This time of THIS year.

I'll just come right out and say it: I have felt a bit "off" lately. I love this time of year, the end of May. The flowers are blooming, the days are getting longer, the weather is getting warmer, and SCHOOL IS ALMOST OVER. Whoo hoo! As a teacher, these last few weeks of school are a futile exercise in herding cats - and I love every minute of it. However, I haven't felt the energetic buzzing of the end-of-the-year joy I usually feel. It's been mysterious in its elusiveness.

Elijah & Ethan, Class of 2014

The end of May is typically a time of endings and new beginnings. Seniors are graduating and moving on to college or other exciting endeavors. My mom and step-dad, both teachers, are retiring this year, venturing on to the next stage of their lives together. This time last year our twins, Ethan and Elijah, were graduating from high school...


 ...and then, like a ton of bricks, it hit me: Emmett should have graduated this year.

Emmett, had he been neurotypical and not autistic, would be graduating and moving on with his life. He'd be a proud graduate of the Class of 2015. This is one of those ultra-rare moments when I allow myself to grieve a little bit; when I permit myself to wallow in the "what ifs" and indulge in the "if onlys." It is a time when I wonder how different our family would have been if Emmett had been "normal" - I picture him driving a car that he bought himself from money he earned while working. I picture him laughing and hanging out with his friends, going to movies and parties. I picture him with a girlfriend who is caring and beautiful. I picture him walking across the stage, receiving his high school diploma. I picture him a thousand ways that he will never be, a thousand things he can never do, a thousand things he will never have...

Emmett in front of his school, the Grandwood Education Center

 

Then I snap out of it.

 


Emmett doesn't know what he is missing.



He's a pretty happy dude.





 So instead of planning a graduation party for Emmett, we are planning what comes next in his life. Yes, he will graduate - three years from now, in 2018, when he is 21 years old. Instead of going to college, Emmett is going to court, so Scot and I can become his legal guardians and continue to make decisions for him. Some day, maybe after he has graduated, he can live in a special home with staff who care about him - so he can learn not to depend on Mom and Dad all the time.

Emmett and his dad, Scot, at State Special Olympics.

One thing is for sure: Emmett will have his own adventures and achievements. This isn't about what our family is missing - having a son as special as Emmett . This is about Emmett having a life that isn't directed or determined by normal, neurotypical rites of passage and age-appropriate accomplishments. 

It is about him having his own life - but with help. 

And when he does graduate in 2018 (along with his younger brother), we will be having one SUPER graduation party.

Please Stare: Positive Autism Awareness in the Community

Earlier today a picture of a father/daughter popped up on my Instagram feed. It was posted by Autism Speaks an organization that has a high visibility in the Autism community.. In the photo, a father is standing next to his daughter and he is wearing a red shirt that says, "Keep Staring It Might Cure My Child's Autism Then We Can Work On Your Social Skills"

I paused, re-read the t-shirt several times to make sure I was reading it correctly. I tensed up in frustration...I WANTED TO SCREAM (not only because of its lack of punctuation...but that's definitely annoying)

Seriously? I mean, REALLY? Is this what Autism Awareness is nowadays? Offending and alienating bystanders who may be curious about your child and/or not understand what they are seeing? To immediately present a rude and sarcastic (not even remotely funny or educational) statement on a t-shirt...I am stunned. 

Maybe it's because I am so used to my son getting stared at, and I am beyond caring anymore. How other people look at my son is inconsequential. I don't wear my son's autism like a wound for which I feel other people should apologize. Humans are naturally curious and it doesn't take a typical bystander more than a few seconds to catch on and realize that my son Emmett is operating on a totally different level than everyone else...and if they find that entertaining, I hope they enjoy the free show...but I am NOT going to chastise, belittle, or say something rude (or let my t-shirt say it for me) in response to them looking...

...because how would that be raising "Autism Awareness" in a POSITIVE and WELCOMING way? 

Yes, I know my son is 6'5" and flapping his hands like he might take flight any second...have a look - he's happy. PLEASE LOOK AT HIM. Yes, that's my son, carrying an arm full of stuffed animals through the grocery store...they are his best friends. PLEASE LOOK AT HIM. Yes, that's my son, loudly reciting hundreds of animal names in alphabetical order while our families are all waiting for the waitress to bring us our food...he's hungry. PLEASE LOOK AT HIM. Yes, that's my son, big and tall and all 260 pounds of him throwing himself on the ground having a meltdown because he is so frustrated about something and he doesn't have the functional language skills to express himself using words...PLEASE LOOK AT HIM.

Look at him. PLEASE. Please - I won't think you are rude - stare all you want...and LEARN something: he's different, beautifully different...different in infinite ways that even I - the woman who gave birth to him and knows him better than anyone else - can even possibly grasp. I understand why you want to look, and I don't care - because when you look at him you are learning something: you are observing that this human is having a good/bad/happy/angry moment. You are seeing me (or any member of my family) interact with him in a patient, loving way. You are becoming AWARE that children like this exist in our community...maybe you already know one...maybe one day you will. 

So, please, stare at my son all you want.