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Transition

I ’ve been waiting for this moment since he was diagnosed at age two. Now that it is here I realize that my son will not receive his driver’s license or own property. I have to coordinate his records in each area: education, medical and legal. While the information is detailed with age, name, diagnosis, and alternative tests, it is insufficient. Terms and conditions do not see my son as a human being.

When he laughs, he brightens up my day. He knows how to tease me into giving him his favorite snacks. We have fun playing board games with modified instructions. He will help me in the garden digging up the soil and I pat the seedlings into each hole. He plays the keyboard and I play the piano and sometimes we are in sync playing Bach’s Minuet in G. He doesn’t speak but I can hear his voice. I know when he’s having preteen blues. I give him a ten minute hug then he pushes me away. I understand. He needs alone time to upgrade the installments that make him adolescent.

Yes, words are needed for everyday life. Your signature makes you human. Society screams signature as a condition to be human. Transition means that his childhood lease his expiring. He’s moving into a different direction. There will be new demands on his adult life. What will he do? How will he take care of himself?

 Unfortunately society gives mixed responses and its recommendations are based on human errors. I sigh with relief that this isn’t the 1930’s. By the grace of God, my son was born in the 21st century and society is capable of being reformed with new ideas, new concepts and new principles about autism. Finally, I am not alone because somewhere out there other parent advocates are pondering the same transition. Thank you.

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