Back to School Guide for Autism

Tender Mama,

Forever Father.

I know how nervous you are to begin this new school year. 

I know because I was you. 

I know because I am you. 

The days are still warm and bright, but the sun shines a little differently now. The air is tinged with change as summer comes to a close. 

The start of school often feels shiny and new—all sharp pencils and fresh haircuts.

For me, it was also charged with anxiety. I often felt nervous and restless.

You see, I am an Autism Mama. And the first day of school meant starting a new schedule with a new teacher. It meant introducing my son Jack all over again.

It brings up a lot of memories.

Not memories, exactly—more like a collection of snapshots vivid with color. 

A yellow school bus pulling away. 

Upturned faces in a stuffy conference room.

Paperwork beneath my fingertips.

The inclination is to curl around our kids—all mother shell and father armor.

I did it myself.

For years I thought I was the only one who could teach him how to wait, how to learn, how to eat, how to slide down the slide.

Slowly, I began to let go.

It was some of the hardest work I have ever known. 

It was like cupping a baby bird in the palm of my hand. I hoped the world would be gentle. I hoped others would understand my complicated son.

Jack is eighteen now. 

Two months ago, he left for a college program.

Dropping him off, I felt like I was leaving my entire heart on the doorstep.

I was flooded with uncertainty. Once again, I longed to curl around this baby bird of mine, all awkward feathers and young heart.

I dropped him off with a team of people he’d never met.

We left him an unfamiliar room, in a city he didn’t know.

A few weeks later, he sent me a picture.

He was on a Ferris Wheel.

If I’d asked him to go on a Ferris Wheel, he would have shrieked at me.

He would have flat-out refused. 

He would have insisted on sitting in his room and listening to the same song on repeat.

But his team suggested an outing. They described the carnival. Together, they waited for the ride.

Maybe it’s nothing. To me, it’s everything.

You see, the pears and the line and the slide are building blocks. They are the foundation beneath a house of possibility.

We have to let others do what they’re best at doing.

This will challenge you.

People will doubt you.

You will doubt yourself.

Don’t.

Turn all the doubt and criticism into your own personal fire. 

Teach him to reach.

Teach him to reach for all that is rightfully his.

Then stand back, and open your hands to the bright blue sky.

I know you are nervous. 

I know because I was you.

I am you.

I root for you.

I root for all of us.

Never underestimate the power of others alongside our journey in life. That is what I am trying to say here. They are the unsung heroes. 

Sometimes they are the space between a long line and a ride above the clouds.

“Mom. We went so high.”

Tender Mama.

Forever Father.

Breathe. 

It’s going to be a great year. 

My son rode a Ferris Wheel.