Washington Post article about autism & employment

[Guest guest]

from ASI forwarded this Washington Post piece (reprinted

below) & thought it contained an important message to share with our

families -- question is, what message will we each choose to take

from this? It would be easy to read this and just get depressed or

think 'my child will NEVER work, why even try?' How I'm choosing to

read the message is this: No one ever said helping our kids find

community employment was going to be easy--and I need to prepare

myslef for a tough journey with lots of potential potholes along the

way.

I agree with the writer, that, yes, people like she and her son are

paving the way for those of us with younger kids. But doesn't she

sound all alone without much if any support from other parents or

professionals? Hopefully those of us who are connected now thru

IPADD can support one another, cheer or console or empathize

(whichever applies at the time) as well as celebrate and share the

good times! As Cindi has previously said about places of faith being

a 'soft place to fall' perhaps we parents and professionals on IPADD

can be that for each other? Please read the article and then post

your reactions if you have some for the group. Here it is:

Willing to work

Who will hire the autistic?

Consider millions of unemployable

By ANN BAUER

My 18-year-old son shambles. There's no other word for it. He

walks like an old man: scraping the soles of his feet on the floor,

tilting his head to one side and tucking it into the space between

his neck and shoulder.

What's more, he's mammoth. At 6-foot-3, he towers over nearly

everyone he meets. Because of a penchant for sugary coffee drinks

and Qdoba's 3-Cheese Nachos with grilled sirloin, which he buys with

the money his grandparents send him, he weighs around 250 pounds.

But these are the least of my worries.

Today, what I fret about most is the fact that after two years of

submitting applications, taking tests and interviewing, he cannot

get a job.

has autism. He was nonverbal from age 4 until 6; he speaks

now, but only with effort. He's also one of the most acute,

sensitive young men I've ever known. He is superb at math and chess,

weak in the literary arts. Lost when it comes to anything social,

from dinner-table conversation to romance. Mostly, he just flashes a

persistent, crooked smile.

Above all, he's eerily, compulsively responsible. I was a single

mother for five years, and when I left the house, I put him in

charge. I would come back to a spotless kitchen and a pile of

laundered and folded clothes on my bed.

When he was 16, I told him it was time to get a part-time job. I

took him first to the coffeehouse where I wrote each morning,

introduced him to the manager and took my usual table. But even from

a distance, I could see things weren't going well. The " interview "

took three minutes, ending abruptly when the manager offered

a cup of coffee and my son ever conscious of the rules insisted

on paying for it, fumbling with his wallet and spilling coins all

over the floor.

I switched coffeehouses and tactics. Next, I took to

Target, known for working with disabled people. Only there's a

catch: I was told that their policy was to employ " visibly

handicapped " workers. People in wheelchairs qualify, as do those

with Down syndrome. My son, with his eccentricities and halting

speech, does not. What's more, Target administers a computerized

psychological screening test designed to eliminate people on the

outer edges of the bell curve. People like .

Many companies that hire hourly workers now use this method to

winnow the candidate pool, with questions such as " What do you think

is the most important quality in a friend? " At 17, my son had never

made a friend. This was the source of his disability. He had no idea

how to answer.

Perhaps, I decided, a " starter " job would give him experience and

ease him into working. So I called a local nursing home that was

only too happy to have him volunteer. Twice a week, spent his

afternoons visiting elderly people and trundling a library cart from

room to room. The residents grew to rely on him. He was unfailingly

patient and kind.

Yet when a job came open in dining services, for someone to take

meals to bed-bound residents, he was turned down, the volunteer

coordinator told me, because the hiring manager thought him odd.

Recently, I married a wonderful man whose belief in rivals

mine. " But he's so smart and responsible, " said the new stepfather

when I explained our now 2-year-old predicament. " Don't worry. We'll

find him a job. "

He had a friend, a second-shift factory supervisor, willing to

coach a very timid new hire. Everything had been arranged: The high

school attends scheduled him for morning classes and work-

study in the afternoon; I'd given a car and even coaxed him

into getting a haircut. The first order of business was to go to the

employment agency that handled the factory's paperwork, take a

simple math test and fill out a W-9. aced the test, completed

the forms he was handed and was told he'd be on staff within a week.

Then my husband's friend called, his voice breaking with

frustration. He couldn't hire , after all; the agency refused

to process the application. One screener there was uncomfortable

with my son: She had called him, he apologized before saying the

words, " a potential liability. "

Several people have told us that this, finally, is an actionable

offense. We could go after the agency for discrimination. But to

what end?

Legal action wouldn't get , now nearly 19, working. What it

would do is force him to defend himself in court, this young man

who's still reluctant to speak at school.

My son is one of many: Sometime in the next decade, the Autism

Society of America estimates, the number of people in this country

who have autism will hit 4 million. I wonder if, when these children

reach 18, they too will be unemployable. Or if, perhaps, the work

we're doing with now will mean a different experience for

those who follow.

Bauer is author of the novel " A Wild Ride Up the Cupboards. " This

article originally appeared in The Washington Post November 4, 2006.

[Guest guest]

There is a young man out this way, Kuriniec, who is a fabulous advocate for individuals with disabilities and he himself just happens to have a disability. He talks about breaking down the wall, and that is what I thought about while reading the article. That is precisely what we have to do, each and every one of us. We must believe that our children deserve and have the right to the full range of human experience, including, work, friendships, love, access to all community activities and most of all acceptance. Once we believe it, we need to break down the wall!

Ellen

Ellen Garber Bronfeldegskb@...

Washington Post article about autism & employment

from ASI forwarded this Washington Post piece (reprinted below) & thought it contained an important message to share with our families -- question is, what message will we each choose to take from this? It would be easy to read this and just get depressed or think 'my child will NEVER work, why even try?' How I'm choosing to read the message is this: No one ever said helping our kids find community employment was going to be easy--and I need to prepare myslef for a tough journey with lots of potential potholes along the way. I agree with the writer, that, yes, people like she and her son are paving the way for those of us with younger kids. But doesn't she sound all alone without much if any support from other parents or professionals? Hopefully those of us who are connected now thru IPADD can support one another, cheer or console or empathize (whichever applies at the time) as well as celebrate and share the good times! As Cindi has previously said about places of faith being a 'soft place to fall' perhaps we parents and professionals on IPADD can be that for each other? Please read the article and then post your reactions if you have some for the group. Here it is:Willing to workWho will hire the autistic?Consider millions of unemployableBy ANN BAUERMy 18-year-old son shambles. There's no other word for it. He walks like an old man: scraping the soles of his feet on the floor, tilting his head to one side and tucking it into the space between his neck and shoulder.What's more, he's mammoth. At 6-foot-3, he towers over nearly everyone he meets. Because of a penchant for sugary coffee drinks and Qdoba's 3-Cheese Nachos with grilled sirloin, which he buys with the money his grandparents send him, he weighs around 250 pounds. But these are the least of my worries.Today, what I fret about most is the fact that after two years of submitting applications, taking tests and interviewing, he cannot get a job. has autism. He was nonverbal from age 4 until 6; he speaks now, but only with effort. He's also one of the most acute, sensitive young men I've ever known. He is superb at math and chess, weak in the literary arts. Lost when it comes to anything social, from dinner-table conversation to romance. Mostly, he just flashes a persistent, crooked smile.Above all, he's eerily, compulsively responsible. I was a single mother for five years, and when I left the house, I put him in charge. I would come back to a spotless kitchen and a pile of laundered and folded clothes on my bed.When he was 16, I told him it was time to get a part-time job. I took him first to the coffeehouse where I wrote each morning, introduced him to the manager and took my usual table. But even from a distance, I could see things weren't going well. The "interview" took three minutes, ending abruptly when the manager offered a cup of coffee and my son ever conscious of the rules insisted on paying for it, fumbling with his wallet and spilling coins all over the floor.I switched coffeehouses and tactics. Next, I took to Target, known for working with disabled people. Only there's a catch: I was told that their policy was to employ "visibly handicapped" workers. People in wheelchairs qualify, as do those with Down syndrome. My son, with his eccentricities and halting speech, does not. What's more, Target administers a computerized psychological screening test designed to eliminate people on the outer edges of the bell curve. People like .Many companies that hire hourly workers now use this method to winnow the candidate pool, with questions such as "What do you think is the most important quality in a friend?" At 17, my son had never made a friend. This was the source of his disability. He had no idea how to answer.Perhaps, I decided, a "starter" job would give him experience and ease him into working. So I called a local nursing home that was only too happy to have him volunteer. Twice a week, spent his afternoons visiting elderly people and trundling a library cart from room to room. The residents grew to rely on him. He was unfailingly patient and kind.Yet when a job came open in dining services, for someone to take meals to bed-bound residents, he was turned down, the volunteer coordinator told me, because the hiring manager thought him odd.Recently, I married a wonderful man whose belief in rivals mine. "But he's so smart and responsible," said the new stepfather when I explained our now 2-year-old predicament. "Don't worry. We'll find him a job."He had a friend, a second-shift factory supervisor, willing to coach a very timid new hire. Everything had been arranged: The high school attends scheduled him for morning classes and work-study in the afternoon; I'd given a car and even coaxed him into getting a haircut. The first order of business was to go to the employment agency that handled the factory's paperwork, take a simple math test and fill out a W-9. aced the test, completed the forms he was handed and was told he'd be on staff within a week.Then my husband's friend called, his voice breaking with frustration. He couldn't hire , after all; the agency refused to process the application. One screener there was uncomfortable with my son: She had called him, he apologized before saying the words, "a potential liability."Several people have told us that this, finally, is an actionable offense. We could go after the agency for discrimination. But to what end?Legal action wouldn't get , now nearly 19, working. What it would do is force him to defend himself in court, this young man who's still reluctant to speak at school.My son is one of many: Sometime in the next decade, the Autism Society of America estimates, the number of people in this country who have autism will hit 4 million. I wonder if, when these children reach 18, they too will be unemployable. Or if, perhaps, the work we're doing with now will mean a different experience for those who follow.Bauer is author of the novel "A Wild Ride Up the Cupboards." This article originally appeared in The Washington Post November 4, 2006.

[Guest guest]

:

Thank you for a wonderful week of useful and vital information.

This has been very helpful for me as we establish at least one sustainable job for Noah in this last year of school.

Ellen

Ellen Garber Bronfeldegskb@...

Washington Post article about autism & employment

from ASI forwarded this Washington Post piece (reprinted below) & thought it contained an important message to share with our families -- question is, what message will we each choose to take from this? It would be easy to read this and just get depressed or think 'my child will NEVER work, why even try?' How I'm choosing to read the message is this: No one ever said helping our kids find community employment was going to be easy--and I need to prepare myslef for a tough journey with lots of potential potholes along the way. I agree with the writer, that, yes, people like she and her son are paving the way for those of us with younger kids. But doesn't she sound all alone without much if any support from other parents or professionals? Hopefully those of us who are connected now thru IPADD can support one another, cheer or console or empathize (whichever applies at the time) as well as celebrate and share the good times! As Cindi has previously said about places of faith being a 'soft place to fall' perhaps we parents and professionals on IPADD can be that for each other? Please read the article and then post your reactions if you have some for the group. Here it is:Willing to workWho will hire the autistic?Consider millions of unemployableBy ANN BAUERMy 18-year-old son shambles. There's no other word for it. He walks like an old man: scraping the soles of his feet on the floor, tilting his head to one side and tucking it into the space between his neck and shoulder.What's more, he's mammoth. At 6-foot-3, he towers over nearly everyone he meets. Because of a penchant for sugary coffee drinks and Qdoba's 3-Cheese Nachos with grilled sirloin, which he buys with the money his grandparents send him, he weighs around 250 pounds. But these are the least of my worries.Today, what I fret about most is the fact that after two years of submitting applications, taking tests and interviewing, he cannot get a job. has autism. He was nonverbal from age 4 until 6; he speaks now, but only with effort. He's also one of the most acute, sensitive young men I've ever known. He is superb at math and chess, weak in the literary arts. Lost when it comes to anything social, from dinner-table conversation to romance. Mostly, he just flashes a persistent, crooked smile.Above all, he's eerily, compulsively responsible. I was a single mother for five years, and when I left the house, I put him in charge. I would come back to a spotless kitchen and a pile of laundered and folded clothes on my bed.When he was 16, I told him it was time to get a part-time job. I took him first to the coffeehouse where I wrote each morning, introduced him to the manager and took my usual table. But even from a distance, I could see things weren't going well. The "interview" took three minutes, ending abruptly when the manager offered a cup of coffee and my son ever conscious of the rules insisted on paying for it, fumbling with his wallet and spilling coins all over the floor.I switched coffeehouses and tactics. Next, I took to Target, known for working with disabled people. Only there's a catch: I was told that their policy was to employ "visibly handicapped" workers. People in wheelchairs qualify, as do those with Down syndrome. My son, with his eccentricities and halting speech, does not. What's more, Target administers a computerized psychological screening test designed to eliminate people on the outer edges of the bell curve. People like .Many companies that hire hourly workers now use this method to winnow the candidate pool, with questions such as "What do you think is the most important quality in a friend?" At 17, my son had never made a friend. This was the source of his disability. He had no idea how to answer.Perhaps, I decided, a "starter" job would give him experience and ease him into working. So I called a local nursing home that was only too happy to have him volunteer. Twice a week, spent his afternoons visiting elderly people and trundling a library cart from room to room. The residents grew to rely on him. He was unfailingly patient and kind.Yet when a job came open in dining services, for someone to take meals to bed-bound residents, he was turned down, the volunteer coordinator told me, because the hiring manager thought him odd.Recently, I married a wonderful man whose belief in rivals mine. "But he's so smart and responsible," said the new stepfather when I explained our now 2-year-old predicament. "Don't worry. We'll find him a job."He had a friend, a second-shift factory supervisor, willing to coach a very timid new hire. Everything had been arranged: The high school attends scheduled him for morning classes and work-study in the afternoon; I'd given a car and even coaxed him into getting a haircut. The first order of business was to go to the employment agency that handled the factory's paperwork, take a simple math test and fill out a W-9. aced the test, completed the forms he was handed and was told he'd be on staff within a week.Then my husband's friend called, his voice breaking with frustration. He couldn't hire , after all; the agency refused to process the application. One screener there was uncomfortable with my son: She had called him, he apologized before saying the words, "a potential liability."Several people have told us that this, finally, is an actionable offense. We could go after the agency for discrimination. But to what end?Legal action wouldn't get , now nearly 19, working. What it would do is force him to defend himself in court, this young man who's still reluctant to speak at school.My son is one of many: Sometime in the next decade, the Autism Society of America estimates, the number of people in this country who have autism will hit 4 million. I wonder if, when these children reach 18, they too will be unemployable. Or if, perhaps, the work we're doing with now will mean a different experience for those who follow.Bauer is author of the novel "A Wild Ride Up the Cupboards." This article originally appeared in The Washington Post November 4, 2006.

Messages in this topic (2) R