I blog a lot about autistic rights, and how we’re oppressed, and what we need to be equal, but I don’t always write about the challenges I face. This leads people to assume that I’m maybe just slightly quirky and I don’t really have support needs. So, today, I’m inviting you in to one of my more difficult areas
Dear Parents of autistic children,
I am tired. I am tired of having pointless conversations with you. They’re pointless because within the first few minutes, I can predict the direction in which the conversation will go.
Rarely, the conversation goes in a positive direction. To those parents, I want to say thank you.
There’s a thing that happens a lot…
Someone does something awful or says something awful about autistic people, and then when they’re called out on their awfulness, they play the “Well, how do you know I’m not autistic?”
Simply put: We don’t know whether that person is autistic or not.
At the beginning of this year, my son started his third year of school.
He could not read.
His school and his teachers were aware of this. They had realised this by the end of his first year of school. His school offered a reading recovery program for children who need extra assistance with literacy
Earlier this week, I went to donate blood which is something that I do on a regular basis. My son came with me which is something he does on a regular basis.
He knows the way it works: We sit in the waiting area and then when it’s my turn, he goes to the recovery area to colour in, eat snacks and wait for me.
Yesterday, I heard the news that Jonah Lomu, a former rugby player for New Zealand, passed away.
I have never met Jonah Lomu. But, I have bittersweet memories of the 1995 World Cup. He played such a central role in New Zealand reaching the finals.
For a month, I was able to connect with my father.