Dear Teachers

A message from learning disabled students to their teachers:

Clear advice, from some kids who know what they need and aren't ashamed to say it.

You Don't Have to Try

Alissa Sizemore lost her leg a year before this video. She was a dancer before the accident, and for her first performance since, she chose a song full of meaning for her.

Be aware that this video is live, and there's a bit of cheering, so if you have auditory sensitivities you may want to turn the volume down until you know how loud it is.

Sesame Street and Autism: Siblings

I featured the Sesame Street and Autism initiative in my first entry on this blog. But I've decided to focus some more on other videos in the initiative.

In this post, I'm focusing on the sibling relationships featured on that initiative.

Alyssa, Jazlyn and Yesenia
These three sisters are featured in several videos. Yesenia is autistic and communicates through a few signs. In this video, her sisters explain how she communicates:

Alyssa, the eldest, explained autism to her classmates when she was 10. Also note the slogans behind her - I can see "autistic people are really good hard working people", a sign turning 'autism' into an acronym "Always Unique, Totally Interesting, Sometimes Mysterious", and another one saying "if you think I'm puzzling, imagine what the world is like for me".

This last video is a typical day for their family, narrated by Jazlyn, the middle child. Note the obvious affection for her sister, and the understanding she shows of how her sister feels and expresses emotions - both good and bad.

Angelina, AJ and Garrett 
Angelina and her younger autistic twin brothers are featured in one video. AJ is learning to talk, and Garrett is using a tablet with what I'm guessing is Proloquo2Go, from the look of the icons. Garrett can also read at a first grade level, even though he's only four. (It's unclear from the video, but it sounds like AJ might be reading too?) I especially like how much fun they all seem to be having, and how proud Angelina is of her brothers. AJ also made me smile when he echoed Grover telling Angelina she has nice brothers - I know how great it feels to overhear someone complimenting you to a family member!

HAPPY Faces of...

I came across this website first - HAPPY Faces of Autism

The point of the website is simple. They collect photos of happy autistic people. You can submit a happy face, or just enjoy looking at some happy faces. They even have a section for autistic people photographed with pets, and a section for autistic people making silly faces.

The woman who runs this website, Denise Schauder, has two dyslexic children. She started with a website called HAPPY Faces of Dyslexia. In response to requests from viewers, she has expanded the project to other conditions.

In addition to those two websites, I also found a Facebook page for HAPPY Faces of ADHD.

Jacob Barnett: Autistic Math Prodigy

Jacob Barnett, now 18 years old, became famous in his early teens as a math prodigy. He began auditing university classes when he was 8 years old, and formally enrolled at the age of 10.

At 13 years old, he gave this Ted Talk:

AAC Family Fridays

Dana Nieder, from Uncommon Sense, is the mother of an AAC user named Maya, and a fairly well-known blogger in the AAC community. A couple years ago, she decided to do a series of posts called AAC Family Friday, featuring pictures of AAC users and supporters with their devices, because she knew Maya would like seeing those pictures.

Here's all the relevant posts I could find:

Introduction to AAC Family Friday

October 3, 2014

October 17, 2014

October 31, 2014

December 31, 2014

Re-introduction to AAC Family Friday

October 2, 2015

October 9, 2015

October 16, 2015

October 23, 2015

October 30, 2015

The Obsessive Joy Of Autism

Excerpt from Just Stimming:

One of the things about autism is that a lot of things can make you terribly unhappy while barely affecting others. A lot of things are harder.

But some things? Some things are so much easier. Sometimes being autistic means that you get to beincredibly happy. And then you get to flap. You get to perseverate. You get to have just about the coolest obsessions. (Mine are: sudoku and Glee. I am not ashamed.)

Now, maybe you do not understand. Because “obsession” and even “perseveration” have specific dictionary and colloquial meanings which everyone uses and understands and which do not even come CLOSE to describing my relationship with whatever I’m obsessing on now. It’s not just that I am sitting in my room and my heart is racing and all I can think about is Glee and all I want to do is read about it and talk about it and never go to sleep because that would take time away from this and that has been my life for the past few days. It’s not just that I am doing sudokus in my head or that I find ways to talk about either numbers or Gleein any conversation, including ones about needing to give a student a sensory break so he’ll stop screaming and throwing things.

(It’s not just the association and pressure of shame, because when ever an autistic person gets autistically excited about something, there will be people there to shame and bully them, and some of us will internalize that shame and lock away our obsessions and believe the bullies and let them take away this unique, untranslatable joy and turn it into something dirty and battered.)

It’s not any of that. Those are all things neurotypicals can understand and process. This goes beyond that. It’s not anything recognized on the continuum of “normal”.

It’s that the experience is so rich. It’s textured, vibrant, and layered. It exudes joy. It is a hug machine for my brain. It makes my heart pump faster and my mouth twitch back into a smile every few minutes. I feel like I’m sparkling. Every inch of me is totally engaged in and powered up by the obsession. Things are clear.

It is beautiful. It is perfect.

I flap a lot when I think about Glee or when I finish a sudoku puzzle. I make funny little sounds. I spin. I rock. I laugh. I am happy. Being autistic, to me, means a lot of different things, but one of the best things is that I can be so happy, so enraptured about things no one else understands and so wrapped up in my own joy that, not only does it not matter that no one else shares it, but it can become contagious.

This is the part about autism I can never explain. This is the part I never want to lose. Without this part autism is not worth having.

Neurotypical people pity autistics. I pity neurotypicals. I pity anyone who cannot feel the way that flapping your hands just so amplifies everything you feel and thrusts it up into the air. I pity anyone who doesn’t understand how beautiful the multiples of seven are, anyone who doesn’t get chills when a shadow falls just so across a solitaire game spread out on the table. I pity anyone who is so restrained by what is considered acceptable happiness that they will never understand when I say that sometimes being autistic in this world means walking through a crowd of silently miserable people and holding your happiness like a secret or a baby, letting it warm you as your mind runs on the familiar tracks of an obsession and lights your way through the day.

It takes a million different forms. A boy pacing by himself, flapping and humming and laughing. An “interest” or obsessions that is “age appropriate”—or maybe one that is not. A shake of the fingers in front of the eyes, a monologue, an echolaliated phrase. All of these things autistic people are supposed to be ashamed of and stop doing? They are how we communicate our joy.

If I could change three things about how the world sees autism, they would be these. That the world would see that we feel joy—sometimes a joy so intense and private and all-encompassing that it eclipses anything the world might feel. That the world would stop punishing us for our joy, stop grabbing flapping hands and eliminating interests that are not “age-appropriate”, stop shaming and gas-lighting us into believing that we are never, and can never be, happy. And that our joy would be valued in and of itself, seen as a necessary andbeautiful part of our disability, pursued, and shared.

This is about the obsessive joy of autism. So I guess, if I’m trying to explain what an obsession (and, by necessity, obsessive joy) means to me as an autistic person, I can bring it back to the tired old image of a little professor cornering an unsuspecting passerby and lecturing them for half an hour. All too often this encounter is viewed through the terrified eyes of the unwillingly captive audience. I’d like to invite you to see through the eyes of the lecturer, who is not so much determined to force their knowledge into you as they are opened to a flood of joy which they cannot contain.

And why would you want to contain something like that?