Some personal musings on autism

Disclaimer: For those of you who are used to my edublogging, this is a brief respite. Every so often, I need to blog about myself as a person, without my “teacher hat” on. If you don’t care to continue, I won’t begrudge you that.

Ever since my elder son’s diagnosis in November of last year – almost a year now, which is unfathomable to me – the subject of autism has been on my mind frequently. Okay, it’s probably been on my mind longer than that, since the diagnosis was no real surprise to us: all the stereotypies were there, as well as the developmental delays. I had done a fair amount of research on autism and its symptoms, having done a presentation on the subject in college for my special education course, and the speech therapist working with him had talked to us about it, since she had worked with several children on the spectrum. Since the diagnosis, I have tried to stay apprised of happenings in the autism community, most specifically the crazy antivaccinationists that use autism as a vehicle for their crazy conspiracies about “Big Pharma” and the evils of vaccines (like those dreaded “toxins”). In my time on the Internet, I’ve run into more than a few people who have made wild claims, and I keep up with them so that I can be prepared to counter them when I encounter them, just like I do my research on crazy ideas like FEMA death camps. (That’s not a joke, either; I had a student seriously ask me about these, his only evidence proffered being a YouTube video.)

But autism for me is a bigger issue than nutjobs like this. It is something that I live with daily, and not just in my son.

 

Bridging generations

I always seem to find myself in weird places when it comes to generations: I obviously fit into the Generation Y timeframe (mid-’80s) but have some of an appreciation for both the old and the new. I have a soft spot for tradition but embrace progress and change – it’s a somewhat bizarre mix at times.

Since becoming a teacher, I have found certain things causing me to engage my place on the generational fence, confronted on one hand by some of my older colleagues (although there are a handful who are roughly my age) and on the other by my students, who have their own ways of making me feel old. My own stance provides me an interesting position, though, to engage the thoughts of both the older Generation X and the newer Generation Z.*

 

Teaching quote of the day

One of my students writing a college application essay about wanting to be a teacher (yes, I have one) used this quote:

Who dares to teach must never cease to learn.

– John Cotton Dana

It’s so great that to see my motto so widely accepted.

 

The danger of underestimating bigotry

Bigotry has been on my mind a lot this week. Several days ago, my mother was talking about her concern that a “Middle Eastern” man* had recently taken ownership of our local gas station, and she backed away from really speaking her mind (I think) after I showed how apprehensive I was about the sentiment she was saying, which was ultimately that some foreigner had taken over, and why couldn’t the station stay in the hands of a local owner. One for xenophobia.

Then I saw the somewhat comforting tribute to Alan Turing.

Then I saw this sign and was sickened at the unadulterated racism that popped up during the recent 9/12 march.

Today, I was talking with a coworker over lunch before the rest of our lunchmates came in about a sign in a local Wal-Mart that read “Formula maybe purchased at aisle 18″. (My response: “What, you don’t know?”) I suggested that it could have been put up because this particular brand of formula had been shoplifted often, or it could have been racism (this Wal-Mart is in a moderately large town with a significant African-American population). I did put a caveat on my statements, though, saying (and I quote), “I’ve learned not to make any assumptions about bigotry because when I do, I’m generally disappointed.”

Then the rest of our colleagues come in, and the topic turns from a student who is now pregnant (who I have in class) to the welfare mindset, and quickly…well, I don’t think I even need to go much further for you, thoughtful reader, to finish the story.

In an amazing twist, I was proven wrong (or my point was made, whichever you care to look at it) within mere minutes, and by the very people who I work with to help our kids become upstanding members of society who understand and care about the diversity of human life.

I don’t really know what to say other than the fact that I am deeply saddened. I am utterly opposed to racism, xenophobia, and any kind of bigotry, and I make no apologies about it. It is not something I am comfortable with or will ever be comfortable with, and the only consolation I have is that I have a chance. A chance to help instill positive values that will impact the world positively.

I just hope that I can take advantage of it.

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*I say “Middle Eastern,” but I’ve also heard that he’s a Hindu, which could mean that he’s Indian or some East Asian nationality. The point stands regardless of the specifics.

 

A poetic tribute to Alan Turing

The name of the late Alan Turing has been popping up in a number of places lately, with a coalition of computer scientists, historians, and LGBT activists coming together to petition the British government to issue an apology for what was done to Turing. See, Turing was a brilliant codebreaker and the man most responsible for cracking the Nazi Enigma code, which undoubtedly changed the course of the war in favor of the Allies; his work with theoretical computing (such as his thought experiment, the Turing machine) is directly responsible for the rise of computers as we know them today. Turing was also gay, and he was subjected to chemical castration when this fact was discovered. Turing committed suicide two years later.

British PM Gordon Brown did issue an apology, and it’s a pretty good one as far as that goes (Geoff Pullum notes here that it’s remarkable to see a politician utter the unambiguous words “we’re sorry,” and I tend to agree). The fact that an apology was issued is remarkable and a worthy tribute, but I rather like the tribute that poet Matt Harvey gave to Turing (HT: Geoff Pullum at Language Log):

Alan Turing

here’s a toast to Alan Turing
born in harsher, darker times
who thought outside the container
and loved outside the lines
and so the code-breaker was broken
and we’re sorry
yes now the s-word has been spoken
the official conscience woken
— very carefully scripted but at least it’s not encrypted —
and the story does suggest
a part 2 to the Turing Test:
1. can machines behave like humans?
2. can we?

Can we, indeed.

 

A yellow brick road

I’m in the midst of grading autoethnographies, and I’m taking this very short break from grading to reflect on one specific paper. (After I finish with them, I intend on returning to the assignment to gauge its efficacy and my efficacy in teaching it.)

 

The joys of a long commute

I’m out for Labor Day, but if any of you are around, enjoy this post and the holiday! – Mr. B

I’m pretty well used to driving a fair distance to work these days. For the past five years or so, I’ve been driving half an hour to both school and work (which were in the same town, fortunately) and only slightly less to my student teaching placement. It’s the peril of living in a small town that doesn’t have very much industry (or at least not really anything for me to support a family on). I also knew that I wouldn’t be teaching in this district, where I graduated from, for several reasons (see here for one), and we had no plans to move when I was looking for a position (because our eldest son is in a special ed pre-K program that we are currently considered in-county for), so a commute was pretty much in the cards for me.

You’d think that this would be a problem or an inconvenience, and there are elements that aren’t very pleasant – gas expenses, for one. The school I teach at is about 40 minutes away, so I have a little bit of a trek before and after school.

But I have to admit that I like the commute. It’s some time for me to sit back and relax, reflect on what’s happened or what’s coming, think more about what I can do to make things better for myself and my students. Some of the country I drive through is the classic corn and soybean fields of the rural Midwest, but there is a stretch of about 7 miles or so in the middle of my path that is green and winding and just beautiful. I turn up whatever CD I’m listening to obsessively at the moment (the only way I ever listen to music), and I enjoy it.

One of my colleagues, who’s also from the area and lives only about 5 miles from our school, noted once in conversation that he misses the commute for many of the above reasons. There’s something about driving a familiar path that can make you think about where you’re going and where you’ve been, and I think that the human mind benefits from putting things in order like that. Having the time of solitude for reflection is absolutely necessary for me to have the clarity of thought that I must have to survive in the classroom.

Maybe eventually the commute will diminish; there’s always the possibility that we’ll move closer to my district at some point in the future. Until then, I can deal with paying for the gas and with the time on the road, for the time that it affords me to take a critical look at my life and my work and to get everything straight. It’s well worth the price.

 

A work in progress

Even though I wouldn’t have told you as much at the time, I wasn’t a very good student in high school.

Don’t misunderstand me – academically, I did fine in high school, although certainly not as well as I certainly could have done. I was the classic case of a student who got bored with school, decided it wasn’t worth expending a whole lot of effort on, and floated through high school on mostly natural abilities. Let’s face it: I wouldn’t want to have taught me.

At the time, though, I thought that teachers would want a student like me: often willing to participate in class, sometimes insightful, rarely distracting and mostly observant, but overall brilliant. (I had somewhat of a high opinion of myself, you might say.) I also have a weird sense of memory: my mind often forgets things that it probably ought to remember* (both long- and short-term) but frequently remembers things that are perhaps better forgotten.

These two attributes of mine conspired to make a very frustrating situation for me several years down the road after high school. You see, I ended up forgetting how much of a jerk I was at times during my high school education.

 

Transitioning

I was asked how much time I have left the company I’m currently working for by a VP today, and I mentioned that it was only two weeks now. Without much enthusiasm, he asked me if I was excited, and at the risk of actually seeming excited to leave, I gave him a mixed response: I have a lot of work left to do. (Which is true.) I wish I could have been more emphatic, but I didn’t want to seem eager to leave the world of business for the world of education.

But I am.

It would be a lie to say that I’m not a little scared of the fate that awaits me in my new school, in my own classroom, with all of the pressure on me (experience or not). It’s intimidating, and I know I have a lot of work to do before I’ll feel more at ease about everything. And I do feel good about knowing what I’m doing at what I do now, I admit.

Even so, though, there is something about this role I’m taking on, this vocation that I am finally pursuing, that excites me. (Certainly it’s not the money – although that is a step up for me.) I get to go from a job where I help people with things that improve temporary situations, where my effect is minimal and superficial, to one where – if I play my cards right – I can make impressions on individuals that will hopefully leave them better people in the process…and where I can become a better individual as well.

It is easier to make a transition like this when there is hope ahead – even where there is also uncertainty. For now, I can deal with both.

 

A farewell and well wishes

It pains me to note here that one of my favorite English professors at my alma mater has announced that he will not be returning to our university. He was the head of our English education program, as well as my personal university supervisor for my student teaching, and he informed a number of recent students in the English ed program of his decision not to return. As I told him personally, I think he will be sorely missed, and I do think that the English program will suffer more than a little for the loss. Not only will a suitable replacement need to be found for heading up English education, but I think it is a rare feat to find someone who is so interested in incorporating language study into English language arts and who expresses such an interest in trying to understand what makes teachers last. (I continue to devote myself to keeping up on my membership with NCTE and our local chapter, IATE, because of his conclusion that a common strand tied to longevity of teachers is membership in professional organizations.)

The silver lining in all of this for me is that he is leaving the university not to take another professorship but is instead returning to his passion: teaching middle school language arts, specifically in Boston, where he taught language arts for a number of years. On hearing this news, I was not surprised in the least: although he has done marvelously teaching college English courses, talking to him for any length of time will bring out this passion, and I think this move is a good one for him.

So, Dr. M, this is to wish you well in your return to – shall we say – the middle. You have given me so many insights into the teaching of English (I just started reading an EJ article by Peter Smagorinsky and thought of you) and to the world of YA literature – and for that especially I am extremely grateful. May your return be satisfying – and don’t worry, I’ll keep you in mind if I ever make it out to Boston.