By Abbey Edmonson
My brother, Drew, is on the Autism spectrum, but he doesn’t let it define him. He is probably one of the smartest and most intriguing people I know. Ask him anything, and he will more than likely know the answer. If he doesn’t know, he’ll whip out Google faster than you can blink. Even though he sometimes speaks rather monotonously and loud, he will always have something to say. In fact, most of the time, he can’t wait long enough for you to stop speaking before he interjects with a random factoid that may or may not pertain to the conversation.
He’s high functioning, meaning he doesn’t even take special education classes anymore. As far as any outsider can tell, he is just a regular kid. It wasn’t always this way. In fact, he used to barely speak at all.
Drew has a twin brother, Cooper. They were both on the spectrum when they were younger. Growing up, dealing with all of the therapy sessions and meltdowns was my normal day-to-day experience. I distinctly remember visiting the North Mississippi Medical Center countless times. I knew all of the staff by name, and they’d let me play with the toys while my brothers worked on speech and comprehension skills. Ms. Dana was one of my favorites.
We used to have to eat at McDonald’s everyday because it was the only place that Cooper and Drew would eat from. We’d gone through the drive-thru so many times that they’d already have our orders waiting for us before we even got to the microphone. There was a giant chest full to the brim of HappyMeal toys in our playroom. That’s just how life went. We’d get picked up from school, go to McDonald’s, and then play in the hospital.
All of our close friends knew about my brothers’ unique condition. Most people had gotten very used to their behavior, and wouldn’t act weird. However, if we ever went to a public place surrounded by strangers, I usually felt the need to explain it to people. I just wanted everyone to understand that, no, they aren’t just being bad kids and having a fit in the middle of the mall for no reason. They probably have something wrong with them, and they just can’t find the words to say it. No, he didn’t take your toy away from you just to be mean; he didn’t know any better. I never really saw them as different from other people because that’s all I knew.
My mom used to play sign language videos every time we got in the car. I can still remember watching the pretty lady with multicolored tape all over her fingers. Since Drew wasn’t very verbal at the time, sign language was the next best option. I believe that’s why I’m interested in learning it on a deeper level now.
We even set up a special playroom just for Drew in what was once our guest room. The door had a one-way mirror inserted into it so that my mom could check in while Drew worked with one of the therapists. There were all sorts of special toys that were all designed to capture his attention and make him work on his interactions.
Of course, Cooper and Drew’s auditory and verbal skills improved. Cooper isn’t even on the spectrum anymore. I sometimes almost forget that they were even on the spectrum at all. We got so incredibly lucky.
I’ve recently worked with the Autism Center of Tupelo to create a mural for one of their sensory rooms. A sensory room is a room jam-packed with anything and everything that can stimulate the senses. There are flashing lights, walls with different textures, and speakers that connect to the therapist’s phone. I was asked to create a glow-in-the-dark mural. Obviously, I was more than happy to help. I’m not going to lie, the process was definitely way more difficult than I’d originally anticipated. The room was very small and stuffy, and what I assumed would only take a couple minutes ended up taking most of the day. I sketched it out, painted the background, painted the details, then added the glow paint and blacklight paint. I had a lot of help, but it still took a very large effort. Despite how difficult the whole process was, I found it extremely rewarding. They let us watch one of the kids who regularly visits the center interact with the room. Words cannot describe how happy that made me. The memory of that child’s face all lit up as they saw the room for the first time will forever be with me. Even though I’m not directly involved in the therapy that changes the lives of those kids, I made something that’ll be a part of that process. Instead of watching others help kids with Autism, I was the one helping.
There are so many kids out there who are further along on the spectrum than my brothers, and there are definitely kids out there who don’t have the same access to the quality of therapies that we did. My heart goes out to any and all people who have an Autistic person in their lives. If you ever see an Autistic kid having a meltdown, please don’t assume that they are just being a brat. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be incapable of verbalizing your thoughts. The world would be such a better place if we were all aware and understanding of those who are different from us.