Check out Laura's interview about her film Vectors of Autism on Autism Women's Network (AWN)! Click here to read the interview. And click here to access the Vectors of Autism site. Enjoy!
16 May 2013
Vectors of Autism with Laura Nagle
Check out Laura's interview about her film Vectors of Autism on Autism Women's Network (AWN)! Click here to read the interview. And click here to access the Vectors of Autism site. Enjoy!
02 April 2013
Get your fiction on! Breaking the Ice: Cliffs in the Sky, by Meg Evans
The little boy ran through the office, not watching where he was going, his gaze fixed on the bright sunlit mass of late-afternoon clouds shining like great red cliffs in the sky. He ignored the more mundane view of Baltimore’s streets in December 2003, gridlocked with both rush hour and holiday shopping traffic, and the crowded parking lot six stories below the window.
He could hear his parents behind him, speaking with a large dark-haired man who wore bright shiny eyeglasses. Their words made no sense to him. He knew only that he didn’t like his mother’s strained tone and her quick, broken speech, trailing off abruptly to sobs. Her voice sounded to him like the gusting wind just before a thunderstorm, when the first drops of cold rain came pattering on fallen leaves.
Looking out the window at the bright red clouds, he touched the rocks in his pocket for reassurance. They sparkled in the sunlight, too. He always picked the brightest pebbles from the landscaping beds in his front yard when he went outside to play. Sometimes he gave an especially pretty pebble to his mother, as she stood watching him with her gray thunderstorm eyes. But no matter what he gave her, it never seemed to put any sunlight into her voice or face.
The man with the shiny eyeglasses was speaking now, his voice flowing smoothly like the stream in the woods behind the boy’s house. The stream had tiny fish darting around the rocks and insects skittering across the surface. On the coldest days it froze and was quiet. If only the shiny-glasses man would be quiet, too. He just kept on talking, and fragments of his speech registered in the boy’s mind without any meaning attached to them.
“Classic autism… residential programs available…”
The red cliffs in the sky reminded the boy of his favorite video, a nature documentary about cliff-nesting birds. He wished that he could fly away to those shining cliffs and soar in the open blue sky above them. Everything would look tiny from up there, like the view from this high window, but even smaller and farther away.
Holding his arms straight out from his sides, he pretended that the sleeves of his gray jacket were his outstretched wings. They would have feathers shading from soft gray down on his chest to brilliant white at the tips. He imagined that the air blowing from the register under the window was a strong wind carrying him away from the rocky shore and over a vast unexplored ocean, launching him aloft into the unknown.
22 February 2013
What is it like to be DEAF?
I greatly appreciate what this man has shared in this video. His message is from the heart, and he conveys himself with utmost honesty, passion, and truth. I wish I could explain myself and my experiences as well as he does.
15 February 2013
To a Parent in a Parking Lot, by Meg Evans
Photo credit: JeepersMedia
I met you last weekend when I was leaving a crowded shopping
center. Your son, who might have been about ten years old, suddenly did a
cartwheel in front of me while I was walking to my car. You took hold of your
son’s hand and then glanced toward me and apologized by saying, “He’s retarded,
sorry.”
I didn’t say anything to you before you went on your way. No doubt your attention was focused on keeping your son safe, and rightly so. You wouldn’t have wanted a nosy stranger to lecture you on how your son might feel about your choice of words. Indeed, you probably believed that your apology was the best way to protect your son’s feelings, by letting me know that there was a reason for his behavior. I’m sure there must have been many times when ignorant, judgmental people yelled at your son and got him upset. You’re quite right that your son doesn’t deserve to be abused like that by strangers, and I understand that you were trying to help him by making sure I didn’t jump to conclusions about him.
One little sentence -- just three words. It’s easier than getting into a long conversation about the details of your son’s diagnosis. Maybe you feel that random people in a parking lot have no right to expect you to share personal information. As to that, I don’t disagree. Besides, you wouldn’t have had time to get into a conversation about it, even if you wanted to, because you were so busy making sure your son didn’t get run over. I understand that, too.
Your son didn’t look bothered by the language you used to describe him. Maybe you think it’s harmless because he doesn’t understand what it means. Or you’ve decided that even if he understands, it’s what our society is going to call him anyway, so he may as well get used to it. Why sugar-coat the inevitable? If you use the word in everyday conversation, then it may lose its sting and become just another part of the background of your son’s life. To the extent that your assumptions about what your son can expect from our society may be correct, I can’t fault your logic.
And that, I believe, is the crux of the controversy we have seen about neurodiversity in recent years. It’s not that anyone vehemently objects on principle to the idea of social equality and respect for their children and for others who have developmental disabilities. Rather, it’s that many parents simply can’t fathom how our society could ever get there from here.
If I had said anything to you, in that parking lot, about the possibility that your language might harm your son’s self-esteem and his potential for future accomplishment, you’d probably have told me that I was both rude and clueless. After all, you’ve been working as hard as you can, all these years, to keep your son safe from harm and to teach him the daily living skills he’ll need as an adult in a group home. Nobody has done more for your son than you have, fighting with school officials and insurance company bureaucrats to get whatever scraps of services are available. So far, those services don’t come close to what your son would need to hold a job and live independently. You can’t foresee that situation ever changing for the better. In the wake of the Great Recession, you’re just grateful that there is still a roof over your family’s heads and food on the table.
I didn’t write this article with the expectation of changing your views. Realistically, there is very little chance you might read it. And even if you did, I suppose you’d just tell me to quit being the language police, when you have more serious things to worry about. I’m not inclined to dispute that point, in light of all the struggle and stress faced by today’s families. So I’ll ask no more of you than that, if you should happen to come across this article, I hope you’ll take it as it’s intended -- not as a criticism of your approach to raising your son, but as a respectful observation that our world sometimes changes in ways not foreseen.
----
I have always believed in the power of stories to shape the future. In that spirit, I’ve composed a vignette describing another parking lot encounter, which takes place in the year 2025. This time it’s a little girl at the shopping center with her mother. Nine years old, with a freckled face and long blonde pigtails, she smiles often but can speak only a few words. She dearly loves both gymnastics and playing outdoors. It’s a beautiful sunny afternoon, with a cool breeze blowing and a few tiny puffy clouds dancing across the brilliant autumn sky. Overcome by the keen joy of the moment, the little girl spontaneously does a handspring right there in the parking lot. She doesn’t notice how close she comes to colliding with a passing shopper, a middle-aged lady who blinks in surprise behind her bifocals.
The child’s mother takes her hand and is about to apologize. Before Mom has time to say anything, however, the lady smiles at the little girl and compliments her for doing such a good handspring. Then she turns to the mother and says, “What a lovely daughter you have!”
Mom says thank you for the kind words and continues walking to her car with her daughter. Once safely buckled in, the little girl starts typing busily away on a tablet that has a text-to-speech app installed. Her spelling and vocabulary are still very much a work in progress, and often she gets a word wrong; but today has been such a good day that she doesn’t feel frustrated because of it.
All the way home, the back seat overflows with happy, electronically-generated chatter. As best Mom can figure it out, it’s about gymnastics, and the cute puppy in the pet shop window, and gymnastics, and the nice lady in the parking lot, and gymnastics, and last week’s field trip to the nature preserve -- and of course, gymnastics. Mom responds with an occasional “Wow!” and “That’s great!” when she can get a word in.
Truth be told, Mom isn’t paying as much attention as her daughter believes she is. Her thoughts are still on a news article she read earlier that day. For the first time since records have been kept, most adults with developmental disabilities have jobs and are living independently. The government official who was interviewed for the article gave many reasons -- advances in assistive technology, improved educational methods and therapies, better availability of health care, expanded community services and supports, a booming economy with many new jobs to fill, and diversity programs aimed at countering prejudice and hiring more workers with disabilities. But above all, the official said, it was because our society finally found the collective will to do what was needed.
She has been quiet too long, her thoughts filled with the myriad possibilities that the future may hold. Her daughter just turned up the volume on the tablet (having discovered the uses of that feature last month) and “MOM!” blares from the back seat.
“Yes, I’m listening,” she says. The light changes to green, and she accelerates away from the intersection. Tall maple trees on both sides of the boulevard are ablaze with late-fall colors. Some of the trees have dropped almost all of their leaves; these stand in clear silhouette against a backdrop of pure blue sky, with the shape of every branch and twig revealed.
She speaks again, as much to herself as to her daughter. “The world is listening too.”
I didn’t say anything to you before you went on your way. No doubt your attention was focused on keeping your son safe, and rightly so. You wouldn’t have wanted a nosy stranger to lecture you on how your son might feel about your choice of words. Indeed, you probably believed that your apology was the best way to protect your son’s feelings, by letting me know that there was a reason for his behavior. I’m sure there must have been many times when ignorant, judgmental people yelled at your son and got him upset. You’re quite right that your son doesn’t deserve to be abused like that by strangers, and I understand that you were trying to help him by making sure I didn’t jump to conclusions about him.
One little sentence -- just three words. It’s easier than getting into a long conversation about the details of your son’s diagnosis. Maybe you feel that random people in a parking lot have no right to expect you to share personal information. As to that, I don’t disagree. Besides, you wouldn’t have had time to get into a conversation about it, even if you wanted to, because you were so busy making sure your son didn’t get run over. I understand that, too.
Your son didn’t look bothered by the language you used to describe him. Maybe you think it’s harmless because he doesn’t understand what it means. Or you’ve decided that even if he understands, it’s what our society is going to call him anyway, so he may as well get used to it. Why sugar-coat the inevitable? If you use the word in everyday conversation, then it may lose its sting and become just another part of the background of your son’s life. To the extent that your assumptions about what your son can expect from our society may be correct, I can’t fault your logic.
And that, I believe, is the crux of the controversy we have seen about neurodiversity in recent years. It’s not that anyone vehemently objects on principle to the idea of social equality and respect for their children and for others who have developmental disabilities. Rather, it’s that many parents simply can’t fathom how our society could ever get there from here.
If I had said anything to you, in that parking lot, about the possibility that your language might harm your son’s self-esteem and his potential for future accomplishment, you’d probably have told me that I was both rude and clueless. After all, you’ve been working as hard as you can, all these years, to keep your son safe from harm and to teach him the daily living skills he’ll need as an adult in a group home. Nobody has done more for your son than you have, fighting with school officials and insurance company bureaucrats to get whatever scraps of services are available. So far, those services don’t come close to what your son would need to hold a job and live independently. You can’t foresee that situation ever changing for the better. In the wake of the Great Recession, you’re just grateful that there is still a roof over your family’s heads and food on the table.
I didn’t write this article with the expectation of changing your views. Realistically, there is very little chance you might read it. And even if you did, I suppose you’d just tell me to quit being the language police, when you have more serious things to worry about. I’m not inclined to dispute that point, in light of all the struggle and stress faced by today’s families. So I’ll ask no more of you than that, if you should happen to come across this article, I hope you’ll take it as it’s intended -- not as a criticism of your approach to raising your son, but as a respectful observation that our world sometimes changes in ways not foreseen.
----
I have always believed in the power of stories to shape the future. In that spirit, I’ve composed a vignette describing another parking lot encounter, which takes place in the year 2025. This time it’s a little girl at the shopping center with her mother. Nine years old, with a freckled face and long blonde pigtails, she smiles often but can speak only a few words. She dearly loves both gymnastics and playing outdoors. It’s a beautiful sunny afternoon, with a cool breeze blowing and a few tiny puffy clouds dancing across the brilliant autumn sky. Overcome by the keen joy of the moment, the little girl spontaneously does a handspring right there in the parking lot. She doesn’t notice how close she comes to colliding with a passing shopper, a middle-aged lady who blinks in surprise behind her bifocals.
The child’s mother takes her hand and is about to apologize. Before Mom has time to say anything, however, the lady smiles at the little girl and compliments her for doing such a good handspring. Then she turns to the mother and says, “What a lovely daughter you have!”
Mom says thank you for the kind words and continues walking to her car with her daughter. Once safely buckled in, the little girl starts typing busily away on a tablet that has a text-to-speech app installed. Her spelling and vocabulary are still very much a work in progress, and often she gets a word wrong; but today has been such a good day that she doesn’t feel frustrated because of it.
All the way home, the back seat overflows with happy, electronically-generated chatter. As best Mom can figure it out, it’s about gymnastics, and the cute puppy in the pet shop window, and gymnastics, and the nice lady in the parking lot, and gymnastics, and last week’s field trip to the nature preserve -- and of course, gymnastics. Mom responds with an occasional “Wow!” and “That’s great!” when she can get a word in.
Truth be told, Mom isn’t paying as much attention as her daughter believes she is. Her thoughts are still on a news article she read earlier that day. For the first time since records have been kept, most adults with developmental disabilities have jobs and are living independently. The government official who was interviewed for the article gave many reasons -- advances in assistive technology, improved educational methods and therapies, better availability of health care, expanded community services and supports, a booming economy with many new jobs to fill, and diversity programs aimed at countering prejudice and hiring more workers with disabilities. But above all, the official said, it was because our society finally found the collective will to do what was needed.
She has been quiet too long, her thoughts filled with the myriad possibilities that the future may hold. Her daughter just turned up the volume on the tablet (having discovered the uses of that feature last month) and “MOM!” blares from the back seat.
“Yes, I’m listening,” she says. The light changes to green, and she accelerates away from the intersection. Tall maple trees on both sides of the boulevard are ablaze with late-fall colors. Some of the trees have dropped almost all of their leaves; these stand in clear silhouette against a backdrop of pure blue sky, with the shape of every branch and twig revealed.
She speaks again, as much to herself as to her daughter. “The world is listening too.”
15 November 2012
03 October 2012
Accept Difference. It's Time.
I have been reading National Geographic since I was a young child. It fills me with utter delight to hold a fresh copy within my hands. As I venture into the magazine, I know that I will read and learn about the world in mostly positive exciting ways.
The discovery of a new plant, or the study of a newfound creature, warrants utmost caution, care, and environmental respect. Scientists often go through great lengths to efficiently recreate plant and animal environments while learning and teaching, as it would be an abomination to encroach upon, change, or redirect the fine ecosystem of a unique organism. Press and media surrounding new discoveries is, more times that not, carefully thought out and sincere in its depiction. Mistakes may be pointed out and corrected, but generally, there is mentionable collaboration amongst scientists and other involved peoples. Oftentimes, the species or organism itself is allowed to do the teaching.
What if there were to be an Autism Geographic magazine? I can only imagine the excitement of collecting such a periodical. Inside, there would be autistic people worldwide doing all sorts of different things in different environments. I would run my fingers over the high gloss pages and spend a lot of time rereading the most enticing articles.
I can’t imagine that there would be many people who would want to crush, alienate, or annihilate a new plant or animal species—unless it proved to be fatal to our survival.
Unfortunately, there are many wells from which prejudice is drawn from. And both hatred and misunderstanding stem from fear and miscommunication. It was not so long ago when mass consciousness projected thoughts that women, people of color, foreigners, and children, for example, were not only of lesser status, but also of unsound mind. Disability has been accommodated to some point, but there has not been enough of a shift in public perception regarding those who are different. Only in recent times, has the voice of the autistic come to be heard. Despite the best of intentions from those who care, wrongdoing and atrocity continue to prevail while feeding from ignorance and widespread lack of education.
We live in an indispensable world that dispenses. We are, at times, divided and broken, yet there is always power amongst like-minded individuals. There need only be one catalyst to ignite magnificent change.
Autistic children grow to be autistic adults. It is imperative that resources be directed toward providing and sustaining appropriate and effective education, integration, acceptance, opportunity, and legal protection. Housing and quality healthcare are also of utmost importance.
Voices, both autistic and non-autistic, are rising above the suffocating binds of invisibility, oppression, and misrepresentation. Now is the time to strike. Who will choose to be on board?
[Article originally published on Change.org 23 March 2009]
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