A Child With Autism Becomes a Teenager With Expectations

I don't usually re-post other's articles on here but I couldn't resist with this one. This article by Priscilla Gilman, published by the New York Times touched my heart and opened my mind.

With my introversion and quirkyness I really related to it as I have often felt like Benj does. I need my private free time. I'm not a 'normal teenager', whatever that means. I have no wish to be. I hate large social events and have a fear of the phone. I can spend all day researching something as mundane as a Foreign Law or the history of Schizophrenia. I don't get people, no matter how hard I try. But I'm okay with that. And anyone that is remotely different than the supposed 'social norm', should be okay with it too.      

Read and enjoy. And remember, being different is perfectly acceptable.

***

A Child With Autism Becomes a Teenager With Expectations. 

The night before his 13th birthday, Benj came to the door of my office and knocked in his typically abrupt way. “Mommy, I need to talk to you,” he said. “I’m really worried about tomorrow.”

Benj is on the autism spectrum, and special days cause him more than the usual trepidation. I rushed in with reassurances about the specifics that had concerned him in the past. “What’s worrying you, honey?” I asked. “I’ve told the school to do the special gluten-dairy-free treat for you, and remember we’re going to have the home party this weekend.”

But it was not the mundane details of the day that were on Benj’s mind. “Mommy, I’m nervous about becoming a teen.”

“Nervous about becoming a teen” is such a typical Benj way to put it. I’d shared his anxiety when he was younger. For children with communication difficulties, what could be worse than the social maelstrom of middle and high school, with its cliques and pressure to conform? As social situations became increasingly complex and his peers increasingly sophisticated, I feared that literal, innocent, honest Benj would be picked on, manipulated, or excluded.

But as those years actually approached, my fears were largely allayed. Benj is in a small, special education class where each child’s unique set of strengths and challenges is understood. The school has a no-tolerance policy for teasing, ostracism and bullying. There’s no in group or out group and no norm or standard or box to fit into because these kids are all quirky, each in his or her own way.

So I felt no sense of impending doom at the prospect of Benj becoming a teenager — but he did. “When I’m a teen I’ll have to have hang-outs with my friends all the time!” he told me. “And I’ll have to date people! That’s what teenagers do. They hang out with their friends, and they date.”
 I wondered where he’d picked up these conventions about what it means to be a teenager. It was only this year that at the suggestion of his school counselor, Benj began to call get-togethers with peers “hang-outs,” chiding me if I referred to them as the now babyish “play-dates.” “Hang-out,” with its connotations of relaxed, mellow, easygoing camaraderie, is a bit misleading as far as Benj is concerned; socializing with peers can be challenging and arduous for him. More “hang-outs” means more stress. I can’t imagine what he thinks dating holds.

I reassured him that becoming a teen did not mean he had to start dating immediately. “You can date when you’re ready, sweetheart,” I told him, “and that might not be for a long time. And, of course, you can have more hang-outs if you want them. But it’s important to remember that you also need your good alone time.” Benj is a classic introvert who needs long stretches of private time in his room, reading, playing Solitaire or noodling around on the guitar.

Benj thanked me for understanding that he needed his private time, but then insisted that he needed to make sure he was having some hang-outs. He decided on “2.5 hangouts a month” as the right amount. I wondered what would constitute a “half-hang-out,” and then realized that mathematically inclined, precise Benj was averaging the number of hang-outs: 2.5 a month is 30 a year.

“Benj, I want you to know that there isn’t one set definition of what a teenager is. When I was a teenager, I spent lots of time with my friends, but Daddy didn’t have lots of hang-outs or girlfriends when he was a teenager and he was happy that way.”

Parenting Benj, a child very different from  the one I’d imagined having, has impressed upon me just how important it is to move beyond normative expectations about what our children will or won’t be, should or shouldn’t do. But again, just because I’ve realized that doesn’t mean that Benj has. Social norms are powerful things, and as much as I may think he isn’t hearing the siren call of “normal,” his surprisingly conventional definition of being a “teen” is proof that he isn’t immune to fears about fitting in.

Our most essential tasks as parents, in fact, may be to recognize our children’s individual temperaments, needs and aspirations and to help them resist prescriptive conventions and imagined ideals in figuring out what’s really right for them. When E.E. Cummings wrote: “It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are,” he described the sort of courage I hope to foster in all three of my children, one that enables them to attain the maturity that comes when we identify our own natures and try to live in accordance with them.

“People are different,” I told Benj. “There’s no one right way to be a teenager. And there’s no set way that you have to be, Benji, ever. I will always support you in doing what’s right for you, Benj, not some idea of what a teenager, or a man, or a person should be doing.”

Benj’s 13th year has been one of amazing social growth for him. He had his first phone conversation with a friend, invited a girl to his school’s winter dance (just as friends!), and enjoyed regular “hang-outs” with peers thanks to his social skills group. And he continues to derive a great deal of satisfaction and happiness from his “good alone time.” He’ll even smilingly call out as he ducks into his room: “I’m going in for my private free time!”

Did he hear me, when I promised him he never had to learn to conform? Who knows. Whether you’re turning 13 or 50, it can be difficult to ignore who the world expects you to be — or who you think you’re expected to be. But so far, Benj is managing. He’s growing up into who he really is.


Source: Gilman, Priscilla, 2013. 'A Child With Autism Becomes a Teenager With Expectations', Viewed 25 October 2013, http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/10/20/a-child-with-autism-becomes-a-teenager-with-expectations/?smid=pl-share

Umar, Abu Dhar and the 3 Men

The Legacy of Islam. It's not often that you get to hear a story that portrays Islam in its truest form without mankinds words or actions giving reason to doubt it. Below is an inspiring 6 minute video narrating a beautiful story showing the purity of a Muslim reaching out to another Muslim in need, and the forgiveness that lies in every Muslim's heart.    

Here is the Youtube link if the video doesn't play for whatever reason: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kx_nTf67Ou0

Television by Roald Dahl

The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set --
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotised by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES!
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rat and Mr. Mole-
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.

Roald Dahl

English Pronounciation

We all know English is a pretty ridiculous language, but did you know how ridiculous it really is? The following poem was written by G. Nolst Trenité and it highlights perfectly the shocking rules and twists of the tongue which we call the English language.

Dearest creature in creation,
Study English pronunciation.
I will teach you in my verse
Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse.
I will keep you, Suzy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy.
Tear in eye, your dress will tear.
So shall I! Oh hear my prayer.
Just compare heart, beard, and heard,
Dies and diet, lord and word,
Sword and sward, retain and Britain.
(Mind the latter, how it’s written.)
Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as plaque and ague.
But be careful how you speak:
Say break and steak, but bleak and streak;
Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.
Hear me say, devoid of trickery,
Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore,
Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,
Exiles, similes, and reviles;
Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
Solar, mica, war and far;
One, anemone, Balmoral,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel;
Gertrude, German, wind and mind,
Scene, Melpomene, mankind.
Billet does not rhyme with ballet,
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
Blood and flood are not like food,
Nor is mould like should and would.
Viscous, viscount, load and broad,
Toward, to forward, to reward.
And your pronunciation’s OK
When you correctly say croquet,
Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive and live.
Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
And enamour rhyme with hammer.
River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb,
Doll and roll and some and home.
Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
Neither does devour with clangour.
Souls but foul, haunt but aunt,
Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant,
Shoes, goes, does. Now first say finger,
And then singer, ginger, linger,
Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.
Query does not rhyme with very,
Nor does fury sound like bury.
Dost, lost, post and doth, cloth, loth.
Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath.
Though the differences seem little,
We say actual but victual.
Refer does not rhyme with deafer.
Fe0ffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
Mint, pint, senate and sedate;
Dull, bull, and George ate late.
Scenic, Arabic, Pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific.
Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven.
We say hallowed, but allowed,
People, leopard, towed, but vowed.
Mark the differences, moreover,
Between mover, cover, clover;
Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
Chalice, but police and lice;
Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label.
Petal, panel, and canal,
Wait, surprise, plait, promise, pal.
Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
Senator, spectator, mayor.
Tour, but our and succour, four.
Gas, alas, and Arkansas.
Sea, idea, Korea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria.
Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean.
Doctrine, turpentine, marine.
Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion and battalion.
Sally with ally, yea, ye,
Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, and key.
Say aver, but ever, fever,
Neither, leisure, skein, deceiver.
Heron, granary, canary.
Crevice and device and aerie.
Face, but preface, not efface.
Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.
Large, but target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, out, joust and scour, scourging.
Ear, but earn and wear and tear
Do not rhyme with here but ere.
Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew Stephen,
Monkey, donkey, Turk and jerk,
Ask, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.
Pronunciation (think of Psyche!)
Is a paling stout and spikey?
Won’t it make you lose your wits,
Writing groats and saying grits?
It’s a dark abyss or tunnel:
Strewn with stones, stowed, solace, gunwale,
Islington and Isle of Wight,
Housewife, verdict and indict.
Finally, which rhymes with enough,
Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough?
Hiccough has the sound of cup.
My advice is to give up!!!

A Frenchman actually stated that he would rather serve 6 months of hard labour than read six lines of this poem out loud! If you can actually read this poem out clearly, without a mistake, you will be speaking English better than 90% of the world's native English speakers!

The Fasting and the Starving

Here is a beautiful poem written by a brother in faith. It is truly a tribute as to how little we suffer and how much we complain. Worth some pondering, especially as it is now Ramadan and we are experiencing a small part of the trials the poor face daily.   

The Fasting and the Starving

- Imran Ali

I awake in the morning,
From the warmth of my bed.
He sleeps not, due to hunger,
He has no tears to shed.

I descend my stairs,
Food I can smell.
He struggles to stand,
As he walks to the well.

I have so much to choose,
There is food to spare.
He gathers water with dirt,
And drinks without care.

I am full from my feast,
The rest goes to waste.
He ate nothing, drank filth,
He has nothing to taste.

I make my intention.
Then to prayer I stand.
There is no water left,
Instead he uses sand.

My stomach is full,
Satisfied, I sleep.
His stomach is empty,
In pain he weeps.

I awake later on,
My sleep, satisfactory.
He has not sleeped at all,
And now works in a factory.

I relax in my home,
With the leisures of the West.
From dawn 'till dusk,
He has no rest.

I read the Qur'aan,
And Hadiths of my Prophet.
He yearns for such knowledge,
But only works for a profit.

I enjoy the holidays,
Time away from school.
He would cherish education,
As it is Life's greatest tool.

The Sun is setting,
I help prepare the meal.
He returns from work, exhausted,
His fingers can no longer feel.

I break my fast with my family,
We complain how it was tough.
He shares a date with his Sister and Mother,
For now, it has to be enough.

I finish the banquet prepared,
Taking it all for granted.
He says "Shukran Alhamdulillah"
And thus his fast has ended.

Later I turn on the TV,
To see images of poverty.
He is monitored by patrolling cameras,
That come from a higher economy.

My screen then shows a boy,
I am told he is my age.
He stares into the camera,
Pondering deeply like a sage.

Our eyes now meet,
We stare at each other.
His eyes see through me,
Just like a brother.

In his eyes I see pain,
I see hunger and poverty.
In mine he can see hope,
A land of opportunity.

I realise that we are brothers,
We belong to one Ummah,
I hear words of my Nabi,
And the echoes of his Sunnah.

I whine when I am hungry,
I have not felt his hunger.
I cry when I am hurt,
Yet he has heard cries like thunder.

Tears stream down at his sight,
As his tears, in my heart, are carving.
Oh Allah, diminsh the difference between,
The Fasting and the Starving. 

Oh Captain! My Captain!

Today my sisters and I did our history class and the topic was Abraham Lincoln's assassination. As a part of our class we read a poem which was written shortly after Lincoln's death by a man called Walt Whitman. I really liked it as I believe it has a good rhythm. It is an abstract poem - Lincoln is the Captain and his ship is the United States.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up---for you the flag is flung---for you the bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths---for you the shores a-crowding,

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here Captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head!

Is it some dream that on the deck,

You've fallen cold and dead.

   My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,

The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;

Exult O shores, and ring O bells!

But I walk with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.