10 Things Autistic People Wish You Knew (Repost)

[Guest guest]

Hi, folks.

This was previously posted to the list, but I found it to be quite a gem.

My better half sent it to my Asperger son's teachers at the start of the

school year, and one of them acknowleged his sincere thanks for the info,

and how it helps him to understand how to keep my boy on-task (in Advanced

Math, yeah!)

So, here it is again. See below...

And my utmost thanks to whomever posted it originally. Thank you, thank

you!

Best regards,

Jim

--

Hold the door for the stranger behind you. When the driver in the adjacent

lane signals to get over, slow down. Smile and say " hi " to the folks you

pass on the sidewalk. Give blood. Volunteer.

Here are 10 things every child with autism wishes you knew.

1. I am a child with autism. I am not " autistic. " My autism is one aspect of

my total character.

It does not define me as a person. Are you a person with thoughts, feelings

and many talents, or

are you just fat (overweight), myopic (wear glasses) or klutzy

(uncoordinated, not good at

sports)?

2. My sensory perceptions are disordered. This means the ordinary sights,

sounds, smells, tastes

and touches of everyday life that you may not even notice can be downright

painful for me. The

very environment in which I have to live often seems hostile. I may appear

withdrawn or

belligerent to you, but I am really just trying to defend myself. A " simple "

trip to the grocery

store may be hell for me. My hearing may be hyperacute. Dozens of people are

talking at once.

The loudspeaker booms today's special. Muzak whines from the sound system.

Cash registers beep

and cough. A coffee grinder is chugging. The meat cutter screeches, babies

wail, carts creak,

the fluorescent lighting hums. My brain can't filter all the input, and I'm

in overload! My

sense of smell may be highly sensitive. The fish at the meat counter isn't

quite fresh, the guy

standing next to us hasn't showered today, the deli is handing out sausage

samples, the baby in

line ahead of us has a poopy diaper, they're

mopping up pickles on Aisle 3 with ammonia. ... I can't sort it all out, I'm

too nauseous.

Because I am visually oriented, this may be my first sense to become

overstimulated. The

fluorescent light is too bright. It makes the room pulsate and hurts my

eyes. Sometimes the

pulsating light bounces off everything and distorts what I am seeing. The

space seems to be

constantly changing. There's glare from windows, moving fans on the ceiling,

so many bodies in

constant motion, too many items for me to be able to focus - and I may

compensate with tunnel

vision. All this affects my vestibular sense, and now I can't even tell

where my body is in

space. I may stumble, bump into things, or simply lay down to try and

regroup.

3. Please remember to distinguish between won't (I choose not to) and can't

(I'm not able to).

Receptive and expressive language are both difficult for me. It isn't that I

don't listen to

instructions. It's that I can't understand you. When you call to me from

across the room, this

is what I hear: " * & ^%$#@, . #$%^* & ^%$ & * " Instead, come speak directly

to me in plain words:

" Please put your book in your desk, . It's time to go to lunch. " This

tells me what you

want me to do and what is going to happen next. Now it's much easier for me

to comply.

4. I am a concrete thinker. I interpret language literally. It's very

confusing for me when you

say, " Hold your horses, cowboy! " when what you really mean is " Please stop

running. " Don't tell

me something is a " piece of cake " when there is no dessert in sight and what

you really mean is,

" This will be easy for you to do. " When you say, " It's pouring cats and

dogs, " I see pets coming

out of a pitcher. Please just tell me, " It's raining very hard. " Idioms,

puns, nuances, double

entendres and sarcasm are lost on me.

5. Be patient with my limited vocabulary. It's hard for me to tell you what

I need when I don't

know the words to describe my feelings. I may be hungry, frustrated,

frightened or confused, but

right now those words are beyond my ability to express. Be alert for body

language, withdrawal,

agitation, or other signs that something is wrong.

There's a flip side to this: I may sound like a little professor or a movie

star, rattling off

words or whole scripts well beyond my developmental age. These are messages

I have memorized

from the world around me to compensate for my language deficits, because I

know I am expected to

respond when spoken to. They may come from books, television or the speech

of other people. It's

called echolalia. I don't necessarily understand the context or the

terminology I'm using, I

just know it gets me off the hook for coming up with a reply.

6. Because language is so difficult for me, I am very visually oriented.

Show me how to do

something rather than just telling me. And please be prepared to show me

many times. Lots of

patient repetition helps me learn.

A visual schedule is extremely helpful as I move through my day. Like your

day planner, it

relieves me of the stress of having to remember what comes next, makes for

smooth transitions

between activities, and helps me manage my time and meet your expectations.

Here's a great web

site for learning more about visual schedules

http://www.cesa7.k12.wi.us/newweb/content/rsn/autism.asp

7. Focus and build on what I can do rather than what I can't do. Like any

other human, I can't

learn in an environment where I'm constantly made to feel that I'm not good

enough or that I

need fixing. Trying anything new when I am almost sure to be met with

criticism, however

constructive, becomes something to be avoided. Look for my strengths and

you'll find them.

There's more than one right way to do most things.

8. Help me with social interactions. It may look like I don't want to play

with the other kids

on the playground, but sometimes it's just that I simply don't know how to

start a conversation

or enter a play situation. If you can encourage other children to invite me

to join them at

kickball or shooting baskets, I may be delighted to be included.

9. Try to identify what triggers my meltdowns. This is termed " the

antecedent. " Meltdowns,

blowups, tantrums or whatever you want to call them are even more horrid for

me than they are

for you. They occur because one or more of my senses has gone into overload.

If you can figure

out why my meltdowns occur, they can be prevented.

10. If you are a family member, please love me unconditionally. Banish

thoughts such as, " If he

would just ... " and " Why can't she ... ? " You didn't fulfill every last

expectation your parents

had for you, and you wouldn't like being constantly reminded of it. I didn't

choose to have

autism. Remember that it's happening to me, not you. Without your support,

my chances of

successful, self-reliant adulthood are slim. With your support and guidance,

the possibilities

are broader than you might think. I promise you I'm worth it.

It all comes down to three words: Patience. Patience. Patience.

Work to view my autism as a different ability rather than a disability. Look

past what you may

see as limitations and see the gifts autism has given me. I may not be good

at eye contact or

conversation, but have you noticed I don't lie, cheat at games, tattle on my

classmates, or pass

judgment on other people?

You are my foundation. Think through some of those societal rules, and if

they don't make sense

for me, let them go. Be my advocate, be my friend, and we'll see just how

far I can go.

I probably won't be the next Jordan, but with my attention to fine

detail and capacity

for extraordinary focus, I might be the next Einstein. Or Mozart. Or Van

Gogh.

They had autism too.