Tag Archives: thank you

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On being read (horn toot warning)

How cool is this (look over on the right, by the green button):

TADL_Sparrow_ScreenCaptueZero copies available. Zip. Zilch. Nada, baby!

Then there’s this:

BestSellers042813People are reading Sparrow Migrations! They are spending their free time — the most precious, limited resource in 21st century American culture — reading my novel. And they’re talking about it — I’m aware of three book clubs reading it at the moment! Talk about a high.

My launch month closed Tuesday. What a month. Every day, almost, I got a comment from someone, via e-mail, Facebook or in person, about how much they were enjoying it. Most gratifying is that readers who originally began the book due to a connection either to me as the author or to autism as the main theme are saying they like the story for its own sake.

Here’s one, from a woman who also has a child on the autism spectrum:

“I would happily recommend this book to friends and family as not just an insight into life with Autism, but as a good read.”

Another, from a reader who loves birds:

“wow….a wonderful read…i absolutely LOVED it. I have recommended it to many of my friends. can’t wait to read more from you!”

And one more, from a co-worker who’s also a librarian:

“I started it because it was your book. I’m finishing it because I want to.”

And all those readers are doing some good. In April I offered to donate $1.88 per book sold to two local autism advocacy groups. This week I did my reckoning. I sold a total of 132 copies in bookstores and on Amazon. That means the Autism Resource Network of Northwest Michigan and the TCAPS iPads program through the Traverse Traveler Scavenger Hunt for Autism each get $125.

Thank you for making that happen. Thank you for validating two and a half years of work. Thank you for your Amazon reviews and word-of-mouth recommendations and media coverage. A writer doesn’t exist without readers. As I’ve written before, hit it, Natalie:

 

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Awareness? Acceptance? Today, ‘home sweet home’ is enough

Home sweet home,” said Owen yesterday, as we returned from our spring break trip to visit family in Ohio.

“Home sweet home,” I echoed, as I often do with his comments. The repetition seems to reassure him that I’ve heard him, and he’ll often repeat himself until he gets that reassurance.

Sure enough, that ended the back-and-forth cycle. As we unpacked and started the laundry and settled back in, however, I found the line reverberating in my head. I’ve written before about how little things aren’t so little when it comes to kids, and especially with kids on the spectrum. As one of the latter group, Owen is inherently a more anxious kid who has more trouble fitting into social situations and more difficulty communicating within those situations than neurotypical kids.

Yet with those three little  words, he communicated that home is a safe place. A place where he fits in, feels comfortable, and is happy to be.

Wow. How huge is that? Now, that’s not to say home is the only sweet place. He couldn’t wait to leave for the trip and see his cousins, waking at 3 a.m. on departure day. Same thing happens for Mackinaw City, our annual summer vacation destination.  And I know he feels at home in his classroom. But with that comment, I know home is THE place. And that is huge.

Like a lot of other parents, I tie myself in knots, wondering if I’m doing the right things/enough things to help him. Too much advocacy? (= bellicose parent?) Too little advocacy? (= missing opportunities?) Too hands-on (= fostering dependency?) Too hands-off (= leaving him to flounder?) An extra speech therapy session or ABA? Prompting replies when he stays silent? What’s worth a meltdown? What to do? Or to do anything?

Today is World Autism Awareness Day. Like a lot of things in the autism community, it’s not without divisiveness (scroll to No. 17 of Autistic Hoya’s excellent summary), awareness vs. acceptance being the controversy du jour. But for today, I’m going to repeat that line to myself.

Home sweet home. That home, that sanctuary, is a place that my husband and I have created for our son. He is aware of it. For today, I will accept that as enough. Maybe even plenty. The questions can return tomorrow.

With 1 in 50 on the spectrum, I bet you do, too.

With 1 in 50 on the spectrum, I bet you do, too.

- The letter H brought to you by Daily Drop Cap.

 

 

 

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Autistic people should be welcomed

Last week, my son brought home his class composite picture. He placed it on the top shelf of his book case. Later that evening, he reproached me when I inadvertently brushed it off the shelf.

“Mommy. That’s my picture,” he said, replacing it in its prominent position.

Not the stereotypical autistic behavior, right? Lost in their own world. Aloof. Apart. Unengaged. We’ve all heard these words to describe our kids.

But as the value he places on the photo shows, in his class, my son is part of a community. That’s because he’s welcomed there. He’s been welcomed there since Day 1, when he arrived as a refugee from a class where he was — shall we say — not welcomed. That’s how I came to learn how important it is to be welcomed.

The lesson was reinforced just the other day. He wasn’t feeling well, and the school called me to pick him up early. We were standing outside his locker, gathering his boots and coat, when about a half-dozen kids from the class converged on him.

“Owen, where are you going?”
“He must be going home. He didn’t feel good.”
“Owen, can I get a high-five?”
“I hope you feel better.”
“Owen, can I get a wave?
“Bye, Owen, hope to see you tomorrow.”

These kids–six, seven, eight years old, most of them–acted more kindly and warmly and thoughtfully than I sometimes am capable of myself, being one prone to tripping over the “should.” In the moment, I felt chastened and humbled. But most of all, heartened.

He is welcomed. He knows it. He responds.

High five, kids in Mrs. Stricker’s class.

Today’s post is part of a flashblog – “Autistic People Should” – which began as a way to combat the disgusting and vilesearch engine results that pop up when someone Googles the phrase “Autistic people should.”

Please, share this blog post, and others like it, such as Stuart Duncan’s “Autistic People Should Be,” Jo Ashline’s “Autistic People Should Be Free to Flap” and Amy Sequenzia’s Autistic People Should,” and help replace these vile “top searches” with messages of love, acceptance, and respect.

- The letter “L” brought to you by Daily Drop Cap.