Ten Things Every Child with Autism Wishes You Knew

Presuming that a nonspeaking child has nothing to say is like presuming that an adult without a car has nowhere to go.

If we can't start by seeing an autistic child as inherently capable, interesting, and valuable, no amount of education or therapy we layer on top is going to matter.

The word “autistic” is accurate. But so are other words that we no longer use to describe people: spinster (unmarried woman), hobo (migrant worker), cripple (person with a physical handicap), and so on. The fact that a person is unmarried or has sustained a mobility-reducing injury or birth defect certainly figures into their life experiences, but it does not define their character—unless they or we let it.

The child who lives with autism may look “normal,” but his behavior can be perplexing and downright unruly.

It demands that we give voice to their thoughts and feelings, even when their voices are nonverbal.

There is no shortcut to anyplace worth going.

Think of it as affirmative brainwashing. The more you articulate your child’s strengths and gifts, the more both of you grow to believe it.

If you’re treading quicksand in the swamp of what-might- have-been, you can be sure that’s the message your child gets. You’re a rare person if being constantly reminded of your shortcomings spurs you to improve. For the rest of us, it’s a self-esteem squasher. Time to grab for that overhead vine and realize that only a pencil dot separates “bitter” and “better.

There is no egg in egg plant, neither apple nor pine in pineapple. A guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig. If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn’t the plural of booth beeth? One goose, two geese. So one moose, two meese? If teachers taught, why haven’t preachers praught? We have noses that run and feet that smell. How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?

For teaching to be effective, you must be heard, and many children with autism hear better with a picture.

The difference between heaven and earth is not so much altitude but attitude.” These words, from the book The Power of Unconditional Love by Ken Keys, Jr., form the overarching sentiment for everything I believe about raising a child with autism, and they come from a man who lived that difference every day.

The goal: unrealistic, out of reach. Guidance offered to help in accomplishing the goal: none. The reward: irrelevant, and nowhere near equal in value to the effort required. Here’s a scenario more constructive times six: Teacher and student (1) meet one-on-one and (2) discuss and agree to (3) a specific, (4) short-range goal (5) that is achievable and (6) has a meaningful motivator as a reward.

I’ll never forget a story I heard years ago about a whirling dervish of a girl with ADHD, nine years old. Her teacher proposed a deal, a reward for meeting a behavioral goal. If the girl could “be good” for three weeks, the teacher would buy her an ice cream cone. The girl reported to her therapist: “Is she kidding? I can’t ‘be good’ for three hours, let alone three weeks. And besides, I don’t like ice cream.

My autism is part of who I am, not all of who I am.

have become not just advocates, but emissaries. Being an autism parent today requires not only stamina, curiosity, creativity, patience, resilience, and diplomacy—but the courage to think expansively and to dream accordingly.

In a widely read New York Times article in December 2004, Jack Thomas, a tenth grader with Asperger’s syndrome, got the world’s attention by stating, “We don’t have a disease, so we can’t be cured. This is just the way we are.

A popular Internet essay notes: “There is no egg in egg plant, neither apple nor pine in pineapple. A guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig. If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn’t the plural of booth beeth? One goose, two geese. So one moose, two meese? If teachers taught, why haven’t preachers praught? We have noses that run and feet that smell. How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?

Adults often think that fair means impartial, equitable, unbiased. Family rules, school rules, and team rules apply to each sibling, student, or teammate equally. But autism un- levels the playing field. It potholes the field. All things are not being equal. So our thinking on the subject of fair must change. Here it is: Fair does not mean everything is equal. Fair is when everyone gets what they need.

Cognitive and social learning cannot break through to a child whose world is intrusively loud, blindingly bright, unbearably malodorous and physically complicated to navigate.