Thanksgiving is hours away which means turkeys everywhere are running and hiding hoping that they have survived one more year not resting alongside your sweet potatoes. Some turkeys may seek shelter with deer, unaware that the poor deer's time, come Monday, may also be limited. If these turkeys had any sense at all, they would run or fly (how well do turkeys really fly?) and take up residence on the White House Lawn, hoping that they too will receive a Presidential Turkey Pardon.

Each and every Thanksgiving, the White House turkey is pardoned and rather than lopping off it's head, the President opts to use his free Giant Turkey coupon after scoring so many Giant Bonus Points and allows this turkey designee to spend it's Golden Years roaming the turkey pen at Mt. Vernon.

There is some debate over who the first President was to pardon our Thanksgiving Day main dish. Some say Lincoln unofficially pardoned the bird when his son Tad had become so attached to the family turkey that he couldn't bear to eat him. Still others believe President Kennedy was the first to pardon a turkey when he returned the White House turkey after he said, "We'll let this one grow" and sent the grateful turkey back. Rumor has it, that it was George H. W. Bush who actually used the term "pardon" when he excused the White House turkey from the Holiday "festivities". A pardon, really George? So, I guess I am to assume that if President Bush pardoned this turkey, the turkey must surely have gobbled, "I'm sorry" right before he said, "yeee-haw"!

A pardon is forgiving someone for an "error" or "offense". And don't you think that most people before pardoning someone, wait to hear the words, "I'm sorry" or "forgive me" or at the very least, "wow, what I did sucked" from the wrongdoer? Does the White House turkey show remorse or apologize for being who he is? He can't help it he was born a turkey. He shouldn't have to apologize for tasting so good next to your stuffing and mashed potatoes, but, if this turkey is being pardoned then surely he must have done something wrong, right? 

I can't help but wonder if this lucky bird has to apologize in order to, literally, save his head or is it just assumed he is seeking forgiveness since, after all, he lives in Washington and so many folks living there feel remorseful for their wrongdoings without every uttering an, "I'm sorry" (Bill Clinton aside)? What about all the other turkeys? The turkeys in Idaho and Maine? The middle class turkeys who are equally as guilty of being exactly who they are meant to be, who can't utter an "I'm sorry" and whose address alone will not get them a pardon?

One of the many things I am thankful for this Thanksgiving Eve is that Ryan is NOT a turkey. First, we don't live on Pennsylvania Avenue and second, Ryan has almost as much trouble uttering the words, "I'm sorry" in order to seek a pardon, as your average middle class turkey. Relax autism advocates, I am not comparing my beautiful son to a turkey, well, in a way I am, but, please wait for my point before taking to the internet and flogging me.

My point is, when Ryan commits an "offense", an "error" or some type of "wrongdoing", getting him to apologize in order to receive a pardon is like getting a turkey to talk. There is some part of autism that grabs hold of Ryan's mouth and clamps it closed and will NOT allow the words, "I'm sorry" to come out. I wholeheartedly believe Ryan feels remorse when he hurts someone....sometimes, but, saying he's sorry is extremely difficult. I don't know if admitting wrongdoing is hard because understanding the social implications of his offense or error is difficult to grasp and he believes what he did was "right", or if somehow in Ryan's mind, uttering the words, "I'm sorry", is relinquishing one of the few forms of control he has in an otherwise chaotic world. The control of being "right".

It could be something as minor as ramming my heels with the grocery cart. After I stop cursing, Ryan may mumble, "You were in the way." or "I didn't do that on purpose.", but, he will not say, "I'm sorry.". Is that enough remorse for a pardon? Then there are bigger errors, like when Ryan slapped his sister's four leaf clover right out of her hand when she was just happily and proudly sharing her good fortune with him because he doesn't "believe in clover bringing good luck". When such an offense caused his sister's heart to fill with sadness and her eyes to fill with tears and he refused to apologize regardless of our "intervention", ok, fine our threats of removing all electronic devices, yet, still no apology, should Ryan be pardoned?

For Ryan, "I'm sorry" is like talking turkey, if he doesn't believe he has committed an offense why should he say something he doesn't mean? We have all been there, the one to "give in", the one to "say it first", but, even if it's like swallowing a turkey bone, we can say the words, "I'm sorry" when we believe it and even when we don't because we know it is either the right thing to do, or the thing that brings peace back into the house.

I believe that 90% of the time Ryan does understand his offense and I believe he is "sorry", but, just like so many other emotions when it comes to autism, how Ryan shows this remorse, looks "different, not less". As Ryan gets older, he is getting wiser. He understands that sometime he has to do and say things that may not feel comfortable for him, but, in order to move on, he may need to feel a little uncomfortable. 

Just because Ryan struggles to utter the words, "I'm sorry" doesn't mean he should be pardoned for his errors or offenses without first trying to understand the implications of his offense. Yes, autism may make understanding how Ryan's actions impact others more difficult, but, autism is not a free pass to a free pardon. Ryan's lack of belief in a lucky four leaf clover, did not excuse the heartache he caused his sister. It took days to get Ryan to understand how he hurt his sister, and I do believe he "got it", but she never heard the words, "I'm sorry". What she did hear, was his voice being a little kinder than usual the next day.

Just like the turkey can't help who he is and where his place is in the world, or on your dinner table, people with autism can no more help who they are either. Not showing remorse does not mean they don't feel it. The words "I'm sorry" may not come out of their mouth, but, the White House turkey doesn't say them either and they still get a break. Just like the Presidents of the past and the Presidents for years to come will continue to show compassion to a turkey and pardon said turkey for being who they are, we too must show compassion for people living with autism. We must try to understand and pardon them when they may not be able to find the words I'm sorry when they ram us with a shopping cart, but, can find the exact words to let us know how hideous we look with our latest hair style.

Unlike the Thanksgiving Day turkey, Ryan is remorseful when he has done something wrong and he can sometimes quietly, in a barely audible voice, and typically in a scripted language, say the words, "I'm sorry" even if it feels like someone is pulling his wing off. 

So, on this Thanksgiving Day, I'm not trying to make you feel guilty when you eat your unpardoned turkey, but, I'm asking you to take just a moment to remember that the turkey can't help who he is and he may not have been able to apologize in order to get his pardon, but, that doesn't mean the turkey isn't sorry that today, of all days, he couldn't find the words, "I'm sorry". If I have instilled a little turkey guilt, you might just want to stick with the sweet potatoes, I hear they show no remorse....ever.

Fear. According to Wiki, fear is "an emotion induced by a threat perceived by living entities, which causes a change in brain and organ function and ultimately, a change in behavior, such as running away, hiding or freezing from traumatic events". In other, simpler words, fear is an emotion you feel when you believe something is gonna hurt you, kill you, or disrupt your life forever so to escape it, you either run, hide, play dead or pee your pants. Sometimes these behaviors occur at the same time and typically at least one behavior results in a change of pants after the fear subsides.

Fear can be our best ally and our worst opponent. Fear can tell your brain to run when you see a big, or in my case, small snake. Fear can tell you to duck when you see a baseball or a meteor falling from the sky. And fear can tell you to play dead when you find a creepy clown chilling out in your closet. Even though fear can be a terrible adversary, fear is what lead our ancestors to run to warmer climates during the ice age, to hide from deadly locusts that buzzed through the sky, and to play dead when they happened upon a T-rex while out picking berries. The fear response has kept us scaredy cat humans from becoming extinct time and time again, so a shout out to fear, and my big, fast, cissy ancestors.

Although fear may be necessary for our species to continue to survive and evolve, fear can really take the joy out of surviving all those horrible plagues, T-rex encounters and clowns hiding in your closet. Fear can suck the life out of the living. Believe me, I ought to know. More times than I can count, when staring down the face of fear, I have opted to wave the white flag, retreat, play dead and maybe once, ok, fine, twice,I even had to change my pants. Fear, 1,000. Me, 0.

I often lump fear and anxiety together, like it's one big emotion, one big word, "fearanxious". However, the big difference between fear and anxiety is that fear is a response to imminent danger, and anxiety, even though it may cause the body to have a response similar to fear, with anxiety, there is no imminent danger. Yeah, trying telling that to my head...and my bladder.

Tomato, tomato, fear, anxiety, no matter what you call it, it takes up a great deal of time and space in my life. Most of my trembling fear begins with the words, either spoken out loud, or reverberating inside my scaredy cat head, "What if?". "What if the plane I am finally brave enough to board in order to travel to beautiful places I have always wanted to see, crashes, even though it's a bizillion times safer than cruising around in my minivan?" "What if I do get on a plane, it doesn't crash, and while hiking through the Grand Canyon I step on a rattle snake and can't make it to safety before the toxic venom courses through my veins?" "What if my plane lands safely, I hike the beautiful terrain of the Grand Canyon, step on a rattler, and an EMT is just around the bend, but, he's wearing a clown face, nose and hair?".  "What if the clown performs a lobotomy and I finally stopped all the "what if'ing?"

Along with my perceived imminent dangers, and the dangers that are all just made up inside my scary brain, probably the biggest "What if" fear I ever had take up valuable space inside my overtaxed, donate it to science after a rattle snake or a clown kills me brain was, "What if he has autism?". The fear of such a diagnosis lead me to believe that there was imminent danger, danger that did in fact cause a "change in my behavior".

Often my fear of "What if autism?" was quickly followed by some negative word like "doesn't", "can't" or "won't". What if Ryan doesn't know I love him? What if Ryan can't live on his own? What if Ryan doesn't make friends? What if Ryan can't graduate from high school? What if Ryan doesn't get married? What if Ryan won't ever know a father's love? "What if", driven by fear and followed by such negative words, resulted in a terrible change in my behavior...fearing the worst, worrying about the future, and often missing the joy in the now.

Since the very first day the fear of autism introduced herself to me, my behavior changed. I constantly worried about the negative, the "doesn't", the "can't" and the "won't" that sometimes I missed the "does", the "can" and the "will". I would do anything, hold a live rattlesnake or sell my soul to a demonic clown, if I could just go back and see all the positives I missed while worrying about the negatives.

I'd love to tell you that my fear is gone. That my behavior has gone back to the way it should be and that all I focus on is the positive, but, that would not be AWEnest. My behavior, induced by fear, has changed somewhat, but, there are days I still run away, hide, or play dead. Fortunately, I have this amazingly AWEsome son who does not feel autism is something to fear, that autism is NOT an imminent danger. My son regularly kicks my fear, my worries, and my negatives right back in my scrunched up furrowed brow face and it is....glorious.

This past weekend was a perfect example of how my fear and my behavior gets stomped to the ground by my amazing boy. This past Saturday, Ryan participated in the PMEA Middle School Songfest. I dropped Ryan off at the Middle School at 6:30AM and he left with his choral director and six other students for a day of singing with over 130 kids he didn't know, in a school he had never been to, and no mom in sight until 4PM.

Of course the "What if's" followed by the negatives raced through my mind. "What if the change in the routine is too much and he won't participate?" "What if he can't tie his tie or his new shoes are too tight and he refuses to change his clothes?" "What if the day is too long, his sensory system is too taxed and he doesn't want to stay?". All the negatives, all the fear, all the anxiety overshadowed, again, the joy and excitement that Ryan was feeling while I went back home and crawled in my bed and played dead.

As I laid in my bed, letting the fear take over, I thought to myself, "What if it all goes ok?". "What if the schedule helps give him a routine and he can easily make it through the day?" "What if his excitement and pride for being chosen to attend the event is enough and he does tolerate his new shoes and choking tie?" "What if his love of music and his trust in his choral director will supersede the chaos of over 130 new kids in a new school and he loves it all?" That is precisely what happened. Ryan had a wonderful experience while I sat back glowing in the joy of having him prove me and my fear wrong, yet again.

I wish I could say my fear of autism has become extinct along with the dinosaurs or that my anxiety has flown away with the locusts, but, it hasn't. I have, however, gotten better at trying not to allow my fear of autism change my behavior. I have learned that even though I can still run from snakes, and hide from clowns, I can not run away or hide from autism. Just like my unbelievably brave son, I have to hold my ground, stand firm and face autism head on and not let the "won't's", "can't's" and "doesn't's" win.

Autism is a developmental disability that often effects the behavior of the person living with this diagnosis, yet, more often than not, it is my behavior that is effected by autism. My fear has "ultimately caused a change in my behavior". All my fears, all my anxieties, all my "What if's" followed by negative words and thoughts, has repeatedly caused me to miss all the good, all the positive, and all the joy. 

The joy in "What if's" such as, "What if he does find a perfect career fit and is happy and successful?" or "What if he does meet a girl and can have a healthy relationship and one day get married?" or "What if one day he will know a father's love?" are so much better than the fear induced, negative "What if's?". The "What if?" that matters most though is not about my worries, my dreams, or my joy. The most important "What if" is this, "What if Ryan lives his life as he chooses and is perfectly happy doing so?". 

Even if Ryan decides to become a circus clown, this mother will find joy in his happiness, however, he will not be able to wear the clown face, nose or the hair at the holiday dinner table. Perhaps once the future arrives, I can finally put my fear to rest. As long as Ryan becomes a clown who can perform lobotomies.

Twice the harmless gym bag has gone missing and now this week, thanks to a hole in the bottom of the 100% nylon (Hollister cotton would have held up so much better) bag, the combination lock has gone missing (insert moaning, groaning and anxiety here). When I went to put the clean clothes in the gym bag, I did not hear the clunk of the lock or feel the pain shoot through my toe as I accidentally dumped the lock onto my, inevitably shoe-less foot. I thought to myself, "Crap. Here we go again...another trip to the dreaded Lost and Found Box. When I mentioned this, Ryan quickly and shakily assured me, "Don't worry about that lock, I don't need a lock. I'm perfectly fine without one.". I think trying to find the lost in a menagerie of junk is more stressful to Ryan than swift and quick punishment by his gym teacher.

Every school has one, and depending on how forgetful the student body is, the Lost and Found could be a box, a bin, or a closet. Regardless of size and location, the Lost and Found is typically filled with a disorganized, random collection of books, hats, action figures, water bottles, a leftover winter mitten, and quite regularly, a gym bag. These items sit in the box sometimes for hours, days and months, waiting among the mess of other sad and discarded belongings for their owner to come and retrieve them. Trying to find something that is lost in such a disorganized mess is difficult, and sometimes, it's just not worth the search, so the owner claims it a "loss" and moves on. Eventually, the Lost and Not Found items make their way to the local landfill, never to be heard from again.

For years, just like sorting through the mishmash of items in his school's Lost and Found bin for the missing gym bag, Ryan has had to sort through a jumble of verbs, nouns, and pronouns to find the word he is looking for, the word that in the moment, seems "lost". Even today, there are times when Ryan still struggles to get his words out, but, I AWEnestly believe that the words are not, nor have ever been "lost", they have just been hidden under a mess of other words, words he is not looking for, words that in the moment, he does not need, words that may be too hard to pull out of the "box".

"Find your words" I use to say to the screaming, crying, melting down toddler. "Find your words" I use to say to the frustrated, bright, overstimulated preschooler. Little did I know, those behaviors, those screams, those cries were Ryan's "words", he was indeed communicating with me, but, I just wasn't listening. His frustration, his anger, his fear, were mixed among the words, jumbled in the Lost and Found, in plain sight, but, he was unable to retrieve them. I can only imagine his frustration.

Telling Ryan to "find his words" were poorly chosen words on my part. For Ryan, his words were not lost, he knew where they were, he just couldn't reach the bottom of the box. I don't know that Ryan's words have ever been lost. I think his words have always been "there", but, just like the messy, disorganized Lost and Found box, sometimes, rooting around and digging for what he is missing, is just too difficult, and it's not worth sorting through all the other words scattered about to find that one word that Ryan just can't reach. If the search for the word becomes too difficult, if there is just too much in the box to sort through, then Ryan discontinues the search, gives up and walks away. Frustrated, but, not the least bit concerned if that word ends up with the elusive mitten in a landfill. 

Telling Ryan to "find his words" probably made him want to dump me head first into the Lost and Found box with the smelly missing gym sock and dirty water bottles. Ryan's words weren't "lost", he just had trouble retrieving them and expressing them. Many kids with an ASD struggle with expressive language, and Ryan is no different. Neither is Naoki Higashida who struggled to "find his words", yet, became a published author at the tender age of 13.

When Ryan and I were discussing different methods for building the dodecagon, I suggested that maybe I could buy Ryan some rubber gloves to help desensitize his fingers to the paper. Ryan immediately assured me rubber gloves would not work. When I asked him why, Ryan had no trouble finding or expressing his words. "The rubber gloves will still make me feel the paper in my central nervous system. There are some feelings and some sounds that I feel directly in my central nervous system and paper is one of them." I stood there with my mouth hanging open.

Ryan had no trouble finding his words, because I don't believe those words, or any others, were ever lost. In fact, all those years ago, during haircuts, and doctor's appointments and trying on new jeans, and wearing shirts with tags, Ryan's cries were telling me the same exact thing. These sensory sensations were being felt in his central nervous system and making him utterly miserable.

All those years of me telling Ryan, "find your words", he probably wanted to tell me, "find your ears". Ryan's words were not lost, they were just hidden amidst a bunch of other words and it was difficult for him to retrieve the right word with all his nerve endings poking through his central nervous system distracting him. 

Stephen R. Covey said, "Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.". I wanted Ryan to find his words, so I could reply. It was hard to reply to groans, moans, scripts, and meltdowns, it was Ryan's words that I wanted to hear even though I understood him loud and clear.

Whether it's a lost gym bag or a "lost" word, sometimes, it's easier for Ryan to "not worry about it" and move on. Digging through the jumbled words in his brain some days feels as pointless as digging through that heap of lost belongings in the Lost and Found. Ryan knows there are other ways to get his meaning out. Whether it's a script from Austin Powers, a paper shoved at me with his foot, or a moan when I grab the wrong glass for his grape juice, Ryan's words were never "lost", in fact, he has been using his "words" for years, I just wasn't listening.

We are traveling soon for a college visit for Kyle. Denial will most assuredly be hitching a ride with us since there is no way my baby, my first born son (who I'd like to mention had a very large head at birth and did some serious damage upon his arrival...not that I ever use that to instill guilt), would ever dream of leaving me, but, I figured we would at least let Kyle go through the motions and pretend he may one day leave me, knowing full well he never will. Did I mention Denial was coming?

Ryan could care less who comes along for the ride, or where we are heading, he is just excited to go. Not because Ryan wants his brother, his best friend, to leave. Oh my, no! Ryan will be pulling on Kyle's right leg, while I desperately cling to his left, to prevent Kyle from leaving us or should I say, pretending to leave us. Ryan is excited about our get away because for a boy who craves routine and worries about change, he never seems to be phased by the disruption of routine for a fun, good, old fashion family road trip...especially if that road trip ends at a hotel.

Ryan could care less what this particular college we are visiting has to offer Kyle. There is no concern about dorm room size, types of majors, the ratio of male to female students, walking distance to the closest college bar, or how many frats there may be for Kyle to pledge, Ryan is more concerned with what amenities the local hotel we are staying in has to offer.

For Ryan, it doesn't seem to matter the location of the hotel or the sights surrounding the hotel, what matters to Ryan is getting there and checking in. "Checking in" means you have arrived, you are "there", you are present. Ironically, as much as Ryan loves to check in, so often Dan and I worry about him "checking out".

Ever since Ryan was little, Dan and I would compare Ryan's connection, or lack of connection, to us and the outside world to Ryan being "checked in" or "checked out". It may not sound like the proper clinical observation that you would learn in a Parenting a Child with Autism 101 class, and "checked in" is nowhere to be found in the DSM V, but, it truly was the best way to describe Ryan's connection to us, to others, to the world.

Some days, Ryan is present, he is there, he is checked in. On these days, Ryan will be a little more chatty, a little less serious, and a little more aware of others. However, some days, some moments, Ryan has clearly checked out. He ignores your greeting, he fails to answer your question, and he is oblivious to what is going on around him. Ryan no longer seems to be "there" regardless of how many amenities we offer, regardless of how many upgrades we try to give him, or regardless of how many times I beg him to stay for one more day, Ryan checks out anyway. Fortunately, he always comes back and checks in again.

There have been many times, as the front desk clerk, that I have witnessed Ryan's arrival, his presence as he checks in, by sharing something about his day, by looking into my eyes a little longer than usual, by being a little more playful, and by being more aware of what is going on with the rest of us. While I no longer spend as much time trying to figure out why this hotel, why this day, why this moment, there are times I still wonder how to capture and harness that presence and keep Ryan around for an extended stay.

We could attribute Ryan's being "there" to diet, but, Ryan eats the same food each and every day. Ryan does not take any kind of medication, so the pharmaceutical companies can't take credit for Ryan's hotel points when he checks in. Ryan's day to day routine is pretty similar, and changing that routine doesn't seem to impact how long he stays. The one thing that Dan and I both believe impacts Ryan's check in and check out time, is the amount of screen time he has on a particular day. It seems like the more screen time Ryan has, the greater likelihood Ryan will check out early, leaving no tip behind. Whether it's food, routine, or screen time, I often wonder if when the world gets too complicated, too hard to understand, Ryan checks out with us and checks in at the Hotel Minecraft, where everything just makes sense.

Lately, for reasons unknown to me, or anyone else for that matter, Ryan seems to have "checked in" for an extended stay. He has been more chatty (believe me, chatty is relative, but, a few unprompted sentences for Ryan is indeed a full fledged conversation). Ryan has been a little more playful, dare I say, silly from time to time. He has giggled more, responded more, opened up more and checked out less. It has been beautiful.

In these much more frequently occurring moments, when Ryan checks in, I feel like I have slipped through a crack in the wall, the wall that autism built, the wall that so often surrounds my beautiful boy. I pray that with each crack, the wall will crumble just a little bit more, allowing my son to have the confidence to show me, and others, the young man who is often obscured by the protective wall that he feels is so necessary in order to keep himself safe. And even though I try not to question why the cracked form, or how many more cracks will appear, I can't help but wonder how long I have until Ryan realizes the crack is there and quickly seals it closed, checking back out, until next time.

Last week we attended a party, and Ryan took off his coat and checked in, and let others through the crack. Friends who had not seen him in awhile, looked at me in AWE with amazed smiles, and for once, it was not Ryan who was speechless. Their words were not necessary. I knew what they saw, I knew what they felt. Ryan was smiling in playful in a loud, chaotic party environment. Ryan made eye contact, he shook hands, he gave hugs, he remembered people's names. He checked in and did not check out for the entire party. I was as amazed as my friends.

I think the wall that autism has built will always be visible to some, but, for those folks willing to find the cracks, they will get to see what is behind the wall and believe me, it is a beautiful sight.

Like I said, I don't know why the check in occurs, or what makes Ryan want to just as quickly check out. It is just one of the mysteries of autism. Wasting time wondering what made Ryan chose today to check in and trying to get him to extend his stay means I am missing the time that he is "there". 

When we get to our hotel for Kyle's college visit, I will fully appreciate Ryan's joy at check in. I will be grateful that he can handle the disruption of his routine and enjoy time with his family because for many families, that is not the case. I will watch his smile as he uses the hotel key to gain entrance to our room and takes in the surroundings as he claims his spot. In addition to Ryan's joy, I will also have a full appreciation for the desk clerk knowing how much better her day is when guests check in with a smile, eye contact and a presence that let's them know, they are indeed "there".