Funkonovo/Allison's autism Blog

Purple and red were the colors I chose the day the classical music played through an old, slightly warped and scratchy sounding record player. Peaks and valleys gave way to holes in the paper made by too much pressure from my hands. Us six-year-olds were asked to draw how we "saw" the music. Sight wasn't the first sense that came to mind. It was my hearing. I used the crayons to illustrate the stabbing pain I felt physically in my ears that wound up in my shutting down, hands over my ears and face down on the desk, near tears. I had a kind first grade teacher who had something many other teachers lacked: common sense. She genuinely cared for her students. Noting my condition, she asked to see my paper. "Oh my!" she said, asking for the paper. She later called my parents, not to complain, but to tell them that something was wrong and that she was concerned. The matter wasn't discussed further. I wasn't blamed or shamed by my teacher or parents. If ...

Early Years Back in 1979, there was no DSM IV. There was no Asperger’s diagnosis. There were no support groups for parents. No early intervention. After all, how can anyone intervene into something that does not yet “exist”? My mother used to tell the story of playing “Music Box Dancer”, a loud & lively tune, on the organ. She was 6 months along with me. As she played, she began to feel and see violent kicking in her womb. She called my dad into the room. When she asked him what he thought, he abruptly answered, “Stop playing!” My mom, very concerned, read an article in a magazine that mentioned the “difficult child”. This was a child who was hyper-intense to their environment from day one. It was hypothesized that the problem would solve it self by the time the child was about 5 years old. This obviously was not the case, and my mom thought so after reading the article. The rest of my story more than proves the point. I was born to older parents. My dad was 52 and my mom was...