A Cure For Autism

It may sound a bit absurd
This info that you’ve never heard
All comes down to just one word:
Acceptance.

For this child, you had dreamed
In your eyes, his future gleamed
Who cares if he’s not mainstreamed?
Acceptance.

Embrace each and every shortcoming
Even with repetition numbing
Even if he wreaks havoc with your plumbing
Acceptance.

Be a bright light full of praise
Especially on the darkest days
Despite knowing it’s not just a phase
Acceptance.

If you can’t acknowledge his worth
You’re just taking up space on earth
Have you been without flaws since birth?
Acceptance.

Be his loud and biggest supporter
Be the pestle to his mortar
Don’t give his doubters any quarter
Acceptance.

Don’t hide the fact of his condition
Speaking up is your major mission
Make it a new family tradition
Acceptance.

Your patience daily you learn to ration
Some days your chips you want to cash in
Remember these kids teach us compassion
Acceptance.

Write the future not in ink but chalk
At science breakthroughs do not balk
But until we find our Jonas Salk
Acceptance.

Swimming with dolphins is a lure
Or some soy-based diet, sure,
Do your best but don’t obscure
Acceptance now is the only cure.

 

A Poem For Poetry & Autism Awareness Month

The Kindness Of A Stranger   

Our son (four years old, autistic) often
Yelled loud and then even louder:
After his diagnosis, pretty much every
Shred of normalcy took a powder.

Life with Jeremy was a buffet of panic
Wreaking havoc every day
And caused most people who we knew
To all silently drift away.

We desperately tried to hold onto what
Was left, yet while
We did just this, we still found ourselves
In unwanted exile

Which as the years passed by we did
Eventually learn
That this was a place from which you
Never fully return.

Many familiar ties were cut --- a loneliness
Hard to forget.
My wife & I then reached out to someone
We’d never met.

*

The man who got our letter knew we were
At the end of our rope.
He said talk to professionals and be sure to
Never give up hope.

He actually wrote us two letters: an amazing
Thing to have done.
The first one was meant for us but the second
One was to our son.

We didn’t realize right away that this man
Thought we would need
To imagine that our autistic son someday
Would actually read.

From such kindness can come strength
To banish fears,
Its repercussions felt and remembered
For years & years.

*

Hold on --- my bad --- I buried the lead.
I should’ve already said
This stranger’s last name was Rogers &
His first name was Fred.

(He might dispute the term “stranger” and it
Would take some getting used to:
Let’s say we were people in his neighborhood
He hadn’t yet been introduced to.)

It’s worth noting something now and
Not in any way that’s cursory.
2018’s a big landmark for his TV show:
It’s the fiftieth anniversary.

My 31 year-old son has a talking computer:
Jeremy’s good at multi-tasking.
Can he read? Oh, yeah. Of course. You bet.
(By the way, thanks for asking.)

Mr. Rogers died in 2003 but doesn’t seem gone.
For me, what he achieved in
Those two letters was passing along hope that
We hadn’t dared to believe in.

His spirit now lives in all those who recall him.
If you’re wondering could this
Great man could be summed up briefly? Sure:
The embodiment of goodness.

April Multi-tasks As The Awareness Month For Poetry & Autism

From A To Z                                    

While driving in the car with my son
(Who has autism) it may get
To a point where to calm him down,
I suggest he recite the alphabet.

Jeremy’s thirty, so sometimes just
What my wife and I are doing
May seem a peculiar avenue at this
Point for us to be pursuing.

We alternate saying each letter and this
Does help him relax
Simultaneously reminding the three of us
Of a few basic facts

Like how the English-speaking world uses
These symbols in heavy rotation
In our ongoing attempts with other people
To engage in communication.

When we do these duets of the ABCs ---
A father and a son and a mother ---
We’re in touch on a granular level with
How people reach out to each other.

This is the best way I can describe this and
I hope this can bring about for you
The gist of what I’m thinking. If not, there’s
No other way to spell it out for you.

 

Parking Up The Wrong Tree

April is National Poetry Month and Autism Awareness Month.

Since I’m a poet, have a son with autism and also know how to

multi-task, I always write a poem to celebrate both topics.

*

I parked right behind this mini-mall ---

It’s upscale and not at all sleazy

That offers a trifecta of pleasure: Peet’s,

Einstein Bros. and Fresh & Easy.

Before we got out for a snack, I thought:

My son Jeremy & I now are

Just a couple of guys out in the world

Casually relaxing in our car.

Jeremy gave me a fist bump & I recalled

Time that I spent with my Dad.

He didn’t notice what happened next ---

He was too absorbed in his iPad.

A well-to-do mom with several little ones

Sped up in her SUV

Sighed like a bad community theater actor

And then glared at me.

“You know,” she hissed through her open window

Pointing at my grown-up son,

“That spot is only supposed to be used by people

With children who are young.”

I did know this because there was a sign

Maybe ten feet from my face

Explaining the special people entitled to

Park in this particular place.

I told her, “My son’s autistic.” This fact

Sliced into her complaint like a knife.

“So, he’s pretty much going to be a child

For pretty much the rest of his life.

That’s the reason I’m parking here. I hope

I’m clearly explaining my view.”

Simultaneously shocked and also stunned

She now didn’t know what to do.

She began mumbling some kind of response.

I let this go on for a few

Moments, smiled and then asked her politely,

“Is this okay with you?”

Now more humiliated, she said sure it was.

Aware how badly she’d blundered

She then raced off faster than a car trying to

Finish the last lap at the Indy 500.

I’m sure our chat made an impact on her like

Being pelted by a fistful of rocks

And she realized how truly lucky she was for

At least two or maybe three blocks.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/athomeinscottsdale/2739706246/in/photostream/

Having A Child With Autism Is Like Moving To Another Country

(Editor's Note: April is Autism and
Poetry Awareness Month.)


You arrive one day on a detour
To these rather distant shores
Where you fail to recognize any
Of the names of local stores.

The language (of course) is foreign
Utterly peculiar to your ear
But you soon begin to pick it up with
A new word there and here.

Eventually, it seems normal. You see
The rose, not just the thorn there.
You keep adjusting and then wind up
Feeling like you were born there.