written by:
Karen Nichols, proud parent of a Person With Autism.
Her son is 10 and in the 5th grade.
Matthew was born on July 1, 1999. He had a normal delivery, and, for his first few weeks, was a delightful little guy.
As he grew, we noticed that he hated to be held, and screamed every night for at least 3 hours. It was exhausting. We figured it was Colic.
His first word was not mama or dada but "GO", and in hindsight, this meant "GET OUT OF MY FACE!" The car and grocery stores were torture for him. He screamed from the car seat, to the store, and all the way home, then continued to scream himself to sleep. My marriage collapsed. I was now a single mom. At the time, I was a Firefighter/EMT, and I knew that daycare would be out of the question for this difficult infant, so I opened my own daycare, where I could be with Matthew all the time.
Matthew's language and development faltered. I saw that my daycare children were progressing at a much more rapid rate than my own child. I dismissed this as he was the youngest, therefore the other children were speaking FOR him. He crawled everywhere, didn't take steps until 15 months of age. Few words, only words that needed to be said: "drink, treat,eat, GO"
Matthew was fascinated with his Handy Dandy Notebook, and took it everywhere he went. I bet we bought 100 Handy Dandy Notebooks in his toddler years. He hated clothing, and, even in the wintertime, preferred his diaper and nothing else. Shoes were out of the question. Still, I was oblivious. Hindsight is 20/20. The guilt that I have over this is unimaginable.
Matthew developed his own sign language, and could do simple mathematics with his fingers. His hands were his best friends, he studied his hands and counted for hours on end. He made intricate designs with his blocks and walked all around the table, studying the angles and how the shadows affected his designs. He loved trains. We lived near a train track, and when he heard the whistles blowing, we jumped in the car to watch. He would record the entire event in his notebook. He watched The Weather Channel and recorded each day's weather in a separate notebook. By the time we moved from the house, there were crayon markings on EVERY wall.
First grade was a complete disaster. Matthew hid under his desk and screamed. His teacher had 30 years under her belt, but didn't really know what to do with Matt, so she sent him to the office, where he would continue his meltdown, and return to class. Lunchtime was torture, too loud, noisy, chaotic. So, Matthew would just throw his lunch away, and sit on the playground with his notebook. At his first Parent/Teacher Conference, his teacher, Ms Doty said.."We are certain that your son is Autistic". We asked why. She said that we only had 5 minutes left of the conference. We argued that Matthew is BRILLIANT, he's not retarded. (ignorance on our part)...Conference over.
I came home to my son. He was making an intricate design, a pyramid, out of pennies, counting each one, making sure that they were all "heads up" and perfectly aligned. He is brilliant, I told myself. Autistic children sit in a corner and rock back and forth. My son is NOT Autistic. Matt cried all night, and so did I.
By the next morning, and for a solid month after, it was my duty to learn as much as I could about this thing called "Autism". I searched the internet endlessly, spoke with other moms, had Matthew tested, scaled back my daycare to just a couple of days a week, and became a First Grader. I sat next to Matthew every day in school. His teacher thought that Autism was a "fad". I went to lunch with him and opened his containers, so he could eat. I left at noon, went home, cried. Daily. By the time Matthew made it home from school, a massive meltdown would ensue, followed by a long nap. I became a warrior. NO more crying. Time to fight.
Being the parent of a Human Being with Special Needs is quite a charge. I realized that I could no longer be a firefighter, I mustn't put my life in jeopardy, for as long as my son is Autistic, he will always need me. I reluctantly quit the Fire Department and became a fulltime glass artist. I am 100% available to my son and to his Special Ed team.
I am now my son's Advocate. I remarried, and my husband and I understand Matthew and have nurtured him and supported him and adored him. I am pleased to say that, while Matthew continues to have speech difficulties, doesn't make eye contact, hates stores, Santa, and the Easter Bunny, he pitched for the Holt Rams baseball team this past year. He has no friends, and doesn't really want any. This past summer, he said, "MOM. For my birthday, I want some walkie-talkies". I told him, "yaknow, buddy, if you want some walkie-talkies, you're going to need to go up the street, and see if you can make some friends."
Matthew replied "Mama. You are my friend" I melted.
Karen Nichols, proud parent of a Person With Autism.
Her son is 10 and in the 5th grade.
Matthew was born on July 1, 1999. He had a normal delivery, and, for his first few weeks, was a delightful little guy.
As he grew, we noticed that he hated to be held, and screamed every night for at least 3 hours. It was exhausting. We figured it was Colic.
His first word was not mama or dada but "GO", and in hindsight, this meant "GET OUT OF MY FACE!" The car and grocery stores were torture for him. He screamed from the car seat, to the store, and all the way home, then continued to scream himself to sleep. My marriage collapsed. I was now a single mom. At the time, I was a Firefighter/EMT, and I knew that daycare would be out of the question for this difficult infant, so I opened my own daycare, where I could be with Matthew all the time.
Matthew's language and development faltered. I saw that my daycare children were progressing at a much more rapid rate than my own child. I dismissed this as he was the youngest, therefore the other children were speaking FOR him. He crawled everywhere, didn't take steps until 15 months of age. Few words, only words that needed to be said: "drink, treat,eat, GO"
Matthew was fascinated with his Handy Dandy Notebook, and took it everywhere he went. I bet we bought 100 Handy Dandy Notebooks in his toddler years. He hated clothing, and, even in the wintertime, preferred his diaper and nothing else. Shoes were out of the question. Still, I was oblivious. Hindsight is 20/20. The guilt that I have over this is unimaginable.
Matthew developed his own sign language, and could do simple mathematics with his fingers. His hands were his best friends, he studied his hands and counted for hours on end. He made intricate designs with his blocks and walked all around the table, studying the angles and how the shadows affected his designs. He loved trains. We lived near a train track, and when he heard the whistles blowing, we jumped in the car to watch. He would record the entire event in his notebook. He watched The Weather Channel and recorded each day's weather in a separate notebook. By the time we moved from the house, there were crayon markings on EVERY wall.
First grade was a complete disaster. Matthew hid under his desk and screamed. His teacher had 30 years under her belt, but didn't really know what to do with Matt, so she sent him to the office, where he would continue his meltdown, and return to class. Lunchtime was torture, too loud, noisy, chaotic. So, Matthew would just throw his lunch away, and sit on the playground with his notebook. At his first Parent/Teacher Conference, his teacher, Ms Doty said.."We are certain that your son is Autistic". We asked why. She said that we only had 5 minutes left of the conference. We argued that Matthew is BRILLIANT, he's not retarded. (ignorance on our part)...Conference over.
I came home to my son. He was making an intricate design, a pyramid, out of pennies, counting each one, making sure that they were all "heads up" and perfectly aligned. He is brilliant, I told myself. Autistic children sit in a corner and rock back and forth. My son is NOT Autistic. Matt cried all night, and so did I.
By the next morning, and for a solid month after, it was my duty to learn as much as I could about this thing called "Autism". I searched the internet endlessly, spoke with other moms, had Matthew tested, scaled back my daycare to just a couple of days a week, and became a First Grader. I sat next to Matthew every day in school. His teacher thought that Autism was a "fad". I went to lunch with him and opened his containers, so he could eat. I left at noon, went home, cried. Daily. By the time Matthew made it home from school, a massive meltdown would ensue, followed by a long nap. I became a warrior. NO more crying. Time to fight.
Being the parent of a Human Being with Special Needs is quite a charge. I realized that I could no longer be a firefighter, I mustn't put my life in jeopardy, for as long as my son is Autistic, he will always need me. I reluctantly quit the Fire Department and became a fulltime glass artist. I am 100% available to my son and to his Special Ed team.
I am now my son's Advocate. I remarried, and my husband and I understand Matthew and have nurtured him and supported him and adored him. I am pleased to say that, while Matthew continues to have speech difficulties, doesn't make eye contact, hates stores, Santa, and the Easter Bunny, he pitched for the Holt Rams baseball team this past year. He has no friends, and doesn't really want any. This past summer, he said, "MOM. For my birthday, I want some walkie-talkies". I told him, "yaknow, buddy, if you want some walkie-talkies, you're going to need to go up the street, and see if you can make some friends."
Matthew replied "Mama. You are my friend" I melted.
