When I was a new teacher, I had a professor who slashed grades with the enthusiasm of a Wal-Mart employee on markdown day. Her pet peeve: referring to our students by their diagnosis. If we forgot and referred to an “autistic student” or “an LD kid,” she would punish us with her weapon of choice: the red pen. I may have grumbled at her vehemence, but it did the trick. My students were forever forth children with dyslexia, children with emotional disturbances, children with autism. They were individuals first and foremost, never the sum of their disabilities.

It was a simple, subtle shift that made the difference for me as a teacher and I took that with me as I worked with families, advocated for students, and partnered with schools. I often had to lobby for big changes, profound commitments, and systemic, institutional shifts, especially in times of crisis. But I always honored that it’s the subtle nuances that turn the ship around, the moments of grace that beget small miracles. The story I am going to tell is one of those.

My neighbor Dylon is a teen with autism.  He is also obsessed with telephone poles. He knows every type of utility pole, their crossarms, their type of resistors, what utility companies work where. If he were on a car trip, he could point out which company services which area from Patapsco to Constellation all the way from Maryland to Florida. It’s safe to say that power poles are kind of his thing.

His dad Ron knows this: “When we are driving down any street, he will notice a new pole and he will whip his head around like he just saw Santa in a sleigh.” Yeah, we’ve got Minecraft, LEGO, and One Direction going on here, we get the obsessions. But while every kid can have a bit of a one track mind, it is a whole different ballgame in autism.

Autism brings other challenges as well. When Ron asks Dylon what he wants for Christmas or his birthday, Dylon will just repeat what he has gotten in the past. No original thoughts. No lengthy lists. No last minute addendums or post-scripts.

So the family has to get creative. Last year, Ron noticed some new utility poles going up in South Jersey, the biggest he had ever seen, so he drove the whole family up there as a surprise for Dylon. The picture of their three kids sitting on that utility pole was their Christmas card that year.

This year, Ron wanted to score  some Delmarva Power gear for a Christmas present for Dylon. He had tried unsuccessfully a year ago to visit the plant itself. The PR person there said there was no program for a tour like that even though they really just wanted ten minutes to look around. Ron thought his idea this year was so much simpler–a pen, a mug, a coaster, anything–and he just knew how much Dylon would love it, so he started emailing people. He received no response. Like not a single one.

So he decided to hit the pavement and make a visit or three. Every stop had the same pattern. Ron would usually meet a perfectly nice customer service rep who would refer him to a supervisor who would promptly dismiss him and show him on his way. Empty-handed. No premium items. Nada. Nothing. Each stop. Same story.

At the third location, things looked like they were shaping up to go the same way as before. But this time was different. There was a subtle change. This ship was turning around. This time the customer service rep didn’t bother looking for a supervisor. This woman listened to Ron tell his story of what he wanted for his son for Christmas and then promptly walked away.

But she came back quickly with a canvas bag with the company logo on it and started filling it up . . . with items from her workspace. Pens, desk items, notepads—any number of fully emblazoned ephemera made its way into the bag. This was a small miracle in and of itself, but then her neighboring coworker saw what was happening and started emptying out her desk area too. The bag was getting mighty big.

But it’s the little things. In the midst of all this generosity, the co-worker added a die-cast lift power truck replica that had been sitting on her desk for years. Who knows why she added it in with all the other items, but she did. Maybe she was moved by Ron’s determination, maybe she was touched by the Christmas spirit, or maybe she had her own obsessed kid at home and she really was able to see Dylon as just any other kid. Maybe, but it doesn’t really matter. Dylon carries that truck up to bed every night and back downstairs every morning.

This month is Autism Awareness Month. 1 in 68 children has an autism diagnosis. We are all shooting for the big goal of course: no more autism, but this year maybe we shoot for something else as well. Maybe we keep our eyes open to the dads trying to do something special for their kid, maybe we support the families living with autism every day, maybe we see the kids first and their diagnoses second. I believe in the power of red pens, die-cast trucks, and open hearts to change the world. I hope you do too.

–Erin

Be the Change You Want to See in the World.

 -Gandhi               

*I wrote two other posts about Dylon and his family here and here.

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