Because they assume that Jude must be just like that other child. You know. Because of the autism and stuff.

There’s a saying that goes “If you’ve met one person with autism, then you’ve met one person with autism.” Clever, eh? They call it a “spectrum” for good reason.  Over the past year we’ve been privileged enough to get to know many kids on the spectrum, and I can’t think of a single one that is much like Jude. I can’t think of any two who are much like each other. They’re all unique. They’re individuals. They have different skill sets, different abilities, different gifts, different habits, and different challenges. They may have some similarities, but even their “spectrum qualities” look different from one kid to the next.

Most people don’t know this. And usually it’s because they don’t really know anyone on the spectrum. So I wanna show you a glimpse of what the spectrum looks like in our house. If you follow me on Facebook, you’ve probably heard a lot about Jude, but most of you haven't spent much time with him in person. You probably think you have an idea of what he's like. But I bet you're at least a little bit wrong. You probably don't realize that in many ways he’s just a typical 3 year old. But he’s not typical. Not really. But at the same time, he kind of is.

He’s silly. He loves to make us laugh. He loves to play games.  He sometimes forgets to make eye contact. He throws temper tantrums. He yells at his sister. He thinks his sister is the coolest kid in the world and his very best friend. He has a hard time sharing. He loves music. He makes up his own songs. He loves books and gymnastics. He plays hide and seek. He’s super sweet and gentle with his baby brother, except when that baby brother steals his toys. He struggles with change. He thrives with routine. He screamed every morning for 2 months, sometimes for over an hour, because he didn't want to wear short sleeves when the weather got warm. He didn't like the way his arms felt different without sleeves. He’s brave, but cautious, especially about trying new things. Sometimes I'm amazed at how brave he can be. He disengages when he feels overwhelmed. His coping strategy is to hum to himself and quote movies under his breath. That’s how I know when I need to intervene and intentionally engage him. He is a very concrete thinker. Creativity doesn’t come naturally to him, but his imagination is blossoming. He notices every detail of everything around him. He remembers everything. When he’s sad, he wants a tight hug and a big tickle. He still thinks my kisses make everything all better. 

He’s beautiful. He’s brilliant. He’s highly verbal. He’s sensitive and empathetic. He’s social and affectionate. And he’s on the autism spectrum.

Here are a couple videos, because unless you see him in action, you'll have to take my word for it when I say that he's amazing...

In this first clip we're playing our favorite game, Roll and Play. Jude can't read, of course (he's only 3, after all...), but he memorized all the cards the first time we played the game. He does stuff like that. Have I mentioned that he's amazing?

This second video is a 4 minute interview with Judle Bug. He's such a silly boy...