Parenting
A Million People With Autism by Lisa Thompson
Updated: Jan. 13, 2016
Originally Published: May 23, 2014
“Max. Max has autism,” my ten-year-old daughter, Lily, declared one afternoon. We had just finished picking strawberries, and I glanced over at my seven-year-old who was attempting to see if one of the juicy berries could fit in his ear—and then back at Lily.
“I understand why you might think that,” I replied cautiously. “But he hasn’t been diagnosed with autism.”
“Who else? Who else has it? Like me.”
“Well, many people have autism, Lily.”
“WHO?”
What should I say? Sure, I could explain the statistics. I could tell her, “Listen, Lily, one in every eighty-eight children are diagnosed, so there are literally millions of individuals like you, those who see Thursday as red and can recall what the dentist wore eight months ago.”
But that wouldn’t resonate with her.
Instead, I focus on the more positive aspects of autism; her remarkable memory, her compassion, her determination, and her progress. Yet, it does little to lessen the palpable loneliness, the feeling of being the only one in her family, in her classroom, perhaps even in the entire universe diagnosed with this spectrum disorder.
It’s almost as if I’m saying this:
“Lily, you are a magnificent unicorn among ordinary horses. You are truly special! We know there are countless others like you—millions, even—but we have no idea how to find them.
And oh, magical unicorn? We don’t really comprehend you. Your vibrant beauty dazzles us, yet your outbursts terrify us. Honestly, maybe it would be easier if you were just a plain horse like everyone else. Then we could figure out how to teach you math.”
When I began writing my blog, I didn’t have a clear plan or vision. Over two years have passed, and in retrospect, I realize I also started it to alleviate my own feelings of isolation. From the comfort of my little workspace, I could share my heartaches, sprinkle in some humor, and connect with others navigating the complexities of autism, parenting, and everyday life. If a bit of autism awareness emerged from it all, that was just an extra bonus.
However, I have come to realize my shortcomings. I have connected with a broader community, yet the child sitting nearby—the one with autism—often feels bewildered and ashamed.
He feels alone.
So, I reached out to my readers on social media, asking them to show my daughter that yes, there are indeed millions of others just like her; individuals who create beautiful music, hold jobs, enjoy going to movies, and always indulge in ice cream after dinner.
The response was overwhelming.
“Hey, Lily! This is my son, also named Max. He has autism. He is seven years old, and while his social skills are considered ‘very poor’, you’ll never find a person who can light up a room like he does. You are not alone, my friend.”
“Hi, Lily! My 15-year-old grandson also has autism. He is a wonderful unicorn in my world.”
I recognized Lily in those messages. I saw myself reflected back. I inhaled the hope and encouragement, the shared pain and love.
“I have a son who is 14 and has autism. I’m an athletic person and, like most fathers, I anticipated teaching my son sports. While I can’t do that, I embrace his brilliant mind, his humor, and his kindness. My mission is to ensure Max lives his best life.”
Old school friends reached out. Past colleagues connected, and one mother shared her quiet child’s radiant smile.
“Hi Lily, my son has autism. He is six, doesn’t speak, but has a smile that can brighten any room… just like yours.”
Teachers from across the country chimed in.
“I’ve taught many students with autism, and each one has profoundly impacted my life.”
All over the map: Minnesota, New Jersey, Oregon, Illinois, San Diego, California.
“Hi Lily! I have two sons with autism. They are twins, 13 years old, living in Iowa. One loves swimming, elevators, and watching doors open and close. The other has an incredible memory (he knows countless facts), sings with perfect pitch, and plays the trombone.”
We read a message from a family in Spain during dinner at our favorite restaurant. Lily’s face lit up slowly, and she declared, “Madrid is the capital of Spain.”
“My younger son, who is autistic, is eight. He enjoys soccer and loves everything Minecraft. He is kind, loving, and so much fun 🙂 You are not alone!”
Some bravely shared their own experiences.
“I have autism. I lead a fulfilling life, and while I face challenges, I’m 25 years old and proud of my accomplishments. He is definitely not alone.”
Throughout the week, Lily asked for my phone to read the comments left for her. Each time, her face brightened.
“My beautiful 11-year-old has Autism and ADHD; she often feels alone, even when surrounded by others.”
If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that autism casts a vast, arbitrary net. Sometimes it captures more than one person from a family, while at other times, it’s an individual experience.
“I have not one but two wonderful boys on the spectrum. Autism is merely a part of who they are, like having brown eyes or blonde hair.”
One morning, as I sat at my laptop reading emails, Lily came over to glance at my screen, hoping for some iTunes time. Once again, she was drawn into the Facebook thread, captivated by the pictures and stories of others.
Then she paused.
“Joe. Thompson,” she whispered. “That’s Dad.”
I squinted at the screen and noticed a comment at the bottom of the Facebook thread: “Hi Lily, my son has autism, and I’ve loved you since the day you were born.”
I may have thought “million” was just a figurative way to express the volume of replies to a simple blog post. But I was mistaken. It’s not just a number.
A million embodies confusion, fear, and golden retrievers named Charlie. It represents boys from Texas and girls from Massachusetts, and a 13-year-old with perfect pitch.
It’s frustration and disappointment, grace and togetherness. It’s the shared experience of sitting across the dinner table, feeling the same pit in your stomach while your child is overwhelmed by the color of the squash.
It’s Disney movies, incredible memories, and the extraordinary gifts of unique individuals. It is magical and beautiful, solitary and complex.
A million is both a large and small concept. But some days, it’s simply two brothers navigating the winding path of autism together, laughing and playing under a brilliant blue sky.
This article was originally published on May 23, 2014.
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In summary, the journey of understanding autism is filled with both challenges and joys. Through shared stories and connections, families can find solace and strength in knowing they are not alone.