Inspirational Stories

There are stories of courage and faith all around us. This one is about a Catholic family with a special needs child. Recently, now age 18, I had the opportunity to assess their son.

This young person has substantial, multiple difficulties. To protect the family’s privacy, some information has been changed.

I will call their son Thomas. Not Thomas the Doubter but Thomas the Tenacious.

Early on, Thomas’ family knew that their middle child was very different. Though not a problem at home, he got kicked out of a private pre-school for behavior issues. By age four, assessment suggested that he had substantial communication and social delays. Other assessment suggested an array of delays.

In Kindergarten, Thomas’ parents turned down an SDC placement (more than 50% in special ed setting) and insisted on mainstreaming him. His family wanted and got a regular ed placement. He had an aide.

 It was a warm fall day, I sat with Evan on the porch and drew with chaulk. He would make upside down "e" doodles, and make little lines, evenly spaced, across the rail. He haddn't tried to speak in a few months, but I talked to him like normal anyway. The way he wouldn't look at me, or anyone for that matter, made me wonder if the words were getting through. I said "I like that picture!", "that's a good color!", to his little doodles, and gave him another color. "TING-TING-TING", went the chaulk, as he threw it angrily. He only would have one thing at a time, and me giving him the extra chaulk had upset the balance. "WWAAAAAaaa!!!" he wailed, as he spun in circles. "Come tell Daddy what's wrong", "it's OK", I said as I knelt down to comfort him. "Talk to Daddy buddy, why don't you talk to Daddy?". "I DON'T WANNA TALK!" The words fell from his mouth so matter-of-factly. I was stunned! As the tears welled up in my eyes, he walked up to me, gave me a big hug, and looked at me like he didn't understand either.

 Since this day we have made much progress. We've reached almost 180 from where he was. Do your research, be persistant, their in there.

"Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still she sings away all the same, knowing she as wings."

                                                                                                                                                          Victor Hugo

Let us be that bird for our children, knowing that if we fall our community will gather around us and give us flight once again.

                                                                                                                                                           Elizabeth Obrey

My son is a wonderful young adult at the age of 21. Growing up has been hard for him. When he was age five, we (his father and I) decided to wait a year before we put him in kindergarten. Educationally he was very prepared to go but not emotionally. So when his first day of school did come around, at the end of the day, I received a note from a wet behind the ears, first time ever parochial school teacher that my son was not ready. I was really angry that this women, who had known my son for six hours was telling me that he had ADHD. I knew she was wrong. Throughout his life he was normal around us, but yet I noticed that on playdates, he'd stay by himself or with me. He wouldn't meet new friends. He was very withdrawn around stangers. There'd be no eye contact. No hellos to family or friends. And there was other signals that I noticed. Certain textures bothered him. He would not color with crayons, fingerpaints or use molding clay or Play-Doh. Everytime he had check-ups I'd mention to the pediatrician that James could not see "cause and effect". He didn't get the "big picture". The doctor wasn't concerned because all the growing milestones were being met.

I am a widow and single mother of a mildly to moderately autistic boy.  He will turn 3 years old in two weeks.  He was diagnosed with Autism just before his 2nd Birthday.  When he was diagnosed he couldn't talk or communicate, he wouldn't respond to his name, and there was no eye contact.  He was still drinking from a bottle and still eating baby food.  He has improved a lot in the past year.  His eye contact is really great now, he responds to his name, has learned to communicate some, immitate and initiate words.  He is now trying to tell us what he wants sometimes.  He drinks from a sippy-cup, sometimes from a straw, and sometimes out of a regular cup.  He still eats baby food.  We are still working on trying to get him to eat table food.  Because of his sensitivity to textures and also because change is hard, he will not eat anything he has to chew.   I have learned that parents are the best advocates for their children.  Parents know their children better than anyone.  What works for one child may not work for another child.  Each parent has to figure out what works best for their child, this could be true for normal children as well as autistic children. My son has a speec

Inventor wrote, “In school aspie is called nerd, at work, the boss.” This quote is from a discussion on WrongPlanet.net about business owners with Autism and Asperger’s.  As it turns out, for some, “Nerds Rule!” is not just a saying.

Mary, my social networking guru, sparked this post (I’ll get to her in a minute.) when she sent me this link:  Autistic Traits: A Plus for Many Careers (I like the punny humor in that.) where Lisa Jo Rudy wrote, “But autistic people aren’t typical. And neither are the careers for which they’re ALREADY good candidates.”

Then I remembered the episode of House I watched where the “radical” doctor with long hair, a guitar, and tattoos was not hired because, to paraphrase House, the only radical kids were the ones who spent hours in the library studying while the popular kids were out partying.

My friend Craig posted a hilarious blog in which he shared pictures of a “book” he wrote when he was 9.  Craig had his first book published by a publisher this month, so it was really neat to journey back in time to view this young literary prodigy at work.  Check it out:  http://craiglancaster.wordpress.com/

My son Cooper loves to illustrate stories.  Because his language is so delayed, I love the insight his books give us into his thoughts.  I have a portfolio of his “books.”  This link: http://www.forthesakeofjoy.com/young-talent/  goes to my  web site where I posted pictues of a story he wrote about how he envisioned Christmas Eve. (I couldn't put that many pics into this site's blog space)  He writes how he talks – leaving out words in the sentence and using many sound effects.  We use story writing in his therapy to work on sentence structure; phonics; reflective thinking; and many other skills.  I will continue to encourage him in his writing ~ maybe one day he too will be a “Craig Lancaster”  : )  Peace!  ~kp

I am watching college football and my Alma mater is losing to the team that was our biggest gymnastics rival when I competed for Penn State.  Yes, JoePa and the Nittany Lions are being outplayed by Ohio State.  (Stupid Buckeyes.)  Although I have nothing to do with the outcome of the game and I have no financial interest in who is the victor, I still want my team to win and the fact that they will lose has made me just a wee bit grumpy.  I know this grumpy feeling will last approximately 64 seconds after the game actually ends, and then it will be gone.  Because even though I wanted them to win, my mood for the day does not depend on it whatsoever.  

I know I’ve mentioned that I grew up with no one knowing I had Asperger’s Syndrome. It made things quite a challenge for any who dealt with me and there were those who gave up. I’m not writing to talk about them today. Today, I want to pay my undying respect to those who took one extra step beyond and never, no never, gave up on me.

The first person I want to talk about, taught me in Boy’s Chorus at Irving Jr High in 1982. I have to say that Junior High years were the hardest on me. I had a heavy helping of bullies and general difficulty. Matters at home were no different and I felt depression’s grip icily on my heart.

I started storming out of classes because I simply felt so overwhelmed. I couldn’t handle the fact that I had no safe haven. I couldn’t process all of what happened around me and I had no idea why. So, I started considering suicide. No, no one knew of this, not even Ms. Paula Baack, my chorus teacher.

Ever since Tyrell was an infant I knew he was a special little boy. I first noticed his motor development was off of schedule. This is when I first had a feeling something was not right. He started sitting up on his own at ten months and then every month after that his motor skills started to progress. He said "dada" at six months and "mama" at twelve months but something was still off about him. I never thought he was a special needs child. However, I did know he was developmentally delayed. He was diagnosed with PDD at fifteen months. Hearing my child was autistic made my heart sink to my feet. What hurt the most was to learn that his cognitive skills were at an eight month old level and his speech was at a three month old level. It was very hard to deal with the news that my child may never be normal. The good news was that Tyrell was not diagnosed as severe or mentally retarded. He was diagnosed mild to moderately Autistic. This means there is hope for my son's future. Today his cognitive level is between 12 to 18 months and his speech level is about 8 months. I am pleased to say 24 hours a week of Early Intervention is changing his life for the better.