Short version: If you have an autism story in your life, this book is worthy of your attention.
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When I first heard about Tyler Hudson's story, I thought, "Hey, that's my story!"
Tyler is a stay-at-home dad precipitated by the need to care for his autistic son. Not only that, but we both grew up south of Pampa, Texas, more or less down the same dirt road.
And then I find out his story is just like mine?
Only it's not. Not at all.
Sure, there are bound to be some similarities. But there is also a world of difference.
My son, Alex, was diagnosed at age 3 as level 2 on the autism spectrum disorder. Non-verbal at the time, those of you who know about Alex may find it hard to believe that there was ever a time he couldn't talk.
Indeed, he has made a lot of progress, both verbal and otherwise. Some of that journey we have chronicled on TexAgs and a Facebook page.
But as that journey continues, I've found myself avoiding the autism aspects of our story more and more for a variety of reasons. Some of that is out of respect for Alex as he has gotten older. He is much higher-functioning than we ever imagined he would become, and highlighting his rough patches doesn't seem fair to him. Some of it is because I've grown weary of the factions and politics of autism advocacy. And finally, not least, is that while I wanted our story to inform and inspire hope in others, I have become increasingly aware that, for many families, it does the opposite.
In the wide range of what autism covers today, Alex's original diagnosis was right in the middle - a level 2 out of categories 1, 2, and 3. Through a lot of hard work on his part, intensive therapies, and fortunate circumstances, he has progressed to what would be called level 1 today. We are thrilled at how far he has come, and it gives us hope for what will be.
But that isn't every autism story. And it's certainly not the case for Tyler Hudson's family. His dear son, Lyric, has profound autism. He will need 24-hour care for the rest of his life. No part of that is due to a lack of hard work or therapies. The fortunes are different and the questions of why are uncomfortable.
And while I can never express how much we've leaned on, learned from, and are endlessly grateful for the community support we continue to receive, I have deep regrets about how stories like ours overshadow stories like Lyric's. As hard as it is to say, overshadow is the wrong verb. Erase is the right one.
Tyler is such an understanding guy and deep-thinker, he would probably graciously acknowledge that was never the intent of sharing our story, nor would he discourage us from doing so. But on a societal level, when only autism stories like ours are collectively shared, the hard reality is that people like Lyric get erased.
Stories about profoundly autistic people are important and deserve our attention. I am in no way qualified to tell those stories, but fortunately there is someone who is qualified and a far better storyteller - Tyler Hudson.
He has just released a new book, and if you are a part of the autism discussion at all, you owe it to yourself and to children and adults like Lyric to check it out.
--------------------------------------------
When I first heard about Tyler Hudson's story, I thought, "Hey, that's my story!"
Tyler is a stay-at-home dad precipitated by the need to care for his autistic son. Not only that, but we both grew up south of Pampa, Texas, more or less down the same dirt road.
And then I find out his story is just like mine?
Only it's not. Not at all.
Sure, there are bound to be some similarities. But there is also a world of difference.
My son, Alex, was diagnosed at age 3 as level 2 on the autism spectrum disorder. Non-verbal at the time, those of you who know about Alex may find it hard to believe that there was ever a time he couldn't talk.
Indeed, he has made a lot of progress, both verbal and otherwise. Some of that journey we have chronicled on TexAgs and a Facebook page.
But as that journey continues, I've found myself avoiding the autism aspects of our story more and more for a variety of reasons. Some of that is out of respect for Alex as he has gotten older. He is much higher-functioning than we ever imagined he would become, and highlighting his rough patches doesn't seem fair to him. Some of it is because I've grown weary of the factions and politics of autism advocacy. And finally, not least, is that while I wanted our story to inform and inspire hope in others, I have become increasingly aware that, for many families, it does the opposite.
In the wide range of what autism covers today, Alex's original diagnosis was right in the middle - a level 2 out of categories 1, 2, and 3. Through a lot of hard work on his part, intensive therapies, and fortunate circumstances, he has progressed to what would be called level 1 today. We are thrilled at how far he has come, and it gives us hope for what will be.
But that isn't every autism story. And it's certainly not the case for Tyler Hudson's family. His dear son, Lyric, has profound autism. He will need 24-hour care for the rest of his life. No part of that is due to a lack of hard work or therapies. The fortunes are different and the questions of why are uncomfortable.
And while I can never express how much we've leaned on, learned from, and are endlessly grateful for the community support we continue to receive, I have deep regrets about how stories like ours overshadow stories like Lyric's. As hard as it is to say, overshadow is the wrong verb. Erase is the right one.
Tyler is such an understanding guy and deep-thinker, he would probably graciously acknowledge that was never the intent of sharing our story, nor would he discourage us from doing so. But on a societal level, when only autism stories like ours are collectively shared, the hard reality is that people like Lyric get erased.
Stories about profoundly autistic people are important and deserve our attention. I am in no way qualified to tell those stories, but fortunately there is someone who is qualified and a far better storyteller - Tyler Hudson.
He has just released a new book, and if you are a part of the autism discussion at all, you owe it to yourself and to children and adults like Lyric to check it out.