Carly Fleischmann never ceases to inspire. She is one of the most incredible people we have yet to meet.
View the music video of “Glamour Girl” written by Carly Fleischmann and performed by Kaitlin Kozell and Lil Jaxe. Artists who both have had to overcome personal obstacles to be where they are today.
Awesome. 100% Awesome.
If you haven’t yet gone to see “Finding Dory” — Go see it. I am by no means a movie critic, but I would recommend this movie to any parent of any child. The fact that it’s geared towards children is, in my opinion, simply an added bonus.
The movie begins with an insight into some of the struggles that Dory has. Whether or not you can relate to someone that has the same struggles–in her case it was battling memory loss–you will be able to relate to the fact that Dory has special needs that you cannot see from just looking at her from the outside. This aspect was made clear through various points in the movie: For instance, when she begins to talk to strangers or tries to make a new friend, and within minutes she is getting weird looks and comments, all simply because of a disability that she didn’t chose for herself and that she doesn’t have any control over. Sound familiar?
It’s rare that I am able to read an article, watch a book, or talk to someone who is able to change my perspective or give me a sense of, “You know what? Everything really is going to be OK.” But in an hour and a half, this movie managed to do it.
I had no idea what Dory’s background or storyline would be when I took my girls to see it, so I wasn’t expecting anything overly profound. Yet, without intending to do so, suddenly I wasn’t watching a fish anymore–I was watching my daughter. I was able to step back and see her in someone else; see her struggles and how they affect her daily. I could see how people reacted to her–both positively and negatively–and how those opinions affected her (or in this case, didn’t). I watched children laugh and play with her and adults who had less patience than the kids. I saw how so much of that rolled off her back and how often.
Specific challenges can, in many ways, affect the parent so much more than the child. I watched her play, laugh, be happy and confident, and not take it personally when some of the kids preferred to play elsewhere. I saw strong new friendships form despite her struggles and, most importantly for me, I was able to see how with the patience and love of people who care, it’s totally possible for “everything to be OK.”
We really were all created differently. Dory was just as lovable and just as smart (if not more so) as any other ‘fish in the sea’ and that was pretty fun and refreshing to watch.
I found myself thinking that, as parents, because we care so much, we tend to focus on the struggles that we see, and the differences that we notice. Kids themselves don’t always read situations, circumstances and events like we do. In my experience, children learn, grow and adapt to how they’ve been made, just like we do. And, while we can be uncomfortable watching them play by themselves in a group setting, or preferring to read alone instead of going out–they’re not uncomfortable. They’re fine. They’re happy. They’re doing what they want to do, the way they want to do it. And to be honest, that’s pretty awesome.
I was reminded this week to accept our kids as they are and appreciate them for their differences. I am understanding more and more every day that just because they struggle with things that we may not, it doesn’t mean that they aren’t going to grow up and be just fine.
I debated writing this post at all. I know it comes across as what should just be common sense. But I did write it down because I wanted to be reminded of it myself. Because when I’m in the thralls of parenting–changing routines, introducing new people and attending new events–immediate concerns and challenges can seem overwhelming and I forget to look at the bigger picture, to take a step back and remind myself of this. Some days she is growing up faster than I can even believe it and some days I feel like we’re stuck. Regardless of any of that, she’s funny, she’s happy, she’s going to be OK. And so am I.
Heather Nelson, her husband Colin, and her two sons live right along a major road in Rockland, Maine, that’s currently undergoing a complete overhaul. It’s been big inconvenience for many commuters who travel the road daily, including Colin.
One day, when her husband was stuck for an hour about five minutes from home because of the construction, Heather realized that the construction company probably heard a lot of complaints about the project. But their son, Brian, was absolutely loving having the construction vehicles right outside their door. So, in an age when people seem to complain much more often than they compliment, Heather decided to thank the company for making her son so happy.
She took a short video of Brian and sent it to the Thomaston Rte 1 Project, the Facebook page for the road project, along with the caption: “I’m sorry to everyone who is completely annoyed by the cluster this construction is making….but it sure is making one autistic boy very happy that he can sit right on his doorstep and watch bulldozers and dump trucks.”
The very next day, Heather heard from a Lane Construction representative, who told her that she’d shared Heather’s post with the construction crew and they wanted to make Brian an honorary member of their crew. Before the day of Brian’s visit, one of the crew members called Heather and asked her about autism and how Brian would react to everything and what they should expect. In a blog she writes for Bangor Daily News, Heather said, “They really went out of their way to understand him.”
At the construction site, they presented Brian with his very own hard hat, along with other construction gear. They asked him if he wanted to go in various construction vehicles and, although his initial response for each was “No, thank you,” they waited patiently and didn’t rush him or force him, and he eventually wanted to take a look inside each one.
They were there for a while, and Heather wrote, “At some point, I figured we’d get some bored and tired team members. It’s hard if you’re not around autism every day to really grasp it and understand it… But we never hit that roadblock. It was clear, minutes into the evening, that this was truly about Brian. Every person there was so genuinely happy to just be there and to watch Brian. No one was on a time schedule and they bent over backwards to make sure it was all about Brian and did whatever it took to make him happy.”
While there’s no doubt that the construction crew was thankful for Heather’s original thank-you post to them, they more than returned the favor, and the honor. In Heather’s words, “Seeing Brian noticed and honored for who he is, means everything.”
For many of us, Disney animated films are just entertainment. But for the Suskind family, these films are much, much more. After all, it was through these films that their son Owen learned to relate to the world around him and make sense of it after autism took him away. And it was through these films that his parents found a way back to him.
As happens with many children eventually diagnosed with autism, Owen was a “typical” developing kid until the age of 3. Then he became a shadow of his old self, no longer talking, playing, looking people in the eye—he was there physically, but had otherwise disappeared. He stayed that way for another 3 ½ years, until one day when they were all watching a Disney movie. Owen looked at Ron and Cornelia and said, out of the blue, that he didn’t “want to grow up, like Mowgli or Peter Pan.”
It was the first time Owen had communicated in years, and it was both a substantial thought and a substantial sentence. His parents finally realized that he hadn’t been gone all of those years; he’d simply been locked inside himself. And during that time, he’d watched and memorized and processed every single animated Disney movie they’d played for him. He’d formed his identity based on Disney characters and his understanding based on the films’ lessons.
Although doctors cautioned the Suskinds from getting their hopes up, they continued to use Disney animation and characters to reach and reconnect with their son. As Ron explained, “the goal was to do whatever worked.” Ron, a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and author, wrote a book about the journey to reach his son, “Life, Animated: A Story of Sidekicks, Heroes and Autism,” and recently realized his dream of having the book made into a movie.
That movie, “Life, Animated,” presents Owen’s story in the closest way possible to relate to what he went through—using animation. The result is something amazing and precious, heartwarming and heartbreaking. “Life, Animated” is a stunning tribute to the selfless love of two parents who were willing to do whatever it took to help their child live in our world, on his own terms.
As Cornelia says, “Who decides what a meaningful life is?”
It’s not you; it’s me. I miss you. Sometimes I withdraw from you, but I don’t want to. It’s hard, really hard being an autism mom. My life is far from the typical life. I have a child who I can’t take anywhere. He gets over-stimulated rather quickly. He is non-verbal and not able to use the potty on his own. He has lots of meltdowns. His life is hard. Our life is hard.
I want to participate in the things that you have to offer but it’s strenuous, to say the least. Sometimes we can and sometimes we just simply can’t. We never know what we can do from minute to minute, day to day. Some days are easier than others, but the hard days can be gut-wrenching. Nonetheless, each day always brings some amazing, priceless moments. Either way, my top priority is always my children and what they are able to handle.
I find myself wanting to make friends and getting to know the new town that I have lived in for a year and a half now, but I just can’t. Many days, my life would likely scare away any neighbor or new friend. It’s not simply about not wanting to; it’s that I am unable to at this point in my life. I withdraw from making friends because I can’t do my part in a friendship.
I just can’t be the type of friend that drops everything and is there for you when you need me to be. It’s not that I don’t want to; it’s that I can’t. My children have special needs and the number of people knocking on my door, offering or even willing to babysit is few and far between. I have to be here for my boys. I can’t give 100% into any other relationship in my life. If I did, it would be taking away precious time from my children and their special needs.
Just because I have to withdraw from you, doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be a part of you. I still want to hear from you, even if I may not respond right away or be able to participate. It’s not you; it’s me. Well, it’s a little bit you. You’ve gotten harder; I haven’t changed. I am still the person that I was ten years ago. I still love to laugh, talk to friends, go shopping, exercise, help the needy, host family and friends, watch the St. Louis Cardinals win, and so much more. That is all still the same. What has changed is that I have children who are unable to do all of that. And if they can’t, I can’t. World, please know that I want to, I just can’t.
Therefore, until the day comes when I am able to do some of the activities like I used to, I will continue to watch and care over my children. I will continue to feel withdrawn from you. I will continue to refrain from making new friends because I just can’t. It’s not an easy life, but it is what it is and I have an obligation to my children. But keep being you, and we’ll see you when we can.
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According to many military parents, the U.S. Department of Defense isn’t the most progressive employer. Some parents of military dependents with autism—said to number 23,000—have been trying to find services for those dependents for years.
Others have found amazing services for their children, only to lose them when they’ve gotten reassigned to another base and country. Parents have even had their children waitlisted for multiple schools and centers, as they get on a list, get transferred, put their child’s name on another wait list, and get transferred again. In the meantime, their child is missing out on vital therapies and interventions.
In a move to help alleviate this problem, the Army has announced plans to open its first therapy center for children with autism. The JBLM Cares Center will be part of the Madigan Army Medical Center in Tacoma, Washington, and is expected to start providing care in early 2017. The Center will be overseen by Lt. Col Eric Flake, a doctor and the director of Madigan Army Medical Center’s developmental and behavioral pediatric program.
Lt. Col. Flake explained that the center will have programs to help parents whose child has just received an autism diagnosis, as well as “group after-school therapy opportunities.” Furthermore, he said, “During the work day this will also be a therapy center where kids will get direct speech therapy, will get direct occupational therapy.”
Gretchen Shea, a regional administrator for American Military Families Autism Support—an online group for parents—says that many families have mixed feelings about the announcement. But while it may be, in her words, a “drop in the bucket,” we’re big believers that small steps in the right direction are better than no steps at all. Sometimes small movement is all you need for something to gain momentum, and we hope the Department of Defense considers the need and opens more autism therapy centers where possible.
Pro golfer Ernie Els was used to the nagging voice in his head, especially as he was lining up his shots during tournaments. But he wasn’t used to hearing it in his personal life, until his son Ben was born. Ben was slow to hit his development milestones and never met Ernie’s gaze, and he was eventually diagnosed with autism. Like many parents of children on the autism spectrum, Ernie wondered what he’d done wrong—how he could have prevented his son from “getting autism.”
Ernie’s wife Liezl explained to the New York Times that they’ve all come a long way since those early, anguished and confusing days—especially Ernie. Ernie stated, “At 24, I was way ahead of my time as a golfer,” he said, “but as a man I was nowhere.” These days, Ernie’s game is off more often than it’s on, but he’s found peace when it comes to his son.
In 2008, Ernie and Liezl decided to stop hiding their son’s autism, and went public with the news. They started the Els for Autism Foundation to raise money and awareness, and moved from London to Florida. There, they decided to help construct a school for children on the autism spectrum, providing $6 million to get the Els Center of Excellence started. The school opened in August 2015, taking seven years to be built, with a price tag of $35 million. The Els Center enrolls 100 children, ages 3 to 14, including Ben Els. They plan to open another school, for older students aged up to 22 years, by next year.
Besides attending his new school, Ben also accompanies his dad Ernie on his weekend golf rounds, hanging out in the cart and reading some of his favorite books. Ben is not quiet, and Ernie used to spend a lot of time apologizing to the other golfers for Ben’s noise. He no longer apologizes, as the other golfers are used to Ben. What’s more, he no longer feels like he has to apologize for anything about his son. “I just go in his world. I’m kind of at peace because I’m listening to my boy being himself.”
As Liezl explained: “Ernie’s relationship with Ben has gone from, ‘What am I going to do with this kid?’ to ‘When can I spend time with him again?’” she said. “It’s been a beautiful evolution.”
Without much fanfare, the National Autistic Society of the U.K. just honored The Gate in Islington, England, with the society’s first-ever “Autism Friendly” award given to a restaurant. The Gate, a vegetarian restaurant, has been in business since 1989 and has locations in both Islington and Hammersmith—suburbs of London.
The Gate in Islington has been helping to spread autism awareness for about two years now. In 2014, the restaurant partnered with local autism charity, Ambitious about Autism, to support local primary schools through fundraisers, school visits, speaking engagements and hands-on cooking classes with the kids. Their objectives for 2016 were to procure an “autism friendly” designation from NAS and to launch the “Chocolate Factory,” a “social enterprise” with potentially large repercussions. One objective met; one to go.
With the Chocolate Factory, The Gate founders plan to develop a chocolate business that will be run by students at Ambitious about Autism’s Ambitious College. These students will both make and sell the chocolate, and all funds raised will go straight back into the business. The goal is to give the students marketable skills that they can use to increase their “future life and job prospects,” as well as make the project self-sustaining.
And that’s not all. The Gate designates itself, “Friends of Autism,” and says that, “we know how difficult it is to go out to a restaurant if you are autistic.” To help families and individuals with autism, they’ve created a guide that can be read BEFORE diners visit the restaurant. The guide gives clear and detailed instructions on everything from making a reservation, to finding the restaurant, reading the menu and interacting with the wait staff. It also notifies the reader that the restaurant maintains a “Chill Zone” with a sofa area, where anybody can go relax and have both space and time alone.
Believe it or not, that’s not all that The Gate does to make it easier for individuals with autism to dine there. It also has an Autism-Friendly Menu, which talks all about the vegetarian ingredients used in the meals, complete with colorful photos and detailed descriptions. In addition to all of this, the restaurant practices sustainability in every facet of its business, including recycling and using locally sourced foods.
Co-founders Adrian and Michael Daniel have set the bar for other restaurants, but the bar is nowhere near too high. As they say in The Gate’s mission statement, “Accreditation is not a badge for us to wave about; The Gate wishes to blaze a trail for other restaurants across the world by us all allowing people affected by Autism to integrate more freely in society without feeling stigmatised.” Congratulations to The Gate: May you continue to lead and inspire, and may you soon be just one of many designated “autism friendly” restaurants.
I was a teenager working my very first job. I was a child care attendant at a little mom and pop fitness center, and I had never heard of autism. To be fair, this was over twenty years ago, (yes, I admit it,) and I lived in a pretty small town. I really liked my job. I loved the kids, and if we ever had a difficult one, the time limit was only an hour and a half. I could handle any kid for an hour and a half. Then came Sam.
When Sam’s mother walked through the door I knew that I was in for a very long ninety minutes. She would take the full time, and I could hardly blame her for needing the break. Along with Sam came both and older brother and an infant. Sam’s brother, David, would always make me laugh. He was charming and always tucked his sweatpants into his socks. The infant, Max, did as infants do. Sam was a handsome boy with beautiful blonde locks, who would never look me in the eye.
The child care area consisted of two small rooms. No matter how many kids were in attendance, sometimes that second room would have to belong to Sam. We split the kids up, the other attendant would take the smallest kids and I would take the big ones, the ones who could handle being around Sam. Sam wasn’t violent, he just didn’t seem to know his own strength, which, for a four year old, was impressive. He would pace back and forth, and if a child was in his path, he would simply mow the child over. I knew that he wasn’t mean. I wanted so badly for the other kids to understand that, but every time it was the same. We just had to steer clear of Sam. Some times we had to call down to his mother, to pick up early if he was having a bad day. She never seemed mad, just… defeated.
Sometimes Sam would look out the window and have a little smile. I would stand next to him and look too, wondering what he saw. I wanted so badly to connect with him, I could only imagine how his mother felt. About fifteen years later, I didn’t have to imagine. My own son was diagnosed with autism.
After working at the fitness center for years, I got my associate teacher certification to teach preschool. I taught for years before I had my son. Sometimes I would come across other children who would not look me in the eye. Maybe they would pace or hum. Still, I had never heard word one about autism. All of those hours in class, and not one word. The only course I got was the crash course that came along with getting a medical report.
Years later, I took a class at the local college. It was called, “exceptional needs,” and it covered many different special needs. It was considered an elective and was only offered every other semester. I needed that class. I needed it long before my son’s diagnosis. I needed it long before teaching. I needed it for Sam.
Learning about children with special needs should NOT be an elective. As an early childhood educator, you may be the first teacher a special needs child will have. They deserve a teacher who can identify a need. Teachers need tools to help the other children understand a classmate’s behavior, because those student will go on. Some special needs children will become integrated and some of those neurotypical kids will grow up. They might have children. Those children might have autism. Their crash course should not come with a medical report.
Sam would be a grown man now. I don’t know anything about him. However, I do think about him, particularly when I hear my name over the loudspeaker at the gym.
This post first appeared here, on RaisingJedi.
Many people swear that Disney World is the most magical place on earth, and for one little boy and his mom last month, it proved to be just that.
Two-year-old Jackson Coley was diagnosed with non-verbal autism about two weeks before the Coley family went on a trip to Disney World. Jackson’s mom, Amanda Coley, is no stranger to autism, as her middle son also has the diagnosis. He, like Jackson (known as Jack Jack), started out as non-verbal, but is now highly sociable. Amanda hopes that Jack Jack will grow the same way.
In the meantime, the little boy is friendly and sociable to his family, but fearful and quiet when among strangers. Until he met Snow White. Unlike with the other Disney characters, who Jack Jack pulled away from, he appeared entirely comfortable with Snow White. Amazed and elated, Amanda and her husband took photos and video of the heartwarming moment.
“To our surprise, he didn’t get up and leave,” Coley told TODAY. “He just suddenly melted and was perfectly content.” Once you watch the video, you’ll melt too.
Amanda originally posted the video on her Facebook page when the family returned from their Disney vacation, but after it was shared more than 6 million times, she shut it down. For privacy, she then decided to move it to YouTube, where it’s been seen almost another 3 million times.
And we’re not the only ones who love it—Jack Jack is a big fan too. According to Amanda, he loves to crawl into her lap when she’s at the computer, point to the screen, and use sign language to say, “More.” It seems his love for Snow White is still as strong as ever.