Oh, how I would love to talk about ideas…

sunrise behind clouds over the oceanSo, this trip has been interesting. I have 11 hours to go (and yes, I am counting), till I get to leave the office, get in my car, and drive to the airport. Then, I’ll have yet another bite to eat, board the plane, and fly home.

I can’t wait. I’m done here. I was supposed to have dinner with an Aspie friend, last night, but I ended up having to do a work team-building thing — going out to dinner with my coworkers, and then having ice cream afterwards. It was a good time, and I enjoyed hanging out with them. Just like I’ve enjoyed spending time with other folks, discussing work and other subjects, and everything that goes along with networking for work.

Sure, I enjoy spending time with these people, but when do I get time to decompress? All this peopling has been incredibly taxing. It’s exhausting, no matter how much I enjoy it. There’s too much to take in, too much to process, and all of it’s happening in an environment that’s inherently hostile to me and my sensibilities on a profound level. Everything around me is too too loud, too bright, too frenetic, too superficial, too political, too… everything.

And not an in-depth idea in sight, from what I can tell.

I’ve spent the last four days skimming the surface of life, and it’s about as much as I’m prepared to indulge. Everybody’s saying I should stay longer. I should spend more time. I should even move out here. They like me. I like them. We get along. There’s a fair amount of love between me and my coworkers here, and they enjoy working with me.

But it’s a one-way street, social and mentally speaking. I’m the one working overtime to fit in and adapt to their ways. I’m the one putting out the effort to blend and be a responsible individual who cultivates positive social interactions. I’m the one who’s bending over backwards (metaphorically) and putting a cramp in my back (literally) to adapt to their schedules, their food choices, their priorities, their values.

Very, very little of what goes on here and what people care about appeals to me. Living a classic American conspicuous hyper-consumer lifestyle in ways that support and further the dominant paradigm (as well as  the economy), and structuring your life around your popularity, social standing, and political connections are about as far from my main priorities, and you can get.

It’s just so vacuous… I feel like I’ve been living at an extremely high altitude for the past week, with very little oxygen, no trees, and no signs of diverse life to be found.

And nobody around me seems to notice, which worries me.

I mean, I like the people I work with. But at some point, I need to talk about more than office politics, as well as their mainstream lives. I need to discuss more than what people had for dinner the night before, or what the school schedules are. I’m out of  place, but I’m the only one who notices, because I follow other people’s leads, and I play to their strengths. It’s much easier to interact with people, when I make them the center of attention. They love it. They love to talk about their lives, their cars, their kids, their hobbies. But very, very little of it has anything to do with queer little ole me.

Which is pretty much the story of my life. Not much around me has anything to do with me or my values, my priorities, my interests. Never mind what I would have talked about, if I’d been able to go to dinner with my friend last night. We would have riffed on abstract concepts for hours. But alas… alack… All I have to show for dinner last night is a dessicated, intellectually barren experience, where I’ve worn myself out interacting with people nothing like me at all, doing things that don’t interest me… and there’s always the chance I’ve insulted someone without intending to.

Ah, well.

I get to go home today. Back to my books, back to my routine, back to my regular eating and exercise schedule. Back to my house, my partner, my queerness, my nonbinary, noncompliant ways, and the life that I’ve structured exactly the way I want it. Back to my quiet, my peace, my steady cadence. Back to my ideas. Back to a place where I can actually think, instead of being rushed and pushed and cajoled and coerced into meeting someone else’s cookie-cutter social needs, on someone else’s time, according to someone else’s idea about how things should be done.

Well, I’m sure I’ll get some insight from this trip, on down the line, but for now, I’m just really relieved to be finishing up my stay here and going home this afternoon. I’m sure I’ll be back here, sometime in the not-so-distant future, but for now, I’m looking forward to getting my life back to how I want and need it to be.

The day is starting. Let the games begin. Again. For the time being.

“Old School” Autism Adjustment

school building in snow on film strip

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how I structure my life. And I’ve been thinking about how I handle myself, regardless of what comes along.

Because I do. Of course, it falls down, here and there. Of course it does. I’m human. I have finite resources, and like a high-performance race car, I need to pull off the track, every so many revolutions, and get tuned up. I’m no different than a Formula-One race car, in that respect. High-performance vehicles, including my body and brain, need more specialized care on a more frequent basis.

That doesn’t make me disabled. It makes me high-performance with specific needs.

Interestingly, nobody’s calling F-1 race cars “disabled” because their tires need to be changed more frequently than your everyday family sedan.

Please.

And here’s where my New Year starts out a little early. I’ve got this new resolution to really “reframe” (much as I hate that word) the way I talk about Autism. Hmm… let me think of a much better word than “reframe” — okay, let’s use “redefine”. Because that’s essentially what I’m doing. The words I use add shape and texture to the concept of my Autism, and by using different words and different mindsets to talk about that central part of me, I can literally change the quality of my life and the thoughts/concepts that guide it.

If others “get it”, then great. If my example helps them to redefine their own experience (whether it’s Autistic or not) and create a more self-aware and self-directed way of life that’s got less pain and suffering, then great. But my redefinition isn’t for the sake of anyone else. It’s for my sake. I am Autistic, after all. 😉

One thing driving this shift is my experience of looking through my library of images I’ve used in blog posts over the past year or so. I’ve been actively blogging here for nearly two years. I started this blog back in June, 2008, then had to tend to other things, and I came back in February, 2016. Some days, it seems like a lot longer than two years, and other days, it seems a lot shorter.

I’m alexithymic like that.

Anyway, I noticed that so-so many of my images have really negative connotations for me. There’s a lot of suffering archived in my media library. And while searching in vain for some really uplifting images (or just some pragmatically strength-inspiring pics), I came up with nothing, time and time again.

sunflower

Oh, here and there, I found an image or two. But on the whole, things look pretty grim. I’d have to say the ratio of gloomy:gleeful is about 9.24:1.

So, that’s gotta change.

I’ve talked before about how we need more Autistic Joy, and I still believe that. But it’s not enough to mention it now and then in a blog post. It’s got to be the main theme in all my blog posts. And if not outright joy, then at least some discussion of how I’m managing my Autistic life — and doing it successfully.

Oddly, I feel as though I may be failing “the cause” as I write this. Because Autistic people are supposed to get support and resources for our difficulties. Yes, when appropriate, I absolutely believe that. If I am completely and totally unable to help myself, then I do need extra help.

The thing is, I’m rarely, if ever, completely and totally unable to help myself. I may have lost track of all the ways my system was being slowly eroded by circumstances beyond my control. I may have allowed myself become so run-down that I lost my normal capabilities. I may have gotten so wrapped up in what I was doing, I forgot to eat, drink, sleep, and empty my bladder, and that’s making my life a lot more “interesting” than I’d like it, as I gingerly wobble across the house to get to the bathroom.

But those things are on me. I may be Autistic, but I’ve helped to create those conditions. I didn’t properly manage my life — which I’m perfectly capable of doing. I didn’t take good care of myself — which I know I need to do, so what’s my excuse? I didn’t set a timer (which I know I sometimes need) to eat, drink, sleep, and keep track of my bladder’s state. Self-created suffering is not the sort of thing I can use to demand more services for my situation.

It may sound like I’m being too hard on myself, but I’m not. I was raised to know better, and to do better. And I was raised in a world where I was expected to take responsibility for myself, even for the times when I struggle. Especially for the times when I struggle. Because everyone is dealing with something pretty Big, and they don’t have extra time and attention to devote to my own self-created issues.

If I’m capable of discerning my difficulties (which I am, more than anyone else), and I’m able to learn from my experiences (which I can, and do, regularly), then it’s my responsibility to make provisions for my situation. Manage my issues. Restructure my life so that I’m not suffering, if it can at all be prevented. And make the damn’ effort to not get myself into taxing situations that I know, from experience, are going to make life worse for me — and everyone around me.

Yeah, I’m old school. That’s for certain. My approach isn’t for everyone, but it most certainly is for me. And as one contingent of Autistic folks focuses on the disability side of things, I’m focusing on the “Autistic ability” side of things — because our lives are different and shouldn’t be expected to be exactly the same. And because I’ve figured out how to live my life as an actually successful (and yes, I’m using the word in its true sense) Autistic adult. I was as a successful Autistic child, teen, and young adult. I just didn’t realize it, thank you alexithymia. Turns out, the very thing that makes it possible for me to function effectively in situations that freak other people out, actually hides that effectiveness from the rest of me. So, I’m a heck of a lot more successful and happy and content than I realize.

Damn… I need to write a whole post about that, sometime. Or maybe I already have… Anyway, that’s another idea for another day.

So, with the New Year just around the corner, it’s time to get some more positive pictures in my media library. And get some more pro-active, pro-Autism posts in my blog. Staying stuck in how horrible everything is… well, that doesn’t serve anyone. Least of all me.


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A “Sample Sensory Diet” of Common Sense

a picture of a number of cherry picker lifts in a storage yard

Some years ago, I found this:

A Sample Sensory Diet

The following guidelines represent a kind of sensory diet for one particular child. Keep in mind that every child has a different regulatory and sensory profile, and that these activities are not appropriate or useful for every child. You should get guidance from an occupational therapist or other individual who is experienced with sensory integration.

In this particular example, the child would become disorganized on a regular basis. Although this has meant different things at different times, this child shows disorganization primarily by:

  • being extremely silly and unresponsive
  • laughing uncontrollably
  • losing control of his body–getting extremely limp and/or clumsy
  • becoming either hyper- or hypo-sensitive to pain and other physical stimuli
  • getting aggressive–pinching or spitting, usually in a taunting, almost maniacal way
  • humming and clicking while wandering around aimlessly

Engaging this child in sensory activities on a frequent, regular basis seemed to help him to remain engaged, focused, and in control more often. When this child does get disorganized, these activities help him to find himself again.

Great resources for sensory integration information:

Kranowitz, Carol Stock. The Out-of-Sync Child: Recognizing and Coping with Sensory Integration Dysfunction. 1998. New York: The Berkley Publishing Group.

Ayres, A. Jean, PhD. Sensory Integration and the Child. Western Psychological Services: Los Angeles, 1979.


At the critical times during the day, plan on activating the child with these activities.

NOTE: Spin the child at every activation phase. Spin him in the swing 10 complete revolutions each direction, with a 20-30 second pause in between. Spin firmly and quickly. Do not repeat.

Warning: For some children, spinning is not useful, and can be overstimulating and dangerous. Before engaging in any of these activities (and spinning in particular), please consult a professional who has a solid understanding of sensory integration principles.

Chase Games

  • Tag
  • Follow-the-Leader
  • Obstacle Courses
  • Red Light/Green Light
  • Running Races

Exercise Games

  • Simon Says
  • Obstacle Course
  • “If You’re Happy & You Know It”

Incorporate:

Jumping Jacks
Stretching
Situps and Pullups
Tumbling/Head Stands
Balance Beam
Standing on one leg
Wheelbarrow

Swinging/Bouncing

  • Inside swings
  • Trampoline
  • Hang-bar
  • Tire Swing
  • Outside swings
  • Outside trolley
  • Exercise ball

Squeezables

  • Nerf balls
  • Gak, floam, flubber, silly putty
  • Play catch with any ball

Incorporate those activities plus others listed in the box below into as many of your games as possible. Be sure to work in a sensory activity at least every half hour.

EVERY HALF HOUR AND ANYTIME

Other Sensory Stimulation

Everything on the other list plus:

  • Smelling Scents Game
  • Rubbing/Brushing (brush firmly and consistently–avoid stomach)
  • Rolling Up In Blanket
  • Crawling through a “caterpillar” (long tube of stretchy fabric)
  • Dragging/Sliding Around Room
  • Silly Walks (e.g., crab walk)
  • Ball and Bat
  • Imitating Songs
  • Hand Games
  • Stilts/Roller Skates
  • Jump Rope

CALMING ACTIVITIES

8:30AM Bath, Brushing, Deep Pressure

3:15PM Child’s choice (e.g., biking)

6:30PM Supper, Bath, Deep Pressure, Free Play, Stories, Bed

Now, a bunch of things come to mind, when I read this.

The first is, Why is this considered a “sensory diet” that needs to be specifically detailed to parents? I thought that’s just how kids were/are supposed to occupy themselves when they’re kids!

I mean, seriously – why is this a plan of action that is called out as something special, something artificial? Why is this something that is seen as out of the ordinary? When I was a kid, this is just what we did — we played plenty of “Chase Games” like tag, follow-the-leader, obstacle courses, red light/green light, and running races. And we played plenty of “Exercise Games” like Simon Says, creating and running through obstacle courses, and singing “If You’re Happy & You Know It”. And we didn’t need a trained expert to “instruct” us how to do it.

Am I the only one who thinks that this “professionalized” approach is a bit silly? For people who are too busy to tend to their children and are eager to plop them down in front of the television or the DVD player or the computer, it might be necessary to detail exactly why kids need to play games like this, but it’s a sad, sad commentary on modern American life, when parents and adults need to be explicitly told to create conditions in which their kids can play tag, follow-the-leader, and red light/green light.

I really think there’s something in kids that instinctively knows what they/we need, in order to mature and grow up strong. When I was a kid, we instinctively did jumping jacks, stretching, situps and pullups, tumbling/head stands, balance beam, standing on one leg, and wheelbarrow. We didn’t need “guidance from an occupational therapist or other individual who is experienced with sensory integration.” We just did it. We ran around and played. We raced each other and tested our physical limits and worked our tumbling and balancing into the course of our play. We skipped rope. We climbed, we jumped, we did all sorts of things that kids apparently don’t do anymore, unless they’re specifically ordered to do so by trained professionals or parents who have been coached by experts.

How did we get to this place? How did the domain of child’s play become the exclusive domain of qualified and certified professionals? I have no doubt that the work authors who describe in detail (for overwhelmed adult minds) the tangible benefits of kids just being kids has made a contribution to the developmental health and well-being of lots of challenged kids. But what the hell is up with parents, that they need to be explicitly told that their kids need to play at, physically and socially, in order to develop properly?

WTF?

The next thing that comes to mind is, Holy smokes, the top part really describes me to a “t” when I was a kid. I wonder if my parents knew/noticed any of this stuff.

It’s really interesting to think back about how I was when I was growing up — really hyper and hard to control, and sensitive on top of it. And when I look at the list of issues kids can have:

  • being extremely silly and unresponsive – CHECK
  • laughing uncontrollably – CHECK
  • losing control of his/her body–getting extremely limp and/or clumsy – CHECK
  • becoming either hyper- or hypo-sensitive to pain and other physical stimuli – CHECK
  • getting aggressive–pinching or spitting, usually in a taunting, almost maniacal way – CHECK
  • humming and clicking while wandering around aimlessly – ??? could very well be

All of this stuff just fits me so well, except for maybe the last one, which I don’t really recall. Not that it would have been unlike me. I was an “unusual” child, to say the least, and I probably would have considered wandering around aimlessly while humming to myself to be quite a useful and productive use of time – no joke.

When I look at the list of Sensory Processing Disorder symptoms over at http://www.sensory-processing-disorder.com/sensory-processing-disorder-checklist.html, I’m really struck by how well a lot of them fit me, and how well they fit my mother. Whoah. This puts Mom’s behavior in a whole new light.

The problem when I was growing up was that she was on the opposite end of the spectrum than I — she was hypo-sensitive and sensation-seeking (like the proverbial bull in a china shop, always loud and high-contact and rough and not very good at figuring out physical boundaries, etc., etc.), while I on the other hand was hyper-sensitive and I had really bad reactions to touch and being pushed and pulled and treated like some rag doll.

It’s so wild to think about this, now — it really puts things in perspective. And it makes me a lot less angry with her.

It puts my whole family into perspective, in fact. My siblings had issues. I had issues. We all had issues.

And my parents made sure we grew up in an environment where we had a “rich sensory diet”. But I’m not sure they were consciously aware of all this. I don’t think my mother really understood the nature and the impact of her behavior — she still doesn’t, from what I can tell. My dad did things, too, that tied in with “sensory richness”, like building a hanging bar for us kids to play on, and always encouraging (and pushing) me to test my physical balance limits, like with my skateboard.

Mom and Dad did appear to do things instinctively to address my issues, such as spinning me around and making sure I was always physically active and encouraging me to do lots of things that developed my balance and coordination. I was a dorky kid, with a lot of problems balancing, and I have distinct memories of my parents — especially my mother — going to great lengths to get me to participate in activities that would help me develop those. But I’m not sure they consciously chose or planned to do these things. It wasn’t like they had a formula for making sure we kids developed adequate proprioceptive and vestibular viability. It wasn’t like they consulted with experts about how best to address my sensory processing dysfunction.

At least, I don’t think so. It could be that they did talk to child psychologists and what-not, and they just hid their methods from me (which wasn’t hard to do, when I was an innocent and all-but-clueless kid). Mom did have a copy of “Dr. Spock” around, and she consulted it a lot, but so much of what my parents did, other parents in our area did for their kids, as well. It was just how things were done in the world I grew up in.

This part of my post dovetails nicely with the first part — that is, what is up with parents today, and why do they need to have these things explicitly told to them?

This really, really puzzles me. Is it because there has been so much emphasis put on “professionalization” in the past 50 years (since the USA rose to a position of global domination and the parallel veritable explosion of higher education and proliferation of specialists), that we as a society are invested in our experts? Is it because we as a society have put so many of our eggs in the basket of developing “professional expertise” that we’re now obligated to dip into the pool of professional knowledge, in order to do anything, anymore? Have we become so enamored of our “advancement” that we’ve made it all but impossible to live our lives? I smell the scent of another extended blog post, for another time… but the burning question with regard to this issue within the context of this post, is, are parents so dependent on professionals for guidance, that they are afraid to just parent? And are they so distanced from the varieties of life (sitting in their homogenized cubicles in their standards-driven office environments), that they fear even the slightest deviation from “normality”, as it’s defined by the qualified professionals of the day?

Seriously, when I look at the organizations dedicated to stamping out the “autism epidemic,” I’m struck by the corporate backgrounds of these individuals. How many of the folks sitting on the boards and doing the research have actually experienced what it’s like to be outside the acceptable range of “normal” behavior and human experience? Where’s the diversity? I wonder. The unfamiliar makes people afraid. Fear makes people do rash things. Fear makes people start and/or send money to organizations and initiatives that promise to relieve their fear.

I think one of the big reasons that my own parents could create situations where I was active and had the chance to develop coordination and balance, was that they themselves have sensory processing issues, themselves and they grew up in an environment where sensory issues and autistic spectrum behaviors and tendencies were/are actually a “regular” part of life.

Anybody who says that autism is a “new” epidemic has never spent time with my family, my extended network of relatives, and the insular communities of faith in the neck of the woods where I grew up. Most, if not all, of my relatives (including third cousins twice removed, whom I actually did grow up around), as well as most of my friends and acquaintances and people I went to church with, could easily be placed somewhere on the Autistic Spectrum. Where I grew up, all you have to do is go buy a quart of milk at the local convenience store, to bump into people who — in private or unguarded moments — exhibit plenty of signs of “autistic spectrum-ish” behavior. I’m serious about this. We’re built differently, where I grew up. If you head into that neck o’ the woods (and I do mean woods), I can all but guarantee any aspiring student of the autistic spectrum will find a plethora of examples of folks all along the autistic spectrum and/or with significant sensory processing issues, who are “recovered” or at least sufficiently rehabilitated to function fully as mature adults in the big, bad world. (I won’t say where that neck of the woods is, for the sake of privacy and retaining the human dignity of possible targets of “autistic diagnosis”.)

Does this mean that the land where I grew up is chock full of behaviorally challenged individuals who need special intervention, just to get along in the world? Hell no. It just means that this so-called “autistic epidemic” might, to some extent, be a fabrication of people who have become so distanced from the flow of natural, organic life, that

A) they don’t realize that their kids actually need to run around and play, in order to grow up capable and strong and well-adjusted to the social and the physical world,

B) they can’t make a move without consulting with a trained professional expert, and

C) that the phenomenon we call “autism” may, in some cases, actually be an extreme and underdeveloped expression of what may be perfectly normal part of life — a part of life that certain folks know how to integrate into their daily lives, over the course of their constantly evolving life experience.

Now, I can sense that I’m drifting off-track with this post. And I may be courting a great deal of controversy (even wrath from the “autism epidemic” proponents). I’m finding more tangents, and my associational mind is going wild, here, and I’m sure I’m not being very diplomatic, so I’ll get myself back on track and speak to these issues more, later on. For now, let’s return to the “Sensory Diet” web page.

Under the Activities, I find even more “regular and normal” parts of my childhood experience:

Swinging/Bouncing

  • Inside swings — we had a front porch swing that we kids often sat and swung on. It wasn’t “therapy”, it was fun, and it was what we did on summer nights.
  • Trampoline — our town had one at town hall for us kids to jump on during summer vacation. I think they may have removed it, due to safety concerns, but it was one of the best parts of summer, to head over to town hall and jump on the trampoline, while the Bee Gees were playing on the radio.
  • Hang-bar — my dad installed one in our back yard, and we played on it constantly. It was just something that we had. I don’t think a doctor or expert told him to put one in. It was just seen as something that was an essential part of growing up.
  • Tire Swing — my grandparents had one of these, and when all the cousins would gather, we would all just achingly pine for our chance to get on that swing. It was one of my favorite parts of visiting my grandparents, and it was a really vital element in me keeping my cool, during visits. My grandparents’ house out in the country was full of strange and strong smells that my city nose didn’t recognize. It was easy for me to get sensorily overwhelmed, so I spent a lot of time on the tire swing.
  • Outside swings — see above. Also, I and my siblings and my best friends, loved to swing on the playground swingsets, long past the time when we were supposed to “grow out of them”. We’d head over to the park and sit in the swings and twirl and spin and do all sorts of things that “normal” people would probably consider aberrant. But we were by ourselves, and we didn’t get crap from anyone, because no one was watching us. And if they had been, we would have told them to “shove off!” anyway.
  • Outside trolley — ?? what’s this?
  • Exercise ball — This is a newfangled thing, so I can’t speak to its place in my childhood development.

Squeezables like nerf balls and silly putty were a really important part of my childhood experience. No trip to the pool was complete without a nerf ball to throw, flinging water in all directions. And nerf footballs were the only acceptable kinds of footballs to have. I remember many a game of football, with all us kids squishing and pressing and worrying the nerf football, till it started to literally fall apart in our hands. We loved our nerf footballs to death, picking absentmindedly at the surface, squeezing and pressing and throwing and catching.

We really played catch with any ball we could find. Soft squishy balls, hard softballs, tennis balls, baseballs… Run-down was a particular favorite, as we could play it in limited space and race back and forth between the bases, coordinating our motions and actions.

And we didn’t need to have trained experts show us how to do it, or tell our parents to allow us to do all this.

We just did it ourselves. Our parents expected it. And they created space and opportunity for us to do it.

This wasn’t all considered a “special sensory diet” — it was just the process of growing up. It was The Way Things Were Done.

This being said, the last thing that comes to mind is, What is up with this web page, with the “scheduling” of these kinds of sensory diet activities? How contrived — and artificial — is that?

I mean, come on, people — You have seriously got to be kidding me, that you’d actually “work in a sensory activity at least every half hour” as though it’s some part of an official agenda. What’s wrong with just spontaneously allowing these things to happen? What’s wrong with just creating an environment where kids are allowed to do all this on their own, at their own pace, in their own ways? I firmly believe, from my own experience — and my own fully functional nature — that even the most impaired kids (if given half a chance) have the innate capacity to identify the activities and the pastimes that will strengthen their weak points.

They/we just have to be allowed to do so. Without being ridiculed. Without being pitied. Without being considered “abnormal” or “defective”. Without being bullied and tortured and treated like freaks.

Maybe I’m being overly negative-Aspie and insensitive to the needs of SPD/Autistic kids, but to me that having adults organize and participate in these sorts of activities with special needs kids seems a little dumb. Adults just don’t have the imaginative range or the endurance or the flexibility (in terms of time and attention) that kids have, and they’re (in my opinion) much too “temporally bound” — as in, too aware of time schedules and deadlines — to give kids the quality of attention and activity that they need.

Why not just turn off the television and unplug the DVD player and computer, and get the kids to play? Why not just “chase ’em outside” like my mom used to do all the time, and create places where they can indulge their every SPD-rehabilitory activity to their hearts’ content? Why not just gather a bunch of kids together and teach them to tolerate differences and recognize each others’ strengths? Teach them to let the kid who can’t hit the ball to save his life keep score and organize the league. Teach them to be patient and not tease and taunt just because one of the kids picks his nose or flaps his arms when he’s agitated.

Why not just let kids be kids — and teach them to let other kids be… other? Without sanction. Without punishment. Without shame and ridicule. That seems to be a more fitting solution, than contriving all these carefully scripted and scheduled and choreographed and adult-driven activities that are poor imitations of the “real thing.” And it might just train the emerging generation of NT folks to tolerate diversity and not be mean-spirited bastards to those of us whose worst, most heinous crime is making others nervous.

How about just not treating developing kids like we’re abnormal… simply because they’re still developing?

We are all works in progress, and the sooner we stop pathologizing diversity and learn to let each other just be (and give us ugly ducklings the time and the chance to become the swans we truly are), the better off the whole planet will be.

That’s just my opinion, but I don’t think I’m wrong.