Ahhhh....finally, summer has officially arrived and the weather in south central PA finally decided to check the calendar and go with it. After a wet, cool spring, swim season is finally upon us and like the mutant Kevin Costner in Waterworld, Ryan's summertime evolution has kicked in and his gills and webbed feet are back. If the pool water is over 80 degrees, the goggles are readily available, the forecast calls for mostly sunny skies and the bees are taking a summertime snooze, then my sweet, mutant, fish boy is in his happy place...in the pool and under the water.

Ryan has always loved the water. Whether it was the bath tub as a baby (once the loud, scary faucet was turned off), the cheap plastic pool in the backyard, the big Atlantic ocean or the wave pool at Disney's Typhoon Lagoon, Ryan is just happier in the water. It appears he and Kevin Costner are not alone. Many kids on the autism spectrum love the water. Maybe the water is calming to their overly sensitive bodies. Maybe it's the deep pressure from the pull of the ocean that provides these kids with a feeling similar to a big squeezy tight hug that so many autistic children need to regulate their system. For Ryan, I think it is all those things, but, I think it's the silence under the water that he likes best. Underwater, the world grows quiet and peaceful, until of course his neurotic mother screams and snatches him out of the pool by his goggle strap when his "dead man float" lasts a little too long ("too long" equals me counting past 10, and yes I really do).

For anyone who has ever stepped into a hot bubble bath and slowly sunk down in the water with an "aaahhhh...." while the worries of the day slowly disappear beneath the bubbles, you know how soothing the water feels.  Now multiply that feeling times a thousand and you will get a sense of how water feels to Ryan and kids like him. I have seen first hand how water effects Ryan. The water is very therapeutic and calming to his highly sensitive, terribly overloaded sensory system, so Ryan just feels good soaking in a tub, submerging in a pool or standing in the waves of an ocean that hugs him tight. And with Ryan's fight or flight response diluted in the water, he is happier, less anxious and sometimes, more social.

We put in our own pool three years ago and for someone who obsessively worries about a toddler drowning in a bucket when washing the car, you can imagine the terror a pool evoked in me. When Dan and I weighed the pros and cons of the pool, AWEnestly, it was the joy a pool would give Ryan that tipped the scale. First of all, swimming is about the only form of exercise my slug-like son gets, unless of course jumping up and down to make Mario go faster on the Wii counts. Secondly, I knew in a world that is loud, scratchy, scary and chaotic, the water is one place where Ryan seems to shut out all the over-stimulating prickliness and relaxes a bit. This calm feeling tends to decrease Ryan's social anxiety which allows him to open up to others more so when wet than when dry.

Prior to having our own pool, we would spend our summer afternoons at a private neighborhood pool rather than the loud, overcrowded public pool. One day when we were at the pool cooling off, the only boy Ryan ever considered a "friend" at the time, came to the pool to cool off too. Ryan was under water, alone and enjoying his fairly soundproof, underwater world. When he finally bobbed up for a quick breath of air (he really isn't a mutant with gills), I yelled, "Ryan, your friend J is here!". Ryan beamed from ear to ear and made a beeline for the steps. AWEnestly, I had never seen him so excited over a friend before! Denial was at the pool that day wearing her designer label swimsuit and sunglasses when she quickly whispered in my ear, "Look how happy he is, that is social and emotional reciprocity, he doesn't have The A word."

However, the instant my fish boy was back on dry land, I immediately saw the metamorphosis from fish to boy. As the water pooled at Ryan's feet where moments ago there were fins and as he struggled to catch his breath with lungs and not gills, Ryan looked like a fish out of water. The calming influence of the water evaporated as did Ryan's confidence. It was like watching a fish flop around on a boat deck. Ryan's hand was twitching to and fro and his eyes kept averting his friend's gaze and going back to the water where he longed to breath with his gills again. As Ryan's friend greeted him, Ryan's genuine smile was replaced with his awkward, unnatural, autismy smile and he scripted some line from SpongeBob (ironic that SpongeBob lives in a pineapple under the sea, right?). Ryan quickly turned away from his friend, drawn back to the calmness of the water, and ran off alone to enjoy the springy sensation of the diving board and the glorious pressure like hug of sinking into the "deep end". I pushed Denial in the pool.

Obviously, I am not the only parent to notice this water autism connection. There are numerous websites that promote surfing for kids with an autism spectrum diagnosis. Surf camps up and down the east coast as well as off the coast of California are hot tickets for summer time fun for both kids and their parents living with autism. Surfers for Autism (www.surfersforautism.org) and Surfers Healing (www.surfershealing.org) are just two of the top sites listed for surf camps specifically for kids who "crave the wave". The testimonials from parents whose kids have attended these surf camps or these day long events are AWE-inspiring. Kids who make little eye contact and dislike touch are high fiving and hugging surf coaches who they have known for a day. Kids who hate bright sun, sticky sand and new articles of clothing, are spending hours in the summer time sun covered in sand, lathered up with "slippery" sunscreen and strapping on safety vests while begging for "more beach please". Parents report witnessing a "life changing moment" for their son or daughter when they are in the ocean on a board. Kids become more relaxed, more verbal, more social, and well, just....more. Water, who knew?!

I remember the first time Ryan walked into the ocean as a toddler. So many kids feel the "pull" of the tide and are frightened by it. Not Ryan. He just kept walking, almost like he wanted to feel the pull of the ocean deeper on his body. Not just on his toes, but on his arms, his belly and his chest. Dan and I watched laughing until we realized he had no intention of stopping. That child would have walked across the Atlantic if we weren't there to pull him out. My frightened little boy who feared so many things, has never feared the water. We have tried to instill in Ryan a respect for the water because when something feels so good, sometimes craving that feeling can outweigh any safety issues ever taught by nutso worrying Mom. Parents of water loving, craving kids have to be vigilant.

My poor little fish out of water would probably love a life under the sea where his only concern would be what to eat next and no one would care whether or not he knows the "right" way to greet someone. I hope The Little Mermaid knew how good she had it when she got to choose lungs or gills, legs or fins. On both of our trips to Disney World, Ryan could have cared less about Ariel, the Little Mermaid, but her fin would have come in handy. After two Disney World trips and thousands of dollars later, all Ryan cared about was the surf pool at Typhoon Lagoon. We spent hours and hours there where after endless days of walking in loud, crowded, hot, noisy parks, Ryan could finally breath again with the deep pressure of the wave pool giving him that much needed squeezy tight hug. Ryan was happy jumping the waves and rolling in the "surf" and with no chance of shark attacks or rip tides, Ryan's nut bag mother was happy too.

Don't get me wrong, chlorinated pool water, or salty ocean water is not holy water, it certainly does not cure autism, like my nearly drowned friend Denial thought. Submerging Ryan into water won't make him the class president or captain of the football team, but the water seems to help loosen the anchor of autism that sometimes makes his brain stuck in the muck. When I was preparing to write this piece, I asked Ryan why he likes to be under the water so much when he is in the pool and he said, "I feel calm under there and I can't hear Emma's annoying voice all the time." My AWEnest Man.

Until the Polar Ice Caps melt submerging the Earth in water causing us humans to mutate in order to adapt to our new Waterworld, Ryan will have to continue coping and surviving on dry land. Although he may feel like a fish out of water, Ryan will have to work hard at drowning out annoying sounds that "hurt his brain" without sinking under water. Ryan will have to settle for my giant, squeezy tight hugs in lieu of the pull of the ocean tides 51 weeks out of the year. Ryan will have to learn to count to 10 and take deep breaths with his lungs since he was not born with gills in order to calm himself when the world gets too unorganized, too messy and too confusing. As Ryan's "go to" Mom, I know how hard it is for Ryan to do all those things and that is why I will allow my water boy to spend the majority of his pool time under water as I count to 10 before throwing an inner tube at his head to make sure he is not testing his gills. As his Mama, I will be the soothing, calming presence in his life when summer storms, cool water temperatures and busy bees keep Ryan from his beloved underwater world. However, on the days when all the stars align, and the temperature of the pool is over 80 degrees, there is not a cloud in the sky, the goggles aren't too tight and the bees have slipped into a pollen induced coma, I will hand Ryan a snorkel and a pair of fins and happily lifeguard my beautiful fish who feels calm, happy and....home. 

Benjamin Franklin once said, "Honesty is the best policy", so in Ben's mind, telling the truth was always the best option. Clearly, old Benny boy never met anyone with an Autism Spectrum Diagnosis or he might have changed his quote to, "Honesty is the best policy unless of course honesty hurts someone's feelings, embarrasses the truth teller's mother or clearly violates social etiquette." Yes, we owe a lot to Ben Franklin, the lightening rod, bifocals and the Franklin Stove, to name a few, but Ben should have left the AWEnesty policy to mothers of children with an Autism Spectrum Diagnosis.

Many children with an Autism Spectrum Diagnosis "tell it like it is" and many people don't want to hear "it", because "it" can sting. These kids can be painfully AWEnest, but the irony is, they never intend to hurt anyone with their AWEnesty. It's like when God hands out the autism gene, he removes the "filter" gene and sometimes it's funny, but other times it's "pretend he's not your kid" embarrassing. Ryan is no exception and I would be disAWEnest if I denied ever giving him a little "pretend I don't know him" glance as I quickly walk in the opposite direction when he says it like it is....in public....loudly. My girlfriend's husband has aptly named Ryan, "The Last AWEnest Man". Sadly, with 1 in 54 boys being diagnosed with an ASD, there are a lot of AWEnest Men out there so we neurotypicals need to get tougher skin for these kids' blunt, no holds barred observations.

As Ryan's "go to", he loves me like no other, which is proof his AWEnesty is not meant to hurt, it's just that his brain which "sees" almost everything in black and white, struggles to find the gray in social graces or etiquette. Ryan calls a spade a spade or his beloved mother "ugly" if indeed he "sees" ugly. As an aging 40 something, my vision, along with so many other parts of me, isn't what it use to be, so glasses became a part of my accessory ensemble two years ago. I laboriously tried on tons of frames praying for a pair that made me look hip or retro, not old and haggard. I found a pair that fit the bill, or so I thought, and being a glutton for punishment, I asked The Last AWEnest Man what he thought of my new glasses. After he quickly corrected me that they were "eyeglasses", Ryan said, "Well, I think you look a little ugly, but don't worry, I still love you." OUCH! How about another adjective Last AWEnest Man? Like different, weird, matronly...hell, I would have even taken old over ugly. It's a miracle he could still love me since I was so hideous looking in my new EYEGLASSES.  AWEnesty is the best policy, my a** Ben. 

I clearly remember the first time I realized Ryan was born without a filter. He was easily 7 or 8 years old...old enough to know better by neurotypical standards. Ryan was at swimming lessons and we were walking directly behind his instructor, Miss So and So, when he proclaimed loud enough for kids underwater to hear, "Miss So and So is really fat". I quickly grabbed another child's hand and pretended to be his mother while Ryan entered the pool as if no harm had been done, because in his mind there hadn't been. Miss So and So was indeed "overweight". A spade is a spade. Later, during the swim lesson, I heard Ryan screaming and proclaiming that Miss So and So was trying to drown him. Can you AWEnestly blame her? And what was I suppose to do, since I pretended not to know him? Actually, I did look (even embarrassment can't keep Mama Bear away) and Ryan was fine. Miss So and So just flipped him on his back and maybe let his head slip under....for a second. Even after his, oh so, AWEnest observation, Miss So and So still passed him on to the next level, Ryan was just never put in her group again.

Ryan's AWEnesty makes Christmas and birthdays a time for Xanax....for me, not for him. Needless to say, no matter how many times I remind, explain and threaten him that regardless of what lies within the wrapping paper, he should always smile and say thank you. Unfortunately, Ryan's desire for a "good gift" over rides any threats of loss of limb or loss of video games. One of my best friends gave Ryan a gift that clearly did not fit into the "good gift" category. This was evident after he opened it and mumbled, "I hate this", tossed the gift aside and walked away. Trying to cover up The Last AWEnest Man's poor social graces I said, "He meant the card" to which my bionic hearing child responded from the other room, "No, I meant the stupid gift!" My girlfriend was laughing hysterically and unlike the swim instructor, my girlfriend knew The Last AWEnest man was my kid so there was no pretending he belonged to some other mother.  I apologized and went to lecture Ryan, yet again, while my girlfriend remained doubled over belly laughing.

At one of Ryan's birthday parties, a super excited guest couldn't wait for Ryan to open his gift, a $15 GameStop Gift Card. The guest was so pleased and shouted, "I know you love video games Ryan!" to which Ryan grumbled, "Well, $15 isn't enough." That guest, who just seconds before was so proud of his gift for Ryan, quickly lowered his head and whispered, "I told my Mom to do more." Well, I no longer pretended not to know my AWEnest, rude child as I snatched Ryan up like only a mother can and nearly did remove a limb as I dragged him by his arm into another room. I told Ryan how deplorable his comment was and that he needed to go apologize or the party was over. Ryan began to sob because he truly did not understand what he did wrong. A video game costs at least $25 so clearly a $15 gift card was NOT enough. A spade is a spade. While Ryan pulled himself together, I gave the dejected guest a second piece of cake and three party bags.

Ryan's AWEnesty isn't always embarrassing, in fact sometimes he says what all of us born with filters want to say and it's down right enviable. Waiting too long in the doctor's office is a perfect example. When the doctors' staff overschedule the physicians the end result is waiting in the waiting room then being taken to the exam room to wait some more. We all think, inside our head or in a text message to a friend, "Why the blankety blank, blank do they threaten to charge us and reschedule our appointment if we are 15 minutes late, but it's ok for us to wait for an hour?". These moments are when The Last AWEnest Man comes in handy. Anytime Ryan has had to wait longer than he deemed acceptable, he spews recriminations as soon as the exam door opens and Ryan sees the whites of the doctor's eyes. "That took too long!"....."Where have you been?"...."I've been waiting forever!"...and my all time favorite...."I have better things to do than sit here all day!". The poor doctors don't even see it coming. Yes, those AWEnest , filter-less moments make up for the "ugly", "old", and "dumb" comments I get on a fairly regular basis.

Sometimes Ryan's AWEnesty becomes a teachable moment, not for him, but for his mother. Just last weekend I borrowed a friend's Costco card to purchase a pair of sunglasses for Dan for Father's Day. I jokingly said, "Don't forget, while we are shopping, I'm not Mommy, I'm Miss T". What was I thinking? "Your not Miss T, your Kate. Why do you have Miss T's card? Is it legal to use her card? Can you get arrested?". I tried to explain, but it was no use, essentially I was being disAWEnest and cheating my way into Costco. Shame on me. My poor Last AWEnest Man looked over his shoulder the entire time we were in the store, but I thought he was going to have a breakdown when we went to check out and I handed Miss T's card to the cashier. Ryan couldn't get out of Costco fast enough...until he saw the vending machines on the way out. By that time, he either figured we were safe or that the Grape Fanta Soda was worth his mother spending 48 hours in the slammer. I guess I need to stop being so cheap and get my own Costco membership or else shop on someone else's dime when Ryan is in school.

Laughter, embarrassment, and pride...just a few of the roller coaster emotions evoked in me as the mother of The Last AWEnest Man. One time, Ryan's AWEnesty even instilled fear in my hypochondriac brain. It was the night before I turned 40. Ryan and I were snuggled in bed reading and he said, "So tomorrow you turn 40...", followed by a big sigh. I asked why did my 40th birthday seem to make him sad and his response, "Well when you're 40 your old and when you're old you die." After stifling a chuckle, my neurotic brain took over and I began to wonder if he knew something I didn't? With Ryan's heightened senses, I considered the possibility that maybe he was just like those dogs that are trained to pick up the scent of certain diseases. Maybe autism gave Ryan some type of Spidey sense and "this time", I really did have some life threatening illness! Well, that was four years ago and happily, I'm still here, but after that all too AWEnest conversation, my 40th birthday was a bit of a downer.

Yes, Ryan and many kids on the autism spectrum are brutally AWEnest because AWEnestly, they don't know any other way to be. Unfortunately, this AWEnesty for kids with an ASD also means that they can't comprehend that others would not be AWEnest all the time and this leaves these kids very vulnerable. If a fellow classmate tells a child with an ASD that the teacher said it was okay to "share" the test answers, that AWEnest child is going to believe his classmate because lying doesn't even cross his mind. When that AWEnest child is brought to the principal for cheating, he won't understand what he did wrong. These kids rarely lie or cheat, they are AWEnest rule followers, which although those qualites would make them a fabulous President, it makes them prey to school yard bullies.

Just like there are so many things that come easily for Ryan, such as math, music, and science, the rules of when to be AWEnest and when to be socially or politically correct will never come naturally to him, but Ryan can be taught to tell you that your new haircut looks nice even though every fiber in his being wants to tell you it's ugly. Ryan would have been intrigued by Ben Franklin's experiment, but that still wouldn't have stopped him from yelling, "Yo dude, standing out in a thunderstorm flying a kite with a metal key attached makes you a freaking moron." Although Ben escaped unscathed, many others who have tried to duplicate his experiment were electrocuted. Those poor folks would have welcomed such words of wisdom from The Last AWEnest man.

A word to the wise, if you are having a bad hair day, a water retaining fat day or a makeup free au natural day, don't stop by our house for a visit. If, however, you want an AWEnest opinion about your new hair color, your new "eyeglasses" or if the Botox treatment recently injected in your brow line makes you look like a mannequin, I know someone who will tell it "like it is". As The Last AWEnest Man's mother, my skin is as thick as an alligator....and as wrinkled....so I've been told. I have learned that when I'm out of town and call home to talk to the kids, that when Kyle asks Ryan if he wants to talk to Mom and The Last AWEnest Man replies, "I know this is going to make me sound like an idiot, but not really", this is not a reflection of his love for me, it's just that Ryan believes that AWEnesty is not the best policy, it is the ONLY policy.

Since the moment the nurse placed Ryan in my arms, I have been the "go to"
parent. Initially, I'm sure it had a lot to do with me being the sole milk
provider because believe me, that boy loved his milk. In fact, the incredibly
observant lactation consultant in the hospital smiled while checking Ryan's
latch on ability and said his technique rivaled a barracuda. Did she AWEnestly
think as his prey I was not aware of this? Apparently the observant consultant
failed to see my death grip on the bed sheets and my toes curled to the point of
breaking off. Yes, once my little barracuda latched on, it was hard to break the
seal. Although I stopped nursing Ryan when he was 1, I still haven't been able
to break the seal and most days that works out perfectly, however, even
the best barracuda mothers need a break.

Yes, as the mom, I'm the "go to". I'm the breakfast getter, the butt wiper, the meatless
cheeseburger maker, the homework doer (unless of course it's math, but Ryan
rarely needs help in that subject. Thank you Lord), the shoe tie-er, and the
tear wiper. I love my role...most of the time. However, when the "go to" has the
flu and can't make it to the grocery store then gets berated because the last
Oreo Cakester was consumed 18 hours ago, well then I wish I was the "go from". Or worst yet, if Mom is out, then Dad has to be responsible for melting the cheese on the meatless "cheeseburger" for 15-17 seconds (the time varies based on the degree of thickness the deli folks sliced the Land O Lakes White American). Ryan typically decides to wait for "Mom to do it", so then the endless calls of "When will you be home because I'm starving to death?!" begin. Sigh....sometimes the "go to" pressure can be suffocating.

If I had a dollar for every time Ryan said, "No Dad, Mom will do it.", I would be writing my blog on a yacht somewhere in the crystal blue waters off the coast of Greece. Not to toot my own yacht horn, but some things I am better at than dear old Dad. Dan could never walk into Hollister and pick out shirts for Ryan. First of all, the loud music and smelly perfume would cause some type of neurological breakdown in my sensory sensitive husband. Secondly, Dan would not know that shirts with animals, shirts with beaches that Ryan has never been to, or shirts with sewn on letters that can be felt from the inside of the shirt are a no go. Doesn't matter how marked down they are, a shirt falling into any one of those categories will remain in Ryan's closet, tag on, until the next neighborhood yard sale.

In addition to clothes shopping, Ryan's food preparation is taken very seriously and if that job is taken out of "go to" Mom's hands, well, that's cause for a four alarm, sound the sirens emergency. Although, Dad is as capable of pouring Ryan a bowl of Fruity Pebbles as "go to" Mom, chances are good that Dad will not put enough milk in the bowl due to his hatred of food wasting and Ryan's failure to finish his milk every morning. Rather than risk a single dry Fruity Pebble, Ryan will wait an extra hour to "let Mom do it".

Mom does "it" a lot, and by "it" I mean most everything when it comes to taking care of Ryan. This is not because Dan doesn't offer or doesn't try, it's because most days, Ryan won't let him...if I'm in the house....or expected to return in a reasonable amount of time. If I'm on a girls weekend and the hunger pangs won't hold off until I return, Dad "will do". There have been many times that my heart has ached for Dan since in Ryan's eyes, poor Dad is incapable of picking out the right shirt, pouring the right amount of milk or mixing just the right amount of cheese sauce in the Velveeta Shells and Cheese meal. 

Besides doubting his father's lack of kitchen prowess, Ryan also ignores Dad more than good old "go to" Mom. Many times Dan has tried to ask Ryan a question, strike up a conversation, or just hang out with his son, only to be ignored. Even though Dan has gotten use to it, I know it still has to hurt.

As Ryan's dad, Dan may not be the "go to", but he certainly is the "gets it" parent. Thank goodness because so many times "go to" mom does not. As I have said before, Ryan is much more like Dan than me, so Dan is able to relate more to Ryan than I can. Dan is also better able to reign in his emotions and think logically like Ryan, when the battle of autism takes over Ryan's concrete thinking brain and mom screams, swears, waves the white flag and retreats . "Go to" mom is on the front lines all the time, so it's fabulous when my artillery comes and pulls a strategic flanking maneuver. 

Sometimes Dan brings the heavy guns, like taking the Wii out of Ryan's room, or unplugging his cable box, but in that moment, when "go to" Mom, who still hasn't broken the seal on her little barracuda, is too weak and retreats to the trenches, "gets it" Dad does what needs to be done for both sides to survive.  As ugly as these moments are while the battle rages on, once the dust settles and the casualty report is taken, father and son are much closer. Ryan sees, that even in the toughest moments, when the Wii is being dragged out of his room, that Dad does indeed get him and loves him. Once the tears dry up and father and son are rehashing the battle, and developing strategies to avoid another skirmish, a connection strengthens and there is less ignoring and more cuddling.

Thanks goodness for "gets it" Dad. He "gets" Ryan in many ways, and in many ways, Ryan "gets" his dad. Although Dan does not have autism their brains seemed to be wired similarly. Dan also seems to have a bit of a tape recorder for a brain and can mimic sounds and television characters almost as well as Ryan. For weeks, the Angry Birds, "eeeee heeee" was reserved for Dad and Dad only. Every time Dan entered a room, Ryan would squeal, "eeeee heeee" to which Dan would repeat "eeeee heeee" right back, same intonation, same pitch, same brain. Ryan appreciates and loves that Dad "gets it" too. 

One of their favorite movies to watch together is Austin Powers Gold Member (sadly, now Ryan gets most of the adult humor). Since the first time Ryan heard Goldmember call Austin Powers' father "Fah-zsa" (in his Dutch accent), and repeated it regularly, well, it stood to reason that "Dad" should be Fah-zsa too.  Ryan will ask, "Where is Fah-zsa?", "Is "Fah-zsa" home yet?" and chances are on Sunday, Dan will be wished a "Happy Fah-zsa's Day". As the mah-zsa, I love watching this exchange between father and son who are similar in so many ways. Nothing makes this mah-zsa's heart melt more than watching fah-zsa and son discuss their shared gift of music as Dan tests Ryan's perfect pitch while Ryan helps Dan tune his guitar. "Gets it" fah-zsa and "gets it" son.

I remember not long after The A word was official for Ryan, I heard from various experts and other mothers of children on the autism spectrum that the fah-zsas have a much harder time accepted their son's autism label than mah-zsas do. Maybe it's the perceived loss of the dream of throwing the old pigskin around the backyard (if Ryan knew that a football was actually made of pigskin, I assure you he would never touch a football again) or the realization that their son would rather enjoy a day at the local news station chatting up the meteorologist than a day out at the ballpark. Or maybe it's just that manly pride instilled in men for thousands of years of sons needing to measure up to their fah-zsas.
 
Maybe some dads have a harder time accepting their child's diagnosis, but I don't think it's fair to generalize that dads have a harder time hearing, "Your child has autism" than mothers do. Bottom line is, those words are hard to hear for mah-zsas and fah-zsas. And regardless of his own heartache, it was Ryan's fah-zsa who held me up in the parking lot after we heard those heartbreaking words and continued to remind me that Ryan was the same little boy he was before getting his designer label. 

It has been Ryan's fah-zsa who encourages me and validates my work on the front line as he straps my battle boots back on and wrestles the white flag out of my hand when I'm too tired to fight anymore. And it has been Ryan's fah-zsa who reinforces that Ryan's differences, which are more aligned with his own, are just that, differences, and not something that is broken, damaged or needs fixed.  Ryan's fah-zsa has never felt anything but pride for his uniquely beautiful little boy. Dan sees so much of himself in Ryan, and Dan knows better than anyone how beautiful his own life has been and there is no one more confident for the great things in store for our little boy.

So for all you fah-zsas who feel like you take the back seat to the "go to" moms, remember the R.I.O. (Radio Intercept Officer) in the old F-14 Fighter Jets may sit behind the pilot, but without that R.I.O. keeping an eye on the radar for scary storms and mean bullies, helping the pilot stay on the designated path, using radar to find the closest grocery store for Oreo Cakesters when the pilot gets the flu, and understanding the workings of that F-14 better than anyone....the pilot and her F-14 would never land safely without you. And although you may not pilot the jet, and you may not see as much action on the front lines, or pour enough milk in the Fruity Pebbles, the mah-zsas need your artillery to flank them when they are waving the white flag and crawling back to the trenches.  

More importantly though, your child needs YOU, just as much as he needs the perfect cheeseburger maker. The child may starve without the "go to", but chances are in time his survival instinct would kick in and he would eat, regardless of how well fah-zsa melts the cheese. However, without his fah-zsa to protect him, provide for him, understand him and fight for him, chances are that little soldier would surely wither up alone and misunderstood on the battlefield.

To Ryan's Fah-zsa....your son may be too busy perseverating on his latest video game to go out back and toss a football around with you or he may fail to jump up and down with joy when you score tickets to game six of the World Series, but when Ryan cries, "eeeee heeee" as you walk through the door, even though his eyes never leave the television screen, he knows you are there. He knows you have always been there, and most of all, he knows you will always be there. 

So, regardless of your seat in the F-14, your position on the battlefield or your inability to cook Velveeta Shells and Cheese, Ryan knows you always have his back....to pat it when he succeeds, to wrap your arms around it when he fails and to shield it when the world gets too big, too loud and too scary. I know that Ryan "gets it". 

Thank you for being the "gets it" to my "go to". The "Goose" to my "Maverick". Don't worry, chances are good I will never kill you by ejecting you out of an F-14 since I won't even step foot on a 747, but as my "Goose"....I'd be blind without you. Happy Fah-zsa's Day!

Once upon a time there was an anxious, hesitant, insecure little  boy. He lived in a world that was loud, unpredictable and at times, terrifying. This little boy shared his overwhelming world with an older brother who was confident, funny and loved by all. The little boy also shared his sensory loaded world with a little sister who was full of life, happy, and whose effervescent spirit could make the grumpiest troll smile. The little boy was fearful of trying new things so he often sat on the sidelines, the bleachers, the audience and on really cold, windy, sunny, buggy days, in the van while his brother and sister received trophies, medals, awards, ribbons, accolades and applause.

The little boy tried to follow in his big brothers footsteps, but his brother's stride was too different, his cleats too big. The grass in the outfield was too tickly, the dirt in the infield was too...well, dirty and the bugs everywhere were too deadly. He was NOT his brother.

The little boy NEVER wanted to follow in his sister's footsteps because she wore pink princess heels and leotards. She danced and talked...a lot...and she was "the most ridiculous person he has ever known". No, the little boy most certainly was NOT his sister. The little boy was not either one of THEM, but he wasn't quite sure WHO he was.

One day, the little boy discovered a gift. A gift that had been inside him since the day he was born. A beautiful gift that neither his confident, athletic brother, nor his sun shiny, "ridiculous" sister ever opened. This was a gift that was the little boy's alone. And once the little boy opened his gift and shared it, well, that little boy stood taller, smiled brighter and feared just a little less. The little boy did not need to be his brother. He did not want to be his sister. The little boy knew he was exceptional and he knew that music made him....him.

The little boy felt and expressed the music in a way that only those who receive and open the gift can. The little boy became confident enough to share his gift at a piano recital. As the other children in the recital "played" the music, the little boy "felt" the music....in his fingers, in his head and in his soul. The world was no longer quite as loud. The world was no longer quite as chaotic and scary. Instead, the world was organized and filled with notes, chords and melodies. The sheet music did not change. The keys on the piano did not change. A C note was always as C note. Music was predictable. The world, in that moment, was predictable and the little boy's fingers as they glided effortlessly across the piano keys were in control. Control...something that the little boy so often required, but rarely possessed.

While the sound of the little boy's gift filled the room, his athletic brother and chatty sister sat back in silence mesmerized by the transformation of their often edgy, grumpy video game obsessed brother. The little boy finished his performance and he felt confident, "amazing" and proud. Not nearly as proud as the little boy's parents whose chests were puffed and whose cheeks were wet because this happy ending was far better than any fairy tale ever read to them as children. There was no knight in shining armor, no boy with magic beans, no genie in a lamp with three wishes because the little boy's parents did not need to be rescued, they did not need golden eggs or three magic wishes. They found their happily ever after when the little boy that they fretted over, advocated for and loved infinitely found his gift and agreed to share it....
 

The end.

Today is the day, the last day of elementary school for my special fella. We are both a mixed bag of emotions. As we snuggled on the couch talking about the final week of school, I used the word bittersweet. Ryan told me he didn't understand that word and how it pertained to his week full of field trips, 5th Grade Funfest, yearbook signing and saying goodbye, so we looked it up. And thanks to the laziness of technology, I didn't even have to get off the couch to do so.

Bittersweet: 1. being at once bitter and sweet; especially: pleasant but including or marked by elements of suffering or regret.

As the recess bell rings one last time (Ryan was not happy to learn that losing recess was a payoff for daily pizza days), I would be remiss if I did not give a shout out to all the teachers and staff who have contributed to Ryan's success. I can't imagine a better place on Earth where he would have flourished more than his fabulous elementary school. Ryan was so fortunate each and every year to get such high quality teachers who worked hard to understand him and help him learn.

Of course I spent the entire summer wringing my hands and asking every parent I passed in the grocery store which first grade teacher was the best. Needless to say, I got various opinions and it sounded like any one of the teachers would be great, but the parents I talked to did not have a child with an autism spectrum diagnosis, so any ole' teacher would not do for my son. Like so many things in my life, my hand wringing and worrying were all for not since Ryan was assigned to Mrs. F's classroom. Mrs. F stood for FANTASTIC! She picked up right where Mrs. B left off. Mrs. F always knew there was more to Ryan than he would let on so, when he shut down or said, "I can't", she pushed him until he proudly said, "I can". I loved Mrs. F and so did Ryan!!

Although kindergarten and first grade went beautifully, second grade was the year I feared. The year the pediatrician warned me about. You see, kindergarten and first grade are comprised of a lot of rote memorization and with Ryan's near photographic memory, ABC's and 123's were a breeze, but second grade was more about applying concepts, reading comprehension and....shudder....writing. These things did not come quite as easily to Ryan. Up until second grade, I had not officially shared Ryan's diagnosis with the school. My partner in crime, Denial and I were still BFF's and although we both loved our Coach handbags, I feared a very different kind of label in the school system. I shared with Mrs. B and Mrs. F privately Ryan's diagnosis, but I did not hand over THE evaluation just yet. I knew that second grade would be the critical year that would determine which direction Ryan would head. Fortunately, for this oh so critical year, The Fates were looking out for Ryan and he got THE teacher. The one teacher that every student (if The Fates are with them) has at some point in their educational career. THE teacher who makes all the difference.

To this day, I believe that Mrs. M helped forge the path Ryan has taken from the first day he entered her classroom to the moment today when he will walk across the stage to receive his elementary school "diploma". Believe me, Ryan and Mrs. M had their share of growing pains, but once they figured each other out, Ryan's confidence, his self-esteem, and his eagerness to learn skyrocketed. This little boy who struggled to pick up social cues and understand emotions knew, in a very short period of time, that Mrs. M cared about him and wanted to help him, so eventually, after many trials and errors, he let her.

I'm convinced that Mrs. M is the reason Ryan is where he is, and in some respects, where he is not, today. Mrs. M was not some highly trained autistic support teacher, in fact she admitted early on that she didn't know a lot about autism spectrum disorders or sensory integration disorder. Mrs. M would call me and ask if there were books she could read, advice I could give her, strategies she could use or therapists she could speak to that would help her understand Ryan. Mrs. M wanted to learn about autism because she wanted to better understand Ryan in order to reach him AND teach him. Mrs. M did not want Ryan to get lost so she did everything she could to find him.

Like I said, it took a while for the two of them to find their groove. There were times when Mrs. M pushed too hard and Ryan would cry and completely shut down. There were times he had to stay in over recess in order to complete work because he got stuck and needed her help and attention. It was frustrating for both of them. Mrs. M could have taken the easy way out for both of them and let Ryan "slide". We have all heard the horror stories of children who continue to move on to the next grade and the next only to discover down the road....often when it's too late....that the child is years behind due to "sliding". No way was Ryan, or any child in Mrs. M's classroom, going to "slide" through second grade. There were many occasions where Ryan would get overwhelmed, stuck and close himself off and Mrs. M would lose him for a while, but she would fight for him and always find a way to bring him back. It took those moments of pushing Ryan harder than he liked and challenging him more than felt comfortable, to make him achieve more than he thought he could, to make him feel like he really mattered, and to make him smile in confidence at the work he accomplished. Mrs. M made all the difference.

When I finally decided to share Ryan's diagnosis and THE evaluation with the school district, it was determined that a 504 Plan would benefit Ryan. A 504 Plan allows accommodations in the classroom, but still keeps the student in regular education, not special education. Walking into Ryan's first 504 meeting I was utterly terrified, overwhelmed and immediately began to sob. I felt like Mrs. M was my only ally in the room, aside from Denial. With several of the recommended accommodations, the guidance counselor would "tut, tut, tut" with a "that's out of the realm of the regular ed teacher's scope of duties" and with each "tut, tut, tut", Mrs M. responded with a "I can do it", or "I will do it" or "It's no problem". All. The. Difference. My gosh how I love her.

If Mrs. M had not tried to understand autism, had not tried to understand Ryan, or had a different teacher with a different heart been sitting in that room, I have no doubt, Ryan would have been given an IEP and one more label. I was still sitting next to Denial at the time while she clutched her Coach bag, sat on her True Religion Jeans while nervously tapping her Prada shoes and I was terrified of one more label (Special Education) parading around that room. If I'm being AWEnest, when Ryan's battered, squishy, red face was placed into my arms in the delivery room, I didn't think, "I wonder if he will be autistic or be a Special Education Student?". Those thoughts don't cross a mother's mind until they have to....and it hurts like he** when they do. And unlike the delivery room, there is no option for an epidural to ease the pain.

Middle school may be the year that a 504 Plan no longer cuts it for Ryan, so he may get, yet, one more label slapped into his file. Fortunately, I have long since kicked Denial and her label flashing ways to the curb (most days), and I'm not as naïve or resistant as I once was about "Special Education", so we will cross that bridge if or when we come to it. I believe in my heart that Mrs. M helped an anxious, uncertain, highly sensitive little boy and his neurotic, could be committed mother, down a road that was at times bumpy, filled with ruts and overcome by the occasional mudslide, avoid that bridge and prepared my son for the list of fabulous teachers that followed her. Each and every one of them making an impact on Ryan and his future.

To all the teachers and staff who have helped gently close the elementary school door and enabled Ryan to open the next one, thank you. And to you Mrs. M, a special shout out. Thank you for stepping outside the box when others would have clung to the lid. Thank you for educating yourself to better educate my son and children like him. Thank you for advocating and doing what is right, not what is easy. Thank you for not getting so caught up in statewide testing and keeping in mind what really matters to the future of your students. Thank you for going "outside your scope of duties" and believing in my son and more importantly, for doing what you believed in your heart was right. Then, now and always....thank you. With every step forward that Ryan takes, every accomplishment he attains, every accolade he earns and every goal he achieves from here on out, please know that you have played a major role in his success and the path he journeys on. Ryan may not always be aware of the impact you have had, but I know. I recognized it then. I still do. And I always will. As he goes through this world, I promise to frequently remind him of the "elementary" challenges he once faced and your priceless role in guiding him through, just as I frequently remind him of how large his head was and how much it hurt pushing him into this world!

To all those teachers that Ryan has loved (Mrs. B, Mrs. F, Mrs. M, Mrs. H, Mr. R, Mr. S, Mr. D, Mrs. A) then quickly forgets the next year, because, well, you served your purpose and he has moved on....please know that several tears have been shed at the thought of walking out those elementary school doors today. Certainly some tears are a direct result of his fear of change and his love of routine, but rest assured that many tears have dampened his pillow at the thought of leaving a place where he has felt loved, safe and accepted....regardless of his differences. To quote my favorite bear:

Goodbye old friends. Today it is the bitterness of the orange peel that Ryan and I taste, but for all of our tomorrows, it will be the sweetness of the juice on our lips and the sticky sugariness on Ryan's fingers as he turns the handle on the next door and the next door and the one after that, with a more confident bounce in his step, and a pride in his heart thanks to all who believed, advocated and taught, "different, not less". "Lucky", indeed....silly old bear.

When you worry, obsess and anguish over whether or not your child has an Autism Spectrum Diagnosis, several of the same questions play over and over again in your warped, stuck record brain. Will he be able to live alone? Will he get married and have a family? Who will take care of him when I'm dead and gone (this occurs at least ten times a day in my head)? And inevitably, What will he "be" when he grows up? Although technology has enabled us to do things never once believed possible, sadly, no one in Silicon Valley has invented a time machine to travel to the future, excluding Mary McFly and his DeLorean.

Now that Ryan is almost 12, I KNOW he will be able to live alone...in fact, he is probably counting down the days until he can. The marriage thing is still questionable as it is for most fifth graders (AWEnestly, do you think Marty McFly could have gone Back To The Future to predict Chaz for Cher? Would she have really wanted to know?). As for what Ryan will "be" when he grows up, well I have that one all figured out and I have known it for years. Dan and I won't need that college fund for Ryan and we can feel free to blow our retirement now because Ryan is going to become rich and famous as the next Larvelle Jones. Larvelle who?!

If I asked my readers that grew up in the '80's who was Sgt. Larvelle Jones, most would have no idea. However, if I said remember the dude from the Police Academy Movie who could do all the sound effects and noises, most people would give me an, "Oh yeah, thaaaaaat guy." Sgt. Larvelle Jones became famous for his ability to mimic any sound he heard. You have to admit, after Steve Guttenberg had a baby with Tom Selleck and Ted Danson, he went off the radar, but if you search "Police Academy sound effects guy" on YouTube, you will get a ton of hits. Michael Winslow is Sgt. Larvelle Jones, aka, The Police Academy Sound Effects Guy, and he can reportedly mimic over 10,000 sounds. You have to admit, that is a rare, quirky, made him rich quick talent. Oh, how a mom can dream.

From the first, "eh, eh, eh, eh" noises Ryan made as a baby when my feet hit each and every step as we descended the stairs together, to the precise and pitch perfect imitation of Jim Carrey in How the Grinch Stole Christmas, to the exact tone and sound of every electronic toy he has ever had, Ryan has been preparing for his career in Hollywood. He just doesn't know it yet. Whether it's the beep of the microwave, the sing song tone of the washing machine, the mimic of my girlfriend's Indian accent, the Japanese language he accidentally turned on in his Sonic the Hedgehog Game (don't know what it meant, but sounded like "9,000 BDI towels...ahhhha") or his perfect imitation of Clark Griswold, Austin Powers or the bad piggies on Angry Birds, my son has a tape recorder in his brain that has a direct connection to a microphone in his mouth. It is hysterical, it is AWEsome and sometimes it makes me freaking crazy.

As a mother in the throes of perimenopause (Is it true it can last 10 years before actual menopause hits? Kyle prays every night that my ovaries keep working until he leaves for college) hearing the Angry Birds pigs' "EEEEE HEEEE" at least 30 times a day, can send even the youngest, toughest, highly estrogen filled mother over the edge. When Ryan was little my frustration with his tape recorder brain arose from my fear of his inability to communicate his day to day happenings, but he could beep, screech, squeal, bleet and imitate any sound or television character he saw on TV. That was in my early, still chilling with my bud Denial days when everything Ryan did that seemed "weird" set off my A word frenzied obsession. I no longer fear The A Word and Ryan's quirky noises don't freak me out, sometimes they just annoy me because, well, they are annoying. I admit I do worry about where and when he makes these noises and impersonations. Let's face it, even if you wear all the "right" brands, join all the "right" clubs and have all the "right" music on your playlist, being accepted by your peers in this day and age is difficult enough, but if in the middle of the teacher's lecture on The Gettysburg Address, an Angry Birds' "EEEEE HEEEE" comes out of nowhere, well, that's just social suicide.

It's funny because many kids on the spectrum have a hard time mimicking social interactions, but many, like Ryan are great at mimicking noises and imitating television  and video game characters. Some experts believe since these kids like repetition it only stands to reason that they would like making the same sound over and over again. Maybe it's because kids on the autism spectrum see and hear the world in a different way due to their heightened sensory awareness and they want to share their picturesque, vibrant world with us boring neurotypicals. Or maybe Ryan and kids like him, just like the feel of the noises they repeat over and over again vibrating in their throats and pulsating in their ears.

I have no idea why Ryan likes to make funny noises or why at Christmas he sounds more like Jim Carrey in the Grinch than he sounds like Ryan, I just know when he does it, he is smiling, so it must make him happy. Whatever the reason, Ryan is freakishly good at mimicking sounds and impersonating what or who he sees on the television or on the video game screen. For a while, it was Kinectimals, a Kinect game for the Xbox 360 where you play with and take care of virtual tiger cubs. I was getting pawed, rubbed on and purred at quite regularly. At first it seemed a little freaky so I would say, "I love this baby tiger, but I sure love my little boy Ryan even more." Ryan would ignore me and keep rubbing, pawing and purring away, so like any good mother who "gets it", I would pat his head, purr back and remind him that kids at school won't think he is a tiger cub, they will think he is a punching bag. Sigh.

If we lived in Hollywood, Ryan would not be considered "weird" or "quirky", he would fit right in. It's a shame that we don't live in LA, closer to the home of Ryan's future lifework, because had we gotten him into show biz early, he could have earned an Academy Award at the tender age of 3. It was a hot summer day and we were knee deep in potty training. I was trying the old no diaper, no underwear, no pants, full on back to nature routine with the supposition that kids going commando would not poop on the floor. At the time, we had a Siberian Husky named Niyka. And just like the tiger cub on Kinectimals, Ryan liked to imitate the dog. Well, on this hot, sweltering potty training day, a young, full of hope college lad came knocking on our door selling books to raise money so he could study abroad in some exotic country. I greeted him looking like a prime candidate for a "Calgon take me away" commercial. As this nice young lad was reciting his sales pitch, Niyka came in to investigate. In typical dog form, Niyka came trotting over, barking, tongue out, panting and greeted this aspiring world traveler with a "hello" tail wag and a stick the nose right in THERE, sniff of the crotch. My adorable, highly talented, impersonating 3 year old, came running after the dog, naked, barking, tongue out, panting and with no tail to wag, poor eye contact and limited social skills, he went right for the crotch sniff. I mean head first right in THERE. The look on that poor college book seller's face as his hands quickly shot down in an effort to preserve his unborn children from Ryan's large head while trying to decipher what kind of house of horrors he had entered. I. Wanted. To. Die.

Of course, lightening didn't strike me down in that moment as I hoped it would (weather is so unpredictable) and I couldn't even pull out The A card as a reason for my son's shockingly odd behavior since Denial was rolling on the floor behind me laughing hysterically. I mumbled some excuse about potty training and "he likes to pretend he's a dog", and declined the book offer (I probably should have bought $100 worth of books but I feared when the authorities came....and surely they would.....it would look like "hush money") and politely and quickly shoved this equally ready to get the h*** out of my house lad out the door. Then I went and packed some clothes, my make up bag, my toothbrush and my flat iron (yes, even in prison, I want my flat iron). I went and sat on the couch and waited with my bags packed and wondered how long it would take for Child Protective Services to arrive, conduct a home investigation, cart me off to jail and throw my kids in foster care. Of course while I sat waiting and wringing me hands, I had forgotten all about the goal of the day which was potty training, and Ryan pooped on the floor...the carpeted floor, naturally. So much for naked potty training. I promise you with Ryan's outstanding portrayal of The Dog in the autobiographical tale of My Never a Dull Moment Life, the Academy would have unanimously voted him an Oscar.

Somehow Child Protective Services nor the police showed up that day. Maybe "the incident" wasn't as bad as it seemed or maybe that poor college boy just thought he hallucinated the "far out" moment thanks to the numerous legal and illegal substance he indulged in the night before. Whichever it was, "the incident" still goes down in my top five most embarrassing moments while it remains one of Ryan's top five best impersonations.

Unfortunately, when the Back to the Future movie franchise ended, Marty McFly took his time machine DeLorean with him, so I can't be certain what Ryan will "be" in 15 years, but I can guarantee if Larvelle Jones passes on a Police Academy remake, Ryan stands a good shot. However, if the Police Academy movies remain in the 80's where ultimately they belong, Lorne Michaels may give Ryan a shot on Saturday Night Live, THE pinnacle of impersonators, impressionists, sound effects making, quirky folks. After all, look what Sarah Palin did for Tina Fey. Ryan may not be the future president, but he could imitate one on TV.  In the mean time, I will continue to remind Ryan that the funny noises he makes as he impersonates The Grinch should not be done at the bus stop or on the playground, it should be done at home where he is safe from teasing and recriminations from those less understanding. A place where people who love him appreciate his uncanny ability to mimic to a tee who and what he hears. And although sometimes the noises and the facial expressions seem odd, if it makes Ryan feel good and it potentially could provide him with a secure future and the funds for a top notch nursing home for his mother and father, then so be it.

Whether it's the big screen or the small screen, whether or not Ryan is on the screen or in front of it, one day when Ryan "makes it", the bullies who teased him, laughed at him and did not appreciate his unique talent, will be eating mud....metaphorically speaking, sadly not literally eating mud thanks to bigger bullies smashing their face in the mud. Like I said, a mom can dream, can't she? Hollywood may never enter Ryan's mind, after all, there are earthquakes out there, but whatever the future holds for my incredibly beautiful and unique son, you can bet the world will be brighter, funnier and more entertaining because he is in it. Regardless of the stage, platform or outlet, Ryan chooses, you can bet I will be in the audience applauding, beaming and cheering "EEEEE HEEEEE" as his biggest fan.