OFF TOPIC: Inspiring Story - A MUST READ!!!

[Guest guest]

This was sent to me by A. Wilczynski, a mom and physician who is

working to help her own child and many others.

Below is an article she submitted for a monthly autism magazine. It made me

cry because many of us can relate.

Lori Knowles

My son, and Local Pee-Wee Football

surprised us early on a Saturday morning, toward the end of July

with the announcement that he wanted to play football. My husband had been a

football player, but we never pressured about playing, so this

announcement came as a total shock.

is 8 years old -almost 9-and he has been diagnosed with

High Functioning Autism, Sensory Integration Dysfunction, and Asperger's. On

good days he appears to be just like any other neurotypical child his age,

with some very hard to detect gross motor delays and speech delays. On bad

days, loud noises can set him off; he flaps his arms when he is tired, and

he has issues knowing where his body ends and the world begins. This

behavior is apparent when he acts as a human pinball, bouncing off

everything and everyone in order to receive physical stimuli.

To please my enthusiastic son, I made some phone calls to see if

it was too late to sign him up for this year's football season. I was in

luck; they were handing out uniforms and pads and helmets that day. I

grabbed my insurance information, my checkbook and and we drove to

the park.

I knew that with his youth and inexperience, he would be playing

in the East Side Mustang " Mighty Mite's " within the Area Midget

Football League. I asked the league coach, Andy Fair, if the " mites " was an

instructional league and he assured me that it was. I was very clear about

's football skill and knowledge -he had none.

was signed up on a Saturday and I had to scramble to get

his physical and clearances to play before the following Monday morning.

These were necessary to have in order to for him to receive a uniform and

get him to the first practice that evening. It was the first Monday in

August and he has already missed the previous few weeks of conditioning with

the other boys. He also missed the opportunity to meet the coaches, the

staff and the players. He was starting off at a disadvantage - I was

worried.

Monday afternoon we played around with his uniform, putting it

on and off along with the helmet to get him used to the feel and the weight

of it all. I thought for sure with his sensory issues that he would hate the

helmet, also the weight and tightness of the shoulder pads - but to my

surprise there were no complaints.

Finally, it was time for his first practice, from 5 p.m. to 7:30

p.m. I think I was more nervous than he was. He was thoroughly excited, but

I couldn't help feeling scared for him!

Practice started with two fast laps around the football field.

He started out so much better than I expected, knowing that he has never

done any distance running in his life. Today he was running with full pads

on, a helmet and a mouthpiece in. Just over half way he began to walk, he

was visibly winded. He caught his breath and began to run again, long arms

swinging past his sides. He looked as if he could touch the ground with his

fingertips if only his arms were a bit longer. He later began to walk-ran

until he completed the two laps. He was visibly spent - so much more than

the other boys.

Now it was time for stretching and calisthenics. This was

comical and I thanked God for putting at the back of the group. I

also thanked him for allowing the coach who yelled at him for not " clapping "

at exercise completion and screaming " Aaaaaaah-right " like the rest of the

boys when prompted, the patience to understand that just didn't know

what was going on.

did well, all things considered. First, he couldn't hear

the player calling out the stretches to be completed. Second, he was still

getting comfortable moving with all his football gear on - especially the

chewy mouthpiece. Third, he had no idea what the " secretary " and other oddly

named stretches even were.

It was time to move on to running drills - as a " side line " mom

I called them " whistle drills " . The boys were lined up and there was no

separation of pee wee, Junior Varsity or Varsity players. The league maximum

weight is 149 pounds and I believe there are boys in the eighth grade on the

Varsity team. , being one of the youngest boys on the field, was

certainly not the smallest on the field, so he did not look to only be 8

years old. The boys were told to " high skip run " , " karaoke run " (I used to

call this grapevine when I played volleyball); and to run backwards. The

conclusion of each of these drills resulted in a loud blast of the coach's

whistle. slowly jogged through each drill to the apparent eye

rolling of so many of the boys on the field. Painful as this was for me to

watch, he made it through these drills and they boys were sent off to

perform " station " drills.

went slowly and looked as though he didn't want to get

his shoes dirty as he moved through the drills. Each one contained movements

and body mechanics he was totally unprepared for and I cringed each time he

was yelled at for not performing them properly. I waited and waited for

instruction to occur. I waited for a coach to step up and help this young

boy find the correct body position for " ready " and " down " . was

floundering and I was standing on the sideline feeling so incredibly

helpless. I wanted to run out there and physically put his feet into correct

position, to help him bend down to get into a 3-point stance, and to nudge

him each time the whistle blew so he knew that meant to run - and run fast.

But on the other hand, I didn't want to be " that mom " that ran out onto the

field to save her little boy. I wanted to learn how to handle things

on his own. I wanted to know he could do this purely because he

wanted to do it.

The worst came when he had to run up a steep hill. got

left in this drill three times in a row for not being able to complete it.

He simply couldn't make it up the hill without stopping and using his hands

to climb up the hill. He also couldn't run down the steep hill. At one

point, I saw a coach get angry with 's inability to make it up the

hill and that was my breaking point. ended up pin wheeling and

landing on his hands and knees at the bottom of the hill, someone called him

a baby and there I was at his side to save him. 'What was I doing?' was all

I could think. This will only make him look like a bigger baby in front of

the other boys. No one else's Mommy is out on the field " saving them " from

drills. But, then again, no other boy has been held back at the hill more

than one time through. I walked with back to where I was sitting. As

we walked, I could hear him sniffle and cry. He tried to take my hand, God

forgive me, but I couldn't let him hold my hand. I patted him on his

shoulder pads and told him that everything would be ok. I didn't want to

give any of the other boys a reason to call him a baby. I sat him down in my

chair, took his helmet off and gave him some water.

One of the team Moms came over to ask if he was ok. I simply

explained that this was his very first practice and that he wasn't at any of

the conditioning, so this was overwhelming for him. I left him sitting there

with his eleven year old sister and went to talk to the head coach. I told

Andy, the head coach for the whole Mustang league, that has High

Functioning Autism and just wasn't prepared for the intensity of this

practice. He was very understanding and told me that he would talk to the

other coaches and that things would be handled.

gained his composure and wanted to go back out there to

join his teammates. I was expecting him to say, " Take me home. " He was able

to finish practice just fine, blending in with the other boys his age and

size. I was very proud of his ability to go back out there, ready to play

and learn. The last drill for the evening was a run up yet another steep

hill. As struggled another player on the league, Noah a 6th grader,

ran up the hill to join my son and help him complete his drill. This brought

tears to my eyes, acceptance, friendship, teammates, just what I had prayed

for.

That evening I put him in an Epsom salts bath to soothe his sore feet and

ankles. The very next morning he woke up and said, " Mom, what time's

practice? "