Saturday, April 27, 2013

A Tribute to the Mindless Menace of Violence by Robert F. Kennedy

I was born and raised in the Boston area. It is my home.

I realize however, that it may not be your home.

I questioned whether the Hopeful Parents website was an appropriate place to express my thoughts on the Boston Marathon bombing. After much inner reflection, I realized that these recent acts of hatred and intolerance affect not just the folks who live in Boston, but all human beings on this planet who are devoted to the pursuit of peace.

When the seeds of intolerance were planted in Boston, a vicious cycle of hatred began to spread within our society. It wasn’t long before Internet chatter began to promote selfish discontent, minimizing these inhumane acts and fertilizing the cancerous spread of civil unhappiness.

If we are to put an end to the death of innocent civilians, then no matter where in the world these atrocities occur, we must meet violence consistently with solidarity and resistance, with our own personal acts of selflessness and compassion.

“Let no one be discouraged by the belief there is nothing one person can do against the enormous array of the world’s ills, misery, ignorance and violence. Few will have the greatness to bend history, but each of us can work to change a small portion of events. And in the total of all those acts will be written the history of a generation.” - Robert F. Kennedy

The evils of hatred affect us all, including our special needs community for it wasn’t so long ago on July 14, 1933, that the German government instituted the “Law for the Prevention of Progeny with Hereditary Diseases.” This law called for the sterilization of all persons who suffered from diseases considered hereditary, including mental illness, learning disabilities, physical deformity, epilepsy, blindness, deafness, and severe alcoholism. With the law’s passage the Third Reich also stepped up its propaganda against the disabled, regularly labeling them “life unworthy of life” or “useless eaters” and highlighting their burden upon society.

Hatred reared its ugliness again on April 15, 2013 when two bombs exploded during the running of the Boston Marathon.

To me, the Boston Marathon is a symbol of inspiration, courage and hope, an event where individuals strive to become better human beings. Many runners compete to commemorate loved ones or to raise money for incurable disease.

It is a sacred event.

The finish line is a place where many families and children gather to watch their loved ones return safely from their journey. That this should be the place where bombs were detonated seems particularly abhorrent to me.

I do not know that I will ever understand such violence.

I feel an incredible sense of sadness and loss.

I am sad to be reminded once again, that I live in a world where such reckless and unbridled hatred exists.

I feel a loss for the precious lives that were taken so mercilessly, an abominable side-effect of what happens when those among us hate.

It is interesting that the lives of the four victims of this barbarous act exemplified selflessness. Again and again, loved ones described Martin Richard, Krystle Campbell, Lingzi Lu and Sean Collier, as kind and peaceful spirits with a unique strength and a decency of the human spirit.

They remind me of another kind and peaceful Massachusett’s native who also lost his life by the cowardly hands of a violent other.

It is ironic that Robert F Kennedy gave this speech on April 5, 1968, the day after Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated ….45 years ago….almost exactly to the day.

 It is chilling how relevant his speech is to current events.

For those of you who do not wish to read, I have also attached a video below of this famous speech. he entitled:
The Menacing Madness of Violence.

“This is a time of shame and sorrow. It is not a day for politics. I have saved this one opportunity, my only event of today, to speak briefly to you about the mindless menace of violence in America which again stains our land and every one of our lives.

It is not the concern of any one race. The victims of the violence are black and white, rich and poor, young and old, famous and unknown. They are most important of all, human beings whom other human beings loved and needed. No one- no matter where he lives or what he does – can be certain who will suffer from some senseless act of bloodshed. And yet, it goes on and on and on in this country of ours.

Why? What has violence ever accomplished? What has it ever created? No matyr’s cause has ever been stilled by an assassin’s bullet.

No wrongs have ever been righted by riots and civil disorders. A sniper is only a coward, not a hero, and an uncontrollable mob is only the voice of madness, not the voice of reason.

When ever any American life is taken by another American unnecessarily – whether it is done in the name of the law or in the defiance of the law, by one man or a gang, in cold blood or in passion, in an attack of violence of in response to violence – whenever we tear at the fabric of life which another man has painfully and clumsily woven for himself and his children, the whole nation is degraded.

“Among free men, said Abraham Lincoln, there can be no successful appeal from the ballet to the bullet and those who take such appeal are sure to lose their cause and pay the costs.”

Yet we seemingly tolerate a rising level of violence that ignores our common humanity and our claims to civilization alike, We calmly accept our newspaper reports of civilian slaughter in far-off lands. We glorify killing on movie and television screens and call it entertainment. We make it easy for men of all shades of sanity to acquire whatever weapons and ammunition they desire. Too often we admire swagger and bluster and wielders of force; too often we excuse those who are willing to build their own lives on the shattered dreams of others…..

Some look for scapegoats, others look for conspiracies, but this much is clear; violence breeds violence, repression brings retaliation, and only a cleaning of our whole society can remove this sickness from our soul….

I have not come here to propose a set of specific remedies nor is there a single set. For a broad and adequate outline we know what must be done. When you teach a man to hate and fear his brother, when you teach that he is a lesser man because of his color or his beliefs or the policies he pursues, when you teach that those who differ from you threaten your freedom or your job or your family, then you also learn to confront others not as fellow citizens but as enemies, to be met not with cooperation but with conquest; to be subjugated and mastered.

We learn at last to look at our brothers as aliens, men with whom we share a city, but not a community; men bound to us in common dwelling, but not in common effort. We learn to share a fear, only a common desire to retreat from each other, only a common impulse to meet disagreement with force. For all this, there are no final answers.

Yet we know what we must do. It is to achieve true justice among our fellow citizens. The question is not what programs we should seek to enact. The question is whether we can find in our midst and in our own hearts that leadership of humane purpose that will recognize the terrible truths of our existence.

We must admit the vanity of our false distractions among men and learn to find our own advancement in the search for the advancement of others. We must admit in ourselves that our children’s futures cannot be built on the misfortune of others. We must recognize that this short life can neither be ennobled or enriched by hatred or revenge.

Our lives on this planet are too short and the work to be done too great to let this spirit flourish any longer in our land. Of course we can not vanquish it with a program, nor with a resolution.

But we can perhaps remember, if only for a time, that those who live with us are our brothers, that they share with us the same short moment of life; that they seek as we do, nothing but the chance to live out their lives in purpose and in happiness, winning what satisfaction and fulfillment they can.

Surely this bond of common faith, this bond of common goal, can begin to teach us something. Surely we can learn at least to look at those around us as fellow men, and surely we can begin to work a little harder to bind us the wounds among us and to become in our own hearts brothers and countrymen once again.”

It is interesting how the end result of this violence was the worldwide publication of Martin Henry's message to the world.

 I support his dream 

Perhaps this world is a world in which children suffer, but we can lessen the number of suffering children, and if you do not do this, then who will do this? -Albert Camus

If you would like to donate to the families effected by this tragedy,
please click on this badge.

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Lisa Peters writes more about family life at:

Thursday, April 25, 2013

We laughed.

We were at dinner at the round section at the end of our counter that seats four perfection, as we do most nights and we laughed. It wasn't at anything in particular, really, not this night, anyway. It struck me that every once in a while when we're laughing I forget for a split second that there was a time when there was no joy in our house.

Three years ago our son became stable, both medically and emotionally. He'd suffered for a few years before that with a depression so great it almost swallowed the entire family whole. My son had wanted to die.

Those were dark, dark times.

But then they weren't. While things aren't perfect, I'm starting to remember what it is like for our son to laugh for periods of time. Weeks straight, even. It was over dinner the other night we were joking and my son made a joke about himself and how his sister was in the clear with a lot because he did some things that were so much worse than she could ever do. It was actually a kind thing to say to her because he did it with humor.


I'm fairly certain that the humor is what saved me from living inside my head all those many horrific months and it's what has continually helped bring me out of my own darkness parenting a child who wanted to end their life.

Humor allows us to process the hard stuff, still, years later.
Humor allowed us connection as a famly and still does.
Humor allows us the phycial act of laughter.
Humor allows us to see the joy.
Humor allows us inside jokes, enriching our conneciton as a family.
Humor brought us back together.
Humor saved us.

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Julia blogs at Kidneys and Eyes and is co-founder at Support for Special Needs. She owns a traditional marketing firm with her husband (yeah, don't do that unless you really, really like your spouse), writes and speaks on various topics around special needs and the healthcare system. She's addicited to Diet Coke. 

Saturday, April 20, 2013

Diagnosis Day and Two Years In

Two years.  Bizarre, isn't it?  The vernacular becomes so ingrained and the schedule so ordinary and the everyday bits of uniqueness so normal that you forget what life was like before.

Really, it's been more than two years, because my child didn't wake up autistic on his second birthday.  This departure from typical has been our "typical" since Jack was born.  It is who we are.  It's what we do.

I don't think I'll ever forget the significance of April 21st as long as I live.  It was the day I heard the words, "Jack has autism."

In many ways, that day has defined every other since.  While we had already done intake with Babies Can't Wait - Georgia's version of Early Intervention - we had yet to start therapy.  We had yet to immerse ourselves in the world of sensory diets, feeding strategies, neurological conditions, visual schedules, PECS, motor issues, and behavioral programs.  Before that day, we operated much as a typical family would, with few modifications.  It's why life wasn't working for us.  It's why our boy struggled so much.  We were expecting - waiting for - him to conform to our world.

In two years, our outlook has shifted.  No longer do I try to force my square peg into that round hole.  I've learned that his world is better when he can just be Jack, with support.

I also learned that the real work in helping my child learn and grow isn't best left to the experts.  I don't solely rely on therapists to get my child to where he needs to be.  Instead, I learn.  I absorb.  I carry over as much as I can so that the learning doesn't end.  Goals aren't just worked on in therapy, they are encouraged at home.

And yet...

I've also learned that - as a parent - my role isn't just to lead.  It is to follow.  Because regardless of whether or not a child has special needs, forcing each of them into an existence that does not fit their very nature will cause the same resistance of forcing that square peg in the round hole.

So, when Jack's interests lead to a place that I do not understand - into the unfamiliar - I learn.  I learn.  Just because I don't see the same beauty and feel the same excitement in numbers and letters that Jack does, that doesn't mean that I should ignore that he does.  In fact, if I want to be a part of his world, I better get excited about letters and numbers, too.

I also have learned that a child with special needs - in spite of what delays and disabilities they might have - can teach us so much.  Look at all I've learned from my autistic son in the past two years...

...that real beauty exists everywhere.  It exists in bubbles, sun rays on the floor, and the elegant rotation of a fan.  Beauty exists everywhere, if you only have the courage to change your perception of beauty.
...that joy takes many forms.  Flapping hands, tippy-toes, and spinning can all be happy.
...that fun is what you make of it.  You can have fun if you learn to forget what others think and let go.
...that words - in general - mean so little.  That only a few words can mean so much.
...that saying "No" is easy.  Saying "Yes" is far more difficult.
...that the lines between ability and disability are blurred.  That one can have amazing talents and gifts and still be disabled.  That one can have weaknesses and still have many strengths.
...that everyone loves.  That love doesn't always resemble what we think it should, but that it is love nonetheless.
...that love leads us through the worst of times.  That clinging to love will see you through the storm.

In the past two years, there have been storms, but we have ridden them out every time.  I do not fear the next 60 years with my son.  I know we will have our ups and downs, and that life may not look like the carefully planned adventure I once pictured so vividly in my mind, but life can - and will - be good.  It will be full.  It will be messy and complex and a constant work in progress.  We will stumble, we will make progress, and we will face each day anew with renewed hope for what may come.

Above all, we will face each day with love, acceptance, and understanding.  Because two years ago, the world didn't change.  We were simply given a name for the path that we were walking.

The reality is that we had been walking that path all along.

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Jeanie is a former engineer turned stay-at-home wife and mom to an amazing 4-year old little boy on the autism spectrum.  After her only child was diagnosed at 24 months with autism and an alphabet soup of special needs, she began to write about life parenting a very young child with special needs with honesty, optimism, and as always, a touch of humor.  

When not posting here, you can find Jeanie at her regular blog, Reinventing Mommy.  She has also been featured on The SPD Blogger Network and The Oxygen Mask Project, to name a few.  To follow more of her ramblings and get the latest on her posts, like her on Facebook or follow her on Twitter!

Thursday, April 18, 2013

Coming to the Water

I have nearly survived another round of IEP re-evaluations. We have one more meeting, which will really be just the crossing of t's and the dotting of i's. Let's just go ahead and say it, the boy will "qualify." If possible, his scores have gone down since we had all this fun the last time. His IQ, well, don't get me started. I've said it before and I'll say it again - the first thing I'll do when I'm Queen of the Universe is abolish the word "intelligent" and all intelligence tests and unintelligent-related words: stupid, idiot, fool, imbecile and the dreaded R-word. While I'm at it, I'll strike "spaz" from the list of acceptable words to use, ditto "lame" and any other disability-related slurs we throw around as if they are nothing, instead of what they are  - cutting, damaging, dismissive, unkind and unnecessary word choices for what we're really trying to say.

Even though we got to go through a smaller district and what I consider a more efficient process this time, and even though nobody really, really, REALLY set me off, and even though his entire testing process took under 4 hours and was broken up into two days, it was still, crack-a-beer-the-minute-and-I-mean-minute-you-walk-in-the-door brutal. It's the patronizing. It's the condescending. It's the let-me-explain-your-child-to-you-because-I-am-the-expert-and-I-have-now-spent-90-full-minutes-with-your-child-ness of it. It's the come-to-the-water efforts they make when it is so obvious I have not only come to the water, I am the water.

After the first day of testing I gave the woman sort of organizing the whole thing, a copy of "our" book, as Wil likes to say. When I showed up for the meeting to discuss the results of the testing, she was quick to say thank you, she'd read half the book, her supervisor had already read the whole thing, and in fact, hoped I could stop by her office when we were done, she had a few questions for me.

I did stop by her office, she was not there, nor was she in any of the other places I looked before leaving. I will be back. That is a conversation I want to have. Don't get me wrong, these are not bad people, they are, in fact, very, very good people, that went into this work for all the right reasons and are just trying to do their jobs. I take offense when they suggest with even the slightest facial expression or cadence to their sentences, that I am ever, even for a second, not doing mine.

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Carrie is a parent and advocate of a child with special needs and even more special gifts. She blogs at where this is pretty much her favorite topic. Carrie’s book, WIL OF GOD: Embracing the Relentless Love of a Special Child, is available in print on Amazon and all e-readers.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Why We Still Need Awareness

There has been a move in the autism community to move beyond awareness toward acceptance. People are already aware, they say. It's time to take things to the next level.

I'm not sure.

It's not that I don't want acceptance. Of course I do. But I don't think we're ready for it. Why?

Because I still get emails on our local mom's group mailing lists talking about the dangers of vaccines and seeking recommendations for doctors who will agree not to vaccinate.

Because I still walk into stores that sell books called "Stop Autism Now!" that claim that coconut oil can cure everything from autism to Alzheimer's.

Because parents still put their children at risk by trying to cure them with hyperbaric oxygen treatments, bleach enemas, and chelation. And there are doctors willing to perform these (and take their parents' money to do so).

Because I still see Facebook comments with statements like "In my day, we didn't call it a behavior disorder, we called it being a spoiled brat."

Because I still read so many false claims about autism, associating the disorder with violence.

Because I still see people calling autism a "disease."

Because people think only boys have autism.

Because I still read comments on blogs like this one: "
I understand Autism, but just because a child doesn't have Autism, doesn't mean they're a perfect angel & it doesn't mean their parents 'have it easy.' At least you get help & support through various programs. Your child will get special treatment just because of an Autism diagnosis, mine won't. Like you said, the grass is always greener..."

Because parents are still made to feel that they caused their child's autism, because the lived near a freeway, were too old, ate the wrong foods, or had the wrong birth experience.*

Because school districts still do not provide appropriate educational opportunities for kids like Moe.

Because even special education teachers don't understand that behavior is communication.

Because people have no idea that there are many, many smart adults with autism who can speak/write/communicate and advocate for themselves. And do it everyday.

Because people think that autism looks either like the geeky genius or the completely withdrawn child. Moe is neither of these.

Because people assume that because someone can't talk, he or she can't understand.

Saying that we are ready for acceptance is like saying that because Obama was elected, we are living in a post-racial world. That because we have "civil unions" and "domestic partnerships," there is equality for the same sex couples. That because there are women in positions of leadership in corporate America, that we have gender equality in the workplace.

We need to be aware of the many truths of autism before we can get to acceptance of all people on the spectrum.

I want acceptance. But I'm afraid we have a long way to go.

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April is Autism Awareness Month, but autistic people and those who love them are aware every single day. I've submitted a post about being a Special Needs parent to BlogHer Voices of the Year. I'd love it if you'd vote for it here: Becoming Special

*For a list of the myriad studies showing various "causes" of autism, see the ever-growing list in the sidebar at Disability and Representation.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Life is Precious

Life is precious and fleeting.  This is a heavy lesson to learn and it's one I've become keenly aware of since joining the parenting journey of a child with special needs.

Over the past five plus years I have met families - so many families - that are in some way impacted by a child with special needs.  I've learned to care deeply for their children and include them in my prayers and I know they include us in prayer, too.

Some families I've met in person, some I've only spoken to through long distance phone calls, some I've met only online.  It doesn't matter how we've "met" because I am invested in their families.  Their triumphs, their tragedies and everything in between.

Some precious children are very sick.  We expect that we will have to say goodbye to those children and pray fiercely for a miracle while also praying for a good quality of life while they are here.  It is sad when they leave us and that fact that it is often expected barely softens the blow of the loss.

Some precious children are stable and we are so thankful for stable, for it can be a wonderful blessing to have "stable" when living with a child with special needs.

Some children are defying all the odds stacked against them.  These precious children are proving doctors and tests wrong.  They are walking when they shouldn't.  They are seeing when test results say they cannot see.  They are now hearing after being told they cannot hear.  They inspire us to continue to pray and to believe in everyday miracles.

The fact is all of these children are changing people and the world around them for the better.  Often, as is the case with my daughter Emma, without even saying a word.

This week our community will say goodbye to a little boy, Gavin, who inspired so many thanks to his amazing mom who openly shares their family journey on her blog Chasing Rainbows.  This was unexpected and hits very close to home.  I know Gavin, I know Kate;  mostly through phone calls, facebook posts, blog posts and occasional face-to-face meetings.  Gavin is only a few days older than Emma and they have a lot in common.  Kate and Gavin inspire me and my heart has been heavy since I heard about Gavin's sudden decline.

The past 5 years have changed me.  I try hard not take the days for granted.  I tell and show my children each day that they are so very loved.  I celebrate accomplishments big and small.  I am inspired often to dig a little deeper and strive to become a better person, wife, mother.

Life is precious.  Life is fleeting.  This much I know.

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Kristina is the mother of two charming daughters and wife to a wonderful man who puts up will all her wild ideas.  She works to raise awareness of cytomegalovirus (CMV) and preventing CMV exposure during pregnancy.  Kristina graduated from the national Partners in Policymaking program in September 2010 and is an advocate for disability rights and inclusion education.  You can read more at

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Motherless Child/Childless Mother

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I’ve been thinking about vanishing white brain matter a lot lately. I’m a social scientist by training, so I don’t totally understand the brain’s composition of bundles of myelinated nerve cells. I just know that my immediate family is lacking some seriously important white brain matter.  With the deterioration of white brain matter, one loses memory, motor skills and cognitive abilities.  That old 1980s public service announcement from the Drug-free America with the frying egg on a hot skillet is what I visualize when I think of diminishing white brain matter: 

My 7 year old daughter, who I most often write about here on the Hopeful Parents blog, has a fatal degenerative disorder that affects her nervous system and white brain matter.  My 70 year old mother has Alzheimer’s.  We are mortals, and we will all die.  Krabbe disease occurs in about 1 in 100,000 births; 1 in 8 older American adults has Alzheimer’s disease.  There is 100% guarantee we will not live eternally, but most of us don’t know under circumstances we will leave this earth and our physical bodies.    However, much like my own breast cancer diagnosis a couple of years ago, I’m less distraught about my mother’s dementia diagnosis. Somehow as adults get older, it seems “normal” that our cells would mutate or diminish in measurable ways.  I have grown to accept that as people age, we slow down, get weirder, go see the doctors more, get more teeth pulled.  I have many friends who have lost one or both parents over the last few years or their parents are becoming increasingly frail. It’s a rite of passage for us—we are the ones doing the caretaking of and decision-making for their parents. We may be peripherally or intensely involved in the medical care for our parents.  We also are becoming adult orphans—adult children with no living parents.  For some of us who may not necessarily have had strong maternal bonds, such parental abandonment does not feel quite so different as when our parents were more physically well or living.  To be a motherless (adult) child somehow does not feel that scary to me.     

On the other hand, to lose my own child is a constant and scary prospect.  Seven years into my daughter’s illness, I still cannot quite tolerate the freak collision of  autosomal recessive genes that produced a fatally ill child while her twin sister is totally healthy and neurotypical.  My partner and I are running a marathon here.  I am forever grateful I have twin girls, yet also constantly fearful for Sylvie’s twin sister who will be left behind when her sister finally dies an early death.  Thankfully for producing twins, I will not be entirely childless, but I will be less one child.  

Kirsten Isgro in Vermont

IFSP headaches

It's that special time of year again for our daughter.  Since we brought Cary into our home we got thrown into a new world.  True, while our oldest child has special needs as well, it has always been easier.

Cary has so many challenges and when she came to us she was not even meeting even the most simple goals in her original plan (spending 5 minutes on her tummy without becoming hysterical.  not how they phrased it, but you get the idea.)  So we left them alone.

Then suddenly, slowly, goals became reached.  She tolerated tummy time, would take a bath, and even acted like these could be fun.  The bigger goals like sitting still haven't happened, but she is more willing to try.

Sometimes things move slowly with our county and sometimes you have to beat them over the head to get any results.  This time it was the latter.  After 10 missed visits from our vision therapist and her refusal to make them up, my speech person telling me her goals were really outdated, and every time I called they would promise me they are "working on it".  So I got tired of that after several months and called big brother  on them.

Amazingly, things started happening.  We have a new vision therapist starting this week and  new IFSP in the works.  With new goals.  PT and Speech both came and told me that they had to write a book on Cary.  The questions ranged from an insult to general human intelligence to things that really made me take pause.

It is hard.  And frustrating.  And slow.  And sometimes we forget at the center of all this is a child.  A little one with special needs who is missing out on what she needs to help her develop and grow.  So I am willing to put on my boxing gloves and enter the ring for my daughter's sake.  For her needs.  For her goals.  For her future.

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Amy Fields is a mom to two special needs children.  You can read about her adventures in adoption and her new pet rabbit at Many Kinds of Families.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Doesn't Add Up

According to my son’s school district, once you have autism, that’s it: you only get one diagnosis. Any other problems you might have will just have to stand under that umbrella with you in the rainstorm. And if you have dyslexia or dyscalculia? They will not diagnose those at all, but you are welcome to drop a few grand on a specialist to do the evaluation and send it to the district for consideration. But if you have autism AND dyslexia or dyscalculia? Well, go ahead and go to that expert with your mortgage payment, and the district might add something about that in the comment section on page 26 of your IEP.

As you might have guessed, my nine-year-old boy has autism AND a learning disability -- dyscalculia. We have known this for years. You could spend five minutes with him and figure it out, if you yourself got past the third grade. We’ve clamored for documentation. We’ve spent years in private educational therapy. We pay our therapist a fortune not just to teach our boy math, but to then go to the schools to teach our son’s teachers to teach our boy math. We want it in his IEP that he has dyscalculia so that each fall we don’t waste for first month or two re-establishing and wasting precious time. How could we get this documentation? At the last IEP we were told, “Request a district psych eval.” And we did.

Finally, this past week the school psych read her tome to us for 35 minutes. It said: your son has autism. “Any questions?” I had one: where does it mention his math disability? Then I learned what you now know. The district is comprised of a blind people groping only at disparate parts of elephants. They feel social awkwardness and shout: Autism! They come upon knotty verbal pragmatics and scream: autism! Can’t add, subtract, multiply, divide, or COUNT? AUTISM!

But, no, my son is not a math equation whose sum total is autism. It’s just one factor. Another factor? Dyscalculia. Know what other factor he has? Infinite creativity. Vocabulary to the millionth power. Potential cubed.  He deserves to have specialized support for his math disability based on what works for how he learns. And yes it’s challenging and expensive, but he’s a good investment.

I had another question. There quite a crowd of us in the room. I’ve been in education for almost two decades, and we had the teacher, resource teacher, AP, OT, BID, ed therapist, and my husband. “Who here would go on record saying you believe my son does NOT have a math disability?”

Everyone looked at their feet. No one spoke.

“That,” I said, “is because we all know he has a math disability. And I want it documented. And I want supports in place that specifically address it. And if you won’t document it, I will pay a reputable expert who certainly will, and then I will bring you the bill and ask for reimbursement, but that is a waste of time and money. I know he has dyscalculia, you know he has it, and he has a right to the proper services. Put that in the IEP.”

If they do, I will sign it.
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Rooster's Mom is a parent, educator, wife, mom, and writer. She blogs at