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SensoryCritters.com
is about children and adults with Autism and Sensory Processing Disorder. Our staff desires
to share Inspirational words with you, our hope is for you:
-
Thinking
deeper before speaking
... Lifting
your spirits when you are down
-
Bringing
peace to your heart, and or
Just
remind you of something or someone that could use these poems or
short stories to help them understand that people are unique but
equal and should be treated as such!
-
Please
remember as you read these poems and short stories that~
everyone
God brings into this world has a very special purpose and mission,
and just because someone is disabled, they still have the right to
dignity, respect, opportunities within our community, but most of
all our LOVE!
a
Open House ~ a
must read...
"Mama, look at my name tag! Isn't it pretty?"
Bright colorful swirls of pin wheels in and around her name in a
dizzy pattern.
"Mama see my reading book?
I'll read you a sentence." She proudly opened the book. The
sentence had seven words in it. She could only read the word "it".
"Oh well," she said with a self conscious laugh.
"Sometimes I cant read it."
"You did a fine job honey,"
I assured her. "Mama now look at my spelling folder. See all
those words I wrote?" Row after row of misspelled words marched
like drunken soldiers down the page. My eyes met her fathers.
"Did I do good," she chirped? "You did wonderful honey."
I felt sick in the pit of my stomach.
"And this is my story writing book," she said as she
triumphantly held up the red folder. Sentences ran in crooked paths
across the paper. Words were thrown like broken dolls across the
page. "Aren't I doing good, Mama?"
"Yes, honey I am so proud of you. What beautiful work you've
done there!"
"Oh wait I have one more," and she produces her Math
folder. We look at the backward numbers; the ones, fives and tens
columns overlapped in squiggly lines like old men's arthritic limbs
entangled in their walking canes.
"I see you're very good at math," her Daddy said his voice
husky with unshed tears. "Yep, I sure am," she said,
slapping the book shut in childish glee.
"Daddy, where are we going?" she asked. "We're going
to get you a treat," he says with his voice filled with love for
his baby girl. "Hurray," she shouts. "I'm the
queen."
We buy ice cream cones and raise them
to the roof of the car in a cheer for our little girl who did such a
good job in her schoolwork. I turn in my seat and touch my cone to
hers. She says, "I love you mama!" "I love you too
sweetheart." Mama turns as the tears roll down her cheeks. Daddy
reaches over and squeezes her hand in the darkness.
"Hey, you guys did see my name tag?" Yes, we saw
your name tag. It said Anna.
Anna has been struggling in
school all her life. She is nine years old and in the third grade.
She's reading at a first grade level. I had been begging my husband
for the past year to let me home school because the learning gap was
widening. My husband didn't see the need or the learning gap until
the night of the open house. But even then he wasn't willing to pull
her out of school. So I began to research every avenue I could
possibly think of.
Anna had a speech IEP for three years.
The beginning of her third grade year we lost the IEP. No matter how
hard we fought we couldn't get the school to restore services.
Finally, after much persistence on my part they tested her to see if
she was learning disabled. She was not. From that point on she was
left to struggle on her own in a third grade classroom of over 30
kids. She was considered a slow learner and as such was left behind
by the school system.
They call these children the shadow
children or the twilight kids. These are the kids that for whatever
reason cannot keep up with their peers and yet do not qualify for
any services through the school district. As a result they are
tracked through school until they either drop out of school or
graduate unable to read. I was determined this was not going to
happen to my daughter.
I worked furiously behind the scenes to
find out why my daughter wasn't learning. I felt like I a failure as
a parent. I practically lived in the principals office, begging them
to help my daughter. I became the parent voice on the Title 1
committee so I could see for myself if there was something for my
child. The only thing she qualified for was 20 minutes of extra
group reading a day.
I finally got her pediatrician to send
in a referral for testing at the hospital. It took four months for
that testing to be approved. Anna went in for a five hour testing
involving tests done by an occupational therapists, a physical
therapist, a psychiatrist, a pediatrician and a behavioral
therapist. After another two week wait we finally had our answer.
Anna was diagnosed with a sensory
disorder at the high end of all the charts! As a result she has
oppositional defiance disorder and mild ADD. Her balance and
coordination are that of a five year old. The open house took place
the last of September 2005. We didn't get the diagnosis of SID's
until February 2006. In the meantime Anna had been left in public
school where she continued to spiral downhill in every way.
Her behavior grew steadily worse. She
complained of dizziness and upset stomach. She complained that the
classroom activities were a roar in her head. She cried every
morning begging me not to send her. She chewed everything in sight
but her favorites were her hair and pen caps. She hated putting
clothes on. She would scream and tear her clothes off while I was
trying to dress her. Our days were filled with one meltdown after
another. Anna would hit and pinch her brother without provocation .
I was overwhelmed. It was with great relief that a diagnosis was
finally made.
Until her diagnosis I had never heard
of SID's. With the testing results in my hand I explained it all to
my husband. He thought the perfect compromise would be to home
school her in the morning and send her to public school in the
afternoons. We had heard of another district allowing these sort of
arrangements. Our school district said a definitive NO. So again we
were back to the planning table.
I finally called a private school and
told them my problem. They agreed to take Anna afternoons for the
remainder of the school year. In March of 2006 we pulled her out of
public school. It had been a long and bitter fight. Anna now studies
with me at home and spends her afternoons in a classroom with second
and third grade combined. There is a total of 11 students in her
room. This is working very well for us but we have no promise from
the school of next year. If we can't get her in half days in the
fall I will home school her full time.
Anna is now in neuro therapeutics
seeing an occupational therapist for an hour a week. She is on a
sensory diet which includes brushing every two hours followed by
deep pressure to the joints. She was also given a necklace with a
chewlry on the end. I was given calming exercises to do with her
when she becomes defiant. Anna is also in Tai Kwon Do twice a week.
I am happy to report that Anna is learning to read again and that I
now have a calmer and better behaved child. The road ahead is not
without bumps, but now, thanks to answered prayer and to all the
doctors and therapists who have worked closely with us, we have the
tools needed to get through the days ahead.
Signed, Mrs. Darling
Why Mild Matters...Written
by: Reianne Madigan, M.Ed.
When
the Early childhood Intervention Team in our district first
evaluated our son for Sensory Integration at age 2, I easily
accepted their conclusion that our son’s developmental delays
would naturally be overcome in time. They told us that any
sensory issues that our son presented could be addressed under
our care. They provided a list of activities that we could do
with our son. For the first year, the list seemed to be working.
Back then I did not understand the true nature of this disorder.
What I failed to see was the Sensory Integration Disorder, still
lurking just beneath the surface, eating away at our son's
confidence, too subtle to really make a grand entrance when it
arrived in its unpredictable way. I have found this to be the
true nature of this disorder. Sensory Integration Disorder can
be predictably inconsistent, fickle in its presence and absence,
and in its manifestation.
About 5 months into preschool our son started to have intense
emotional responses when facing challenges. He grew frustrated
more easily and he started to say that he hated himself. I
remember thinking, “How can my little boy hate himself?” What
had I missed?
My son could not climb as fast as his friends. He was afraid to
swing too high “because he would fly into the sun”. He did not
like to ride his bike too fast because the ground “seemed to far
away” and he might “crash into it”. He had a hard time finding
the all the words he knew were in his brain but didn’t seem to
come to him when he wanted them to. Socially, our son would be
inconsolable when one of his friends withdrew their friendship
and said “You’re not my friend anymore”. My son was spirally
downhill fast. I remember watching what looked to be all these
peculiarities that did not seem to add up to a major problem
individually but collectively, they seemed formidable. Then I
read “The Out of Sync Child” and it all became clear. Behavior
that seemed to be out of the blue was really the manifestation
of untreated sensory integration disorder coming to a head.
Within weeks I brought our son for a full developmental
assessment. This revealed mild sensory integration disorder. Our
son began OT, speech and PT twice a week. After meeting with his
sensory certified OT for the second time, our son waved good bye
to him as we were leaving. After a few steps toward the exit, my
son stopped abruptly, turned and sprinted, arms outstretched,
into the arms of his OT. “Thank you,” he said. An innocent
gesture said so much about how our son was feeling.
After only a few months into therapy, our son changed. My
husband and I began to incorporate a sensory diet into his days
and worked on his speech and helped him to exercise in ways that
would increase balance and bilateral coordination. Our son grew
more confident and self assured with each week, month and year.
Now, he is five years old and is beginning to learn to find his
own ways to accommodate his needs.
Having had this experience with mild sensory integration, I am
in a unique position. Our son's days are not ordinarily plagued
by dramatic displays of sensory regulation problems. He follows
a sensory diet that fits the needs of a child with Mild Sensory
Integration Disorder. Subtle means subtle not simple or less
severe. Raising a child with Mild Sensory Integration means
walking a fine line for me when advocating for my child’s needs.
Finding creative ways for others to be able to relate to my son,
who seems fine much of the time, but not all of the time,
continues to be the hardest challenge. At times our son needs
accommodations to help him learn. At other times he doesn’t.
This does not fit the typical profile of a special needs child
nor does it fit the school’s established profile of a special
education student.
Schools have procedures set up specifically for special
education children in their schools. When a child needs less,
you may have to learn how to fight creatively. I am learning to
become more comfortable being a squeaky wheel. I advocate with a
sense of diplomacy and entitlement. When I am tempted to take a
step back because I hear how well my son is doing and look how
far he has come, I take a moment to be thankful for the truth in
these words. Then I gently remind myself that my son is doing
well because of everything that we have in place to help him: a
good daily sensory diet, a routine, an understanding of his
limitations, and an appreciation for the gifts that he does
possess.
The most important lesson that I have learned as a parent of a
child with mild Sensory Integration Disorder is that mild
matters. Any degree of SID needs to be addressed. Untreated
Sensory Integration Disorder hurts, regardless of severity. It
steals what is most important to a child, a sense of well being.
back to top
Thoughts of a Mom
Many
of you I have never even met face to face, but I've searched you out
every day. I've looked for you on the Internet, on playgrounds and in
grocery stores. I've become an expert at identifying you. You are
well-worn. You are stronger than you ever wanted to be. Your words ring
experience, experience you culled with your very heart and soul. You are
compassionate beyond the expectations of this world.
You're
my "sisters." Yes, you and I, my friend, are sisters in a sorority. A
very elite sorority. We are special. Just like any other sorority, we
were chosen to be members. Some of us were invited to join immediately,
some not for months or even years. Some of us even tried to refuse
membership, but to no avail. We were initiated in neurologist's offices
and NICU units, in obstetrician's offices, in emergency rooms and during
ultrasounds. We were initiated with somber telephone calls,
consultations, evaluations, blood tests, x-rays, MRI films and heart
surgeries.
All
of us have one thing in common. One day things were fine. We were
pregnant, or we had just given birth, or we were nursing our newborn, or
we were playing with our toddler. Yes, one minute everything was fine.
Then, whether it happened in an instant, as it often does, or over the
course of a few weeks or months, our entire lives changes. Something
wasn't quite right. Then we found ourselves mothers of children with
special needs.
We
are united, we sisters, regardless of the diversity of our children's
special needs. Some of our children undergo chemotherapy. Some need
respirators and ventilators. Some are unable to talk, some are unable to
walk. Some eat through feeding tubes. Some live in a different world. We
do not discriminate against those mothers whose children's needs are not
as "special" as our child's. We have mutual respect and empathy for all
the women who walk in our shoes.
We
are knowledgeable. We have educated ourselves with whatever materials we
could find. We know "the" specialists in the field. We know "the"
neurologists, "the" hospitals, "the" wonder drugs, "the" treatments. We
know "the" tests that need to be done, we know "the" degenerative and
progressive diseases and we hold our breath while our children are
tested for them. Without formal education, we could become board
certified in neurology, endocrinology and psychiatry.
We
have taken on our insurance companies and school boards to get what our
children need to survive, and to flourish. We have prevailed upon the
State to include augmentative communication devices in special education
classes and mainstream schools for our children with cerebral palsy. We
have labored to prove the insurance companies the medical necessity
of gait trainers and other adaptive equipment for our children with
spinal cord defects. We have sued municipalities to have our
children properly classified so they could receive education and
evaluation commensurate with their diagnosis.
We
have learned to deal with the rest of the world, even if it means
walking
away from it. We have tolerated scorn in supermarkets during "tantrums"
and
gritted our teeth while discipline was advocated by the person behind us
in line. We have tolerated inane suggestions and home remedies from
well-meaning strangers.
We
have tolerated mothers of children without special needs complaining
about chicken pox and ear infections. We have learned that many of our
closest friends can't understand what it's like to be in our sorority,
and don't even want to try.
We
have our own personal copies of Emily Perl Kingsley's "A trip to
Holland" and Erma Bombeck's "The Special Mother". We keep them by our
bedside and read and re read them during our toughest hours.
We
have coped with holidays. We have found ways to get our physically
handicapped children to the neighbors' front door on Halloween, and we
have
found ways to help our deaf children form words, "trick or treat". We
have accepted that our children with sensory dysfunction will never wear
velvet or lace on Christmas. We have painted a canvas of lights and a
blazing Yule log with our words for our blind children. We have pureed
turkey on Thanksgiving. We have bought white chocolate bunnies for
Easter. And all the while, we have tried to create a festive atmosphere
for the rest of our family.
We've
gotten up every morning since our journey began wondering how we'd
make it through another day, and gone to bed every evening not sure how
we
did it.
We've
mourned the fact that we never got to relax and sip red wine in Italy.
We've
mourned the fact that our trip to Holland has required much more
baggage than we ever imagined when we first visited the travel agent.
And
we've mourned
because we left the airport without most of the things we needed for the
trip.
But
we, sisters, we keep the faith always. We never stop believing. Our love
for our special children and our belief in all that they will achieve in
like knows no bounds. We dream of them scoring touchdowns and extra
points and home runs. We visualize them running sprints and marathons.
We dream of them planting vegetable seeds, riding horses and chopping
down trees. We hear their angelic voices singing Christmas carols. We
see their palettes smeared with watercolors, and their fingers flying
over ivory keys in a concert hall. We are amazed at the grace of their
pirouettes. We never, never stop believing in all they will accomplish
as they pass through this world.
But
in the meantime, my sisters, the most important thing we do, is hold
tight to their little hands and together, we special mothers and our
special children, reach for the stars.
back to top
Autism on my mind
I found
your baby book the other day, Such a beautiful perfect boy.
Such a blissful time, Not a worry, Only Joy.
How I long for the innocence, Before Autism.
The feeling of being on top of the world, Holding perfection in
my arms.
Dreaming of infinite possibilities, Of everything I will teach.
Dreaming of all the games we will play, All the long walks we
will take.
I still dream of these things, But the things I teach,
Games we
play & walks we take,
Or not without worry or care. My thoughts swim with Autism. What
else can I do?
What if…….Then what? You are still my perfect boy.
I still love your smile, And the smell of your hair.
And the beauty of your spirit. Even with Autism. Mom
back to top
CLICK, CLICK, CLICK
by
Pauline
Fraser
We
ducked into the dimly lit thrift shop to get out of the
rain. Like so many things since our daughter's birth, I
hadn't planned on a trip to this place.
But
I figured we'd see what they had since we were there.
"Hi,
today is stuff a bag day. Would you like one?" the clerk
asked.
"What
is stuff a bag day?"
"You
take a bag and stuff it with what ever you want and it's
only $3. Best deal in town."
"Okay,
sounds great," I said, despite the fact I hadn't planned
on buying anything. I took my six-year-old daughter's
hand and we started to wander around. Suddenly there was
a tug on my hand and my attention was being directed to
the shoe section. She shares my weakness for shoes, so
we stopped for a minute to look. I let go of her hand
and she reached out to touch a pair of shiny black shoes
with a strap and silver buckle.
"Buy
me?"
she inquires.
"Oh,
Sweetie, they are tap shoes. You aren't taking tap."
"Buy
me?"
she
repeats.
"Well,
let's try them on."
She
sits on the floor and removes her bright pink rain
boots, with Barbie on the sides, and easily slides the
new shoes on. A perfect fit. When she stands up she
hears "click."
She
takes a step.
Click,
click.
Slowly
recognition dawns, as she makes the connection between
the shoes and her moving feet.
Click,
click,
click
"Buy
me?" with a hopeful look in her eyes. Again, "Buy me,
peas?"
"Okay
Sweetie, take them off and put them in the bag."
We
look around some more and get a few t-shirts, pants,
books and games and a naked baby doll. Well, it's stuff
a bag day -- might as well get my money's worth, I think
to myself. The sun has come back out as we emerge from
our little side trip and we continue on our way. As we
near the car, Amara reaches for the bag. As she climbs
into the back seat, I give her the bag wondering what
treasure she is looking for. The shoes, of course. She
is my daughter after all.
"My
wear."
It's
not a question, so I took the tag off and helped her
with the buckle. Our next stop was the grocery store and
these shoes were made to make noise, especially on my
little girl's feet. This could be interesting...
Click,
click,
click--
people turn to look as we enter the store.
Click,
click,
click.
I can feel the disapproving stares of the proper people.
People who would never allow their daughter to wear tap
shoes to the grocery store. I hold my head up with
pride. The click, click, click is music to my ears.
"Excuse
me dear. Is your daughter in tap this year?"
"No".
"Well
why on earth would you allow her to wear tap shoes,
here, of all places? They make such a noise." "Yes,
isn't it wonderful?" "Wonderful? My dear, this is not
the place to wear those shoes." "Oh, I think this is the
perfect place to wear them. You see she asked for them."
"Just because she asked for them, doesn't mean you have
to get them for her."
"You
don't understand," I said. "When she was a baby, we were
told she would never walk or talk. It has taken a lot of
hard work and patience but she ASKED for the shoes and
the click, click, click says that she CAN walk."
My
daughter, the one who never stays still, or quiet, will
graduate from grade twelve next year. It has not always
been easy, but it has all been worthwhile. She has
taught me that it doesn't matter what others think. They
don't walk in your shoes. And just like the ladies in
the purple hats, sometimes you simply have to wear tap
shoes to the grocery store -- if for nothing else, just
for the sheer joy of hearing the click, click, click.
Pauline is married with three children, including a
daughter with autism. She was born in
Nova
Scotia, and now lives in British Columbia, Canada.
back to top
|
THE BEATITUDES
-For Friends of Exceptional Children
Blessed are you who take time to listen to difficult speech:
For you help us to know that if we persevere,
We can be understood.
Blessed are you who walk with us in public places,
And ignore the stares of strangers,
For in your companionship,
We find havens of peace.
Blessed are you who never bid us to "hurry up",
And more blessed are you
Who do not snatch tasks from our hands to do them for us,
For often we need time rather than help.
Blessed are you who stand beside us
As we enter new and untried ventures,
For our failures will be outweighed
By the times we surprise ourselves and you.
Blessed are you who ask for our help,
For our greatest need is to be needed.
Blessed are you when you assure us,
That the one thing that makes us individuals
Is not in our peculiar muscles,
Nor in our wounded nervous systems,
Nor in our difficulties in learning,
Nor any exterior difference.
But is in our inner, personal, individual self
Which no infirmity can diminish or erase.
"Expect people to be better than they are,
It helps them to become better.
But don't be disappointed when they are not;
It helps them to keep trying."
--- Merry Browne
back to top
The Cost of
Raising a Child and the Rewards of doing so...
The
government recently calculated the cost of raising a child from birth to
18 and came up with $160,140 for a middle income family. Talk about
sticker shock! That doesn't even touch college tuition. Of course, this
does Not Include Therapies, Medicine, Special Equipment, Respite, you
can double or triple the cost - but the rewards ..... they are our
children. We love them Unconditionally - there is no price because
our children are Priceless to us.
But
$160,140 isn't so bad if you break it down.
It
translates into:
* $8,896.66
a year,
* $741.38
a month, or
* $171.08
a week.
* That's
a mere $24.24 a day!
* Just
over a dollar an hour.
What
do you get for your $160,140?
* Naming
rights. First, middle, and last!
* Glimpses
of God every day.
* Giggles
under the covers every night.
* More
love than your heart can hold.
* Butterfly
kisses and Velcro hugs.
* Endless
wonder over rocks, ants, clouds, and warm cookies.
* A
hand to hold, usually covered with jelly or chocolate.
* A
partner for blowing bubbles, flying kites
* Someone
to laugh yourself silly with, no matter what the boss said or how your
stocks performed that day.
For
$160,140, you never have to grow up. You get to:
* finger-paint,
* carve
pumpkins,
* play
hide-and-seek,
* catch
lightning bugs, and
* never
stop believing in Santa Claus.
You
have an excuse to:
* keep
reading the Adventures of Piglet and Pooh,
* watching
Saturday morning cartoons,
* going
to Disney movies, and
* wishing
on stars.
* You
get to frame rainbows, hearts, and flowers under refrigerator magnets
and collect spray painted noodle wreaths for Christmas, hand prints set
in clay for Mother's Day, and cards with backward letters for Father's
Day.
For
$160,140, there is no greater bang for your buck. You get to be a hero
just for:
* retrieving
a Frisbee off the garage roof,
* taking
the training wheels off a bike,
* removing
a splinter,
* filling
a wading pool,
* coaxing
a wad of gum out of bangs, and coaching a baseball team that never wins
but always gets treated to ice cream regardless.
You
get a front row seat to history to witness the:
* first
step,
* first
word,
* first
bra,
* first
date, and
* first
time behind the wheel.
You
get to be immortal.
You
get another branch added to! your family tree, and if you're lucky, a
long list of limbs in your obituary called grandchildren and great
grandchildren.
You
get an education in psychology, nursing, criminal justice,
communications, and human sexuality that no college can match.
In
the eyes of a child, you rank right up there under God.
You
have all the power to heal a boo-boo, scare away the monsters under the
bed, patch a broken heart, police a slumber party, ground them forever,
and love them without limits,
So
. . one day they will like you, love without counting the cost.
That
is quite a deal for the price!!!!!!!
And,
you get to do it all over again with your grandchildren.
If you take care of yourself, you might even get to stick a "great" in
there too!
Love & enjoy your children
& grandchildren!!!
back to top
MAKING PANCAKES
Six -year-old Brandon decided one Saturday morning to fix his parents pancakes He found a big bowl and
spoon, pulled a chair to the counter, opened the cupboard and pulled out
the heavy flour canister, spilling it on the floor.
He scooped some of the flour into the bowl with
his hands, mixed in most of a cup of milk and added
some sugar, leaving a floury trail on the floor which by now had a few
tracks left by his kitten.
Brandon was covered with flour and getting
frustrated He wanted this to be something very good for Mom
and Dad, but it was getting very bad.
He didn't know what to do next, whether to put
it all into the oven or on the stove and he didn't know
how the stove worked!
Suddenly he saw his kitten licking from the bowl of
mix and reached to
push her away, knocking the egg carton to the floor.
Frantically he
tried to clean up this monumental mess but slipped
on the eggs, getting his pajamas white and sticky.
And just then he saw Dad standing at the door
Big crocodile tears
welled up in Brandon's eyes. All he'd wanted to do
was something
good, but he'd made a terrible mess. He
was sure a scolding was coming, maybe even a spanking. But his father just
watched him.
Then, walking through the mess, he picked up his
crying son,
hugged him and loved him, getting his own pajamas
white and
sticky in the process!
That's how God deals with us. We try to do something
good in life, but it turns into a mess. Our marriage gets
all sticky or we insult a friend, or
we can't stand our job, or
our health goes sour.
Sometimes we just stand there in tears because we
can't think of anything else to do. That's when God picks
us up and loves us and
forgives us, even though some of our
mess gets all over Him.
But just because we might mess up, we can't stop
trying
to "make pancakes" for God or for others. Sooner or
later we'll
get it right, and then they'll be glad we tried...
I
was thinking... and I wondered if I had any
wounds needing to be healed, friendships that need
rekindling or three words needing to be said, sometimes, "I love you" can heal
& bless! Remind every one of your friends that you love them. Even
if you think they don't love back, you would be amazed at what those
three little words, a smile, and a reminder like this can do.
back to top
A Dads Poem
Her hair was up in a pony tail, her
favorite dress tied with a bow. Today was Daddy's Day at school, and
she couldn't wait to go. But her mommy tried to tell her, that she
probably should stay home. Why the kids might not understand, if she
went to school alone. But she was not afraid; she knew just what to
say. What to tell her classmates of why he wasn't there today. But
still her mother worried, for her to face this day alone. And that
was why once again, she tried to keep her daughter home. But the
little girl went to school eager to tell them all. About a dad she
never sees a dad who never calls. There were daddies along the wall
in back, for everyone to meet. Children squirming impatiently,
anxious in their seats. One by one the teacher called a student from
the class. To introduce their daddy, as seconds slowly passed. At
last the teacher called her name, every child turned to stare. each
of them was searching, for a man who wasn't there. "Where's her
daddy at?" she heard a boy call out. "She probably doesn't have
one," another student dared to shout. And from somewhere near the
back, she heard a daddy say, "Looks like another deadbeat dad, too
busy to waste his day." The words did not offend her, she smiled up
at her Mom. and looked back at her teacher, who told her to go on.
And with hands behind her back, slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of a child, came words incredibly unique. "My
Daddy couldn't be here, because he lives so far away. But I know he
wishes he could be, since this is such a special day. And though you
cannot meet him, I wanted you to know.
All about my daddy, and how much he loves me so. He loved to tell me
stories he taught me to ride my bike. He surprised me with pink
roses, and taught me to fly a kite. We used to share fudge sundaes,
and ice cream in a cone. And though you cannot see him. I'm not
standing here alone. Cause my daddy's always with me, even though we
are apart I know because he told me, he'll forever be in my heart"
With that, her little hand reached up, and lay across her chest.
Feeling her own heartbeat, beneath her favorite dress. And from
somewhere in the crowd of dads, her mother stood in tears.
Proudly watching her daughter, who was wise beyond her years. For
she stood up for the love of a man not in her life. Doing what was
best for her, doing what was right.
And when she dropped her hand back down, staring straight into the
crowd. She finished with a voice so soft, but its message clear and
loud.
"I
love my daddy very much, he's my shining star. And if he could,
he'd be here,
but heaven's just too far. You see he was a fireman and died the
other year. When airplanes hit the towers and taught Americans to
fear. But sometimes when I close my eyes, it's like he never went
away." And then she closed her eyes, and saw him there that day. And
to her mothers amazement, she witnessed with surprise. A room full
of daddies and children, all starting to close their eyes. Who knows
what they saw before them, who knows what they felt inside. Perhaps
for merely a second, they saw him at her side. "I know you're with
me Daddy," to the silence she called out. And what happened next
made believers, of those once filled with doubt. Not one in that
room could explain it, for each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the
desk beside her, was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose. And a child
was blessed, if only for a moment, by the love of her shining star.
And given the gift of believing, that heaven is never too far.
They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to
appreciate them, a day to love them, but then an entire life to
forget them.
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"...Your child might
have an IEP"
In talking with families, many seemed confused about whether their
child had an IEP through the school. To assist families in
determining whether their child has an IEP, we felt it would be
helpful to apply the Jeff Foxworthy test:
If
you have ever attended a meeting at
school with 25 professionals... your child might have an IEP.
If
you are the only one wearing jeans.... your child might have an IEP.
If
these professionals speak a different language.... your child might
have an IEP.
If
the meeting room was the size of a closet... your child might have
an IEP.
If
you have ever been asked, "do you think
your child is the only one in the district?"...your child might have
an IEP.
If
you have ever heard, "we do not have money for that!"... your child
might have an IEP.
If
you have ever been called an "overprotective, hysterical parent" or
an "uninvolved parent"... your child might have an IEP.
If
you have ever been told your child "will just grow out of it," "is
lazy," "slow," irresponsible," "immature and/or sensitive," etc.,
etc... your child might have an IEP.
If
you feel you have walked into "Assertiveness Training 101" by
accident...your child might have an IEP.
If
you have ever been screamed at by a school official...your child
might have an IEP.
If
you have ever been told your child will be lucky to grow up and dig
ditches...your child might have an IEP.
If
it has ever been suggested to move to another district...your child
might have an IEP.
If
you have ever been invited to home school your child... your child
might have an IEP.
If
you have ever called the school and
asked for your child and were told "we do not have anyone here by
that name..." your child might have an IEP.
If
your family is ever discussed in the teachers lounge... your child
might have an IEP.
If
every time you call the school board office, the person you need to
talk to is in a meeting...you might have an IEP.
If
a meeting with the school has ever been
rescheduled more than twice to the time you definitely can not
come...your child might have an IEP.
If
you have ever been patted on the
shoulder and called "honey" by the principal...your child might have
an IEP.
If
it has ever been suggested all your child needs is "more discipline
to straighten him/her up..." or that your child is "being
manipulative" .. your child might have an IEP.
If
you have been asked by a teacher to "just sign it!"... your child
definitely has an IEP...
If
you have ever been called Ms./Mr. White something... your child might
have an IEP.
If
you know your advocate's phone and fax number by heart...your child
might have an IEP.
If
you have ever been forced into due process, state court, the
district court of appeals, federal court, or the federal circuit
court on a fast track to the U.S. Supreme Court... your child might
have an IEP.
If
you are known as a due process queen... your child might have an IEP.
If
you can quote federal statutes in your sleep...your child might have
an IEP.
If
you have ever requested your child's records and it took two years
to receive them...your child might have an IEP.
If
you have ever been told, the district
doesn't care if you sign the IEP or not, services have ceased...your
child might have an IEP.
If
you have crossed out the words "Procedural Safeguards" on your copy
and written in "Procedural Land Mines"... I know I have...then your
child definitely has an IEP...for what it's worth.
If
a new teacher went to pull your child's cumulative records and had
to make two trips to get it . your child might have an IEP.
If
you've been through a Due Process and
[enter the state legal head here] knows you by name . your child
might have an IEP.
If
you sign all your letters, " I look forward to your written response
on or before ten (10) business days" ... your child might have an
IEP.
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We are Alike, the
Same...
I
am just a small face; in this world we call our own.
I
am just a fragile voice, left in my world all along.
I
care deeply,
I
love deeply,
I
am the same,
but more different then
you,
I
am a child with Autism, a heart so pure and true.
I
am not contagious; don’t be scared to come close.
Just your love and attention, that’s what
I crave the most.
I
am not unintelligent;
I
just act differently then you.
It’s not that
I don’t
understand,
I see things from a different point of view’
I may throw my fits, only because
I don’t know what to say.
So, please don’t
point and stare,
I
never asked to be this way. No one understands,
I fear to be
alone.
So, please show me the compassion
I
desire or my
potential is left unknown.
I
am human,
I
am brave,
Understanding and
acceptance to know that
I
belong,
everything
I
crave.
My intentions so
innocent and pure,
so why must
I
live with this constant frustration, forever to endure.
Search in your heart and see that
I
am more like you,
It’s not what you say,
but how you act on what you do.
I
fear,
I
cry,
I
live life everyday and
I
never ask why.
So please don’t laugh at me or
call me hurtful names,
I am not that different from you,
we are more
alike, the same. (Author unknown)
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Would you have made
the same choice?
Please
remember as you read this -That everything God brings into this
world has a very special purpose and mission, and just because someone
is disabled. They still have the right to dignity, respect,
opportunities
within our community, but most of all our LOVE!
What
would
you
do?
You
make the choice.
Don't
look for a punch line.
There
isn't one.
My question to all of you is:
Would you have made the same choice? At a
fundraising dinner for a school that serves learning disabled children,
the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be
forgotten by all who attended.
After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a
question.
"When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does
is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other
children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is
the natural order of things in my son?"
The audience was stilled by the query.
The father continued. "I believe, that when a child like Shay comes into
the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself,
and it comes, in the way other people treat that child."
Then he told the following story:
Shay and his father had walked past a
park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball.
Shay asked, "Do you think they'll let me play?"
Shay's father knew that most of the boys would not want someone like
Shay on their team, but the father also understood that if his son were
allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging.
Shay's father approached one of the boys on the field and asked if Shay
could play.
The boy looked around for guidance and, getting none, he took matters
into his own hands and said, "We're losing by six runs and the game is
in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put
him in to bat in the ninth inning."
In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but
was still behind by three.
In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the
outfield.
Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be
in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father waved to him from the stands.
In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with
two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.
At this juncture, let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the
game?
Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all
but impossible 'cause Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat
properly, much less connect with the ball.
However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher moved in a few
steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least be able to make
contact.
The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher
again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay.
As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball
right back to the pitcher.
The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown
the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would
have been the end of the game.
Instead, the pitcher took the ball and turned and threw the ball on a
high arc to right field, far beyond the reach of the first baseman.
Everyone started yelling, "Shay, run to first! Run to first!! "
Never in his life had Shay ever made it to first base. He scampered
down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.
Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second!" By the time Shay
rounded first base, the right fielder had the ball. He could have thrown
the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the
pitcher's intentions and intentionally threw the ball high and far over
the third-baseman's head. Shay ran toward second base as the runners
ahead of him deliriously circled the bases toward home.
Shay reached second base, the opposing shortstop ran to him, turned him
in the direction of third base, and shouted, "Run to third!" As Shay
rounded third, the boys from both teams were screaming, "Shay, run
home!" Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the
hero who hit the "grand slam" and won the game for his team.
"That day,"
said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, the boys
from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this
world."
AND, NOW A LITTLE FOOTNOTE TO THIS STORY:
We all send thousands of jokes through the e-mail without a second
thought, but when it comes to sending messages about life choices,
people think twice about sharing.
The crude, vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace,
but public discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our
schools and workplaces.
If you're thinking about forwarding this page, chances are that you're
probably sorting out the people on your address list that aren't the
"appropriate" ones to receive this type of message.
Well, the person who sent you this website to look at - believes that we
all can make a difference. We all have thousands of opportunities every
single day to help realize the "natural order of things." So many
seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a
choice:
Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up
that opportunity, and leave the world a little bit colder in the
process?
You now have two choices:
1. Forward this page to your friends that you care about or
2. Forget that you saw it.
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7 Reasons
Not To Mess With Children
A little girl was
talking to her teacher about whales. The teacher said it was physically
impossible for a whale to swallow a human because even though it was a
very large mammal its throat was very
small.
The little girl stated that Jonah was swallowed by a whale.
Irritated, the teacher reiterated that a whale could not sw |
