We all think we "know" autism. There are certainly many stories in the media about kids, who, despite autism, are able to go to regular school, or college, or interact with family. But rarely do we see someone like my friend Greg. Greg is nonverbal, meaning he doesn't speak, and he works hard to achieve basic skills, along with an aide who stands or sits right beside him, guiding him. He has a seizure disorder that is common to many autistics, a disorder that has led to his hospitalization. He hums and makes strange sounds sometimes and has trouble interacting with other people. He can answer questions with a nod and he loves to give high fives. He loves Thomas the Tank and video games and puzzles and his parents and his grandparents and his extended family.
There were two boys at this graduation, Greg and A., another twenty one year old who is also leaving the children's program. It's now up to the state and Greg's parents to find an appropriate setting for Greg. His parents are eager to get him into an adult program with similar goals -- teaching Greg life skills, such as emptying a dishwasher or setting a table, and helping them to be able to work. But it's not that simple.
For one thing, adult programs for these special individuals are limited, and for another, they are extremely expensive. Greg's parents want, like all of us want, the best for their son, so he can contribute to society.
Last week, Greg and A were led into the graduation by their amazing teacher, who has guided them through adolescence since they were thirteen. They were wearing caps and gowns. Although it is very difficult for Greg to smile -- I think I've only seen him smile once or twice in his life -- he was beaming, so proud of himself that day. The two boys sat in the front of the room, eyeing the candy and cookies on the table set for the reception. Their teacher told us how they would go on to do great things. That led me to think about the great things I expect and want for my own healthy daughters, like college and careers, and happy marriages and children (if they want them) and the great things Greg's parents hope for him (skills that will help him be independent, the right medications so he won't seize, caregivers who will treat him like family).
Then the teacher allowed anyone in the audience who chose to do so the opportunity to speak. Greg's mother got up and talked about how the program helped her toilet train her son, something she never thought would happen. His father got up and talked about how he saw pictures of Greg working at Staples one day -- this program is not shy about taking individuals with autism out into public, and they have, over the last few years, brought the boys to some work sites, for example, to a restaurant where they rolled silverware into cloth napkins for a few hours -- and how he just wants his son to be able to work, like everyone else. Greg's grandmother got up and said she was glad that Greg was able to live at home and be in this program, because in her day, people like Greg were institutionalized.
Then the teacher played a slide show with many pictures of Greg from the time he was very little until now, pictures of him with his teachers at the beach, (he loves the water) at amusement parks, in the classroom working on a daily living skill like sitting still for the dentist....Afterwards, at the reception, A stuffed his cap with Twix bars while Greg looked at a picture album his teacher had made.
I don't know what's going to happen with Greg next because his future lies between the state and his tireless parents, who, for the past eighteen years, since he was diagnosed, have fought every step of the way to give their child the best of everything, just like every parent wants for his or her child. But I do know that Greg will continue to be loved and cherished by family and friends and that he continues to teach all of us how to appreciate a full life.
No comments:
Post a Comment