This is the city I live in. This is the college I went to nearly a decade and a half prior. I felt at home.
What was I doing on my birthday roaming around my old college campus? Well, I had been asked by Jack's school-based physical therapist to come speak to her pediatric physical therapy class about autism spectrum disorders. This was the first year she had been asked to cover autism in her class, and she figured that the best way to introduce the material was through the eyes of someone who was raising a child on the spectrum - a parent.
So, while it was my birthday, I gladly obliged. Anything for Team Jack.
I'll admit that I felt much older stepping onto that campus at this point in my life than when I last left. No amount of hipness - if that's even a word - or style, with my new shoes and my iPhone, could make anyone mistake me for one of them. I had clearly crossed the threshold from "kid" to "parent" some time ago.
After a brief stop to the bookstore for a t-shirt for Jack - which he's wearing today, much to his mama's delight - I headed towards a building that did not exist when I was at Georgia State to give a lecture to a group of people I had never met. Yet, I felt a sort of calm about this. It was going to be okay.
I got to class and set up with plenty of time to spare. As I began, I told the students to feel free to interrupt me and ask any questions they wanted. I didn't want them to feel uncomfortable asking me about the tougher issues; I wanted them to ask what was on their minds and get correct answers. Not fear. Not misinformation. Truth.
Only a couple of minutes in, as I was discussing the process of getting Jack diagnosed, one student raised her hand and asked, "So, if a parent comes to me with concerns, what should I do?"
Yes. This is why I was there. I told her to refer them to either EI or the school system for an evaluation. I told her to simultaneously refer them to their pediatrician or - if they weren't getting anywhere with their general pediatrician - to a developmental pediatrician. I told her that the wait to see a DP can be long, so parents should do both referrals simultaneously so that their child can hopefully begin services while waiting to see a specialist.
The questions kept coming. "How can you tell if a meltdown is coming?" "Does it help if therapists speak to you about priorities before setting goals?" "Does he understand that he has autism and - if not - will you one day tell him and help him understand?"
It was that question about understanding that made me think about just how far we had come. I responded...
"Right now, Jack speaks like a young toddler - he has a speech/language age equivalency of about a 24-month old at 4 years old - so he can't really understand what autism is or that he is autistic. However, we are very open about it in our home. We don't shun away from using the word 'autism'. In fact, we use it often. There shouldn't be a stigma about being autistic and it should not be something for which he is ashamed. My hope is that - one day - he can come to understand what that means, what it means for him, and that he can embrace who he is and be proud of himself and all he has accomplished and has yet to achieve. If he can't, that's fine, too, but I want him growing up knowing that he is absolutely okay...just as he is."
I had gone into that room planning to speak for an hour, but it ended up being an hour and a half long presentation. I went in thinking that no one would ask questions, but they couldn't stop. They seemed curious and hungry for information, and I was honored to be able to oblige. At the end, I presented a list of things that they could do to help autistic children get the most out of their PT sessions. That list included things that PTs aren't typically taught, like using visuals, following a child's natural interests to motivate them to engage, and giving our kids sensory breaks.
What was awesome was that they seemed to get it. Truly get it. Their questions didn't indicate a closed-minded attitude, but one of acceptance and a thirst for understanding.
It gave me hope - real hope - that the next generation of providers who will be working with our children will come in ready to meet them at their level and at a place of welcoming and acceptance. It is my hope that PTs - who often seem so new to the realm of working with autistic children - will eventually learn about PECS, communication methods, sensory techniques, and everything else that will help them work more effectively with our children.
Afterwards, the response was overwhelming. The number of students who came up to me and thanked me for opening their eyes was incredible. Several had tears in their eyes from the videos I had shown. They all delighted in seeing a video of Jack smiling in his baby pool while we sang "If You're Happy and You Know It" to him.
So, my birthday was a work day...it's true. I may not have gone to get my nails done or taken advantage of the time Jack was at school to kick my feet up and relax, but what I did was worth every moment I dedicated to it. There is nothing more important than teaching the next generation of young people who will work with our children to be understanding, accepting, and compassionate.