Jack Michael Parish emerged into our world at exactly 9:30 p.m. on February 3, 1993. A baby of the night, his birth seemed especially peaceful, profound and beautiful.
He showed up smiling, hitting the pediatric “Apgar” (is this baby healthy?) scale at a perfect “10.”
Once his little head, body and feet were out -- and Jack was resting comfortably on his mother’s stomach -- I was strongly encouraged by a nearly applauding delivery room staff to cut his umbilical cord.
After much coaxing (I had never been asked before, despite “coaching” a trio of previous child births), I took the sterile surgical scissors in my surprisingly shaky right hand.
Little did I realize that I was about to physically release my youngest son into a world that he would become mostly disinterested in before his second birthday.
All systems were go (“He’s such a good baby!” “How cute! What a big smile!” “He’s so handsome!”), during Jack’s first 16 months. He was mostly happy (no Colic, like his big sister and his oldest big brother), easy to please, engaged, and often enthralled with his parents and three older siblings.
Suddenly, it seemed, Jack began to fall apart cognitively, emotionally, and physically. After a few very difficult weeks of unexpected everything, Jack’s mother (Diane), and I had to admit to ourselves and each other that something was terribly wrong.
On February 27, 1996, four days before my 45th birthday, three-year-old Jack Parish was labeled with what’s now most often called an “Autism Spectrum Disorder” (ASD). Back then, the mostly misinformed medical community often delivered the diagnosis “Autism” as if it were a death sentence.
10 years later, it’s reassuring to know that AUTISM is no longer viewed as a totally scary, football helmet head-banging, drooling, biting, spitting, angry, confused, institution crying, lobotomy begging diagnosis.
(Or as my friend Stephen Shore – who proudly resides in the “Spectrum” -- puts it: “This is not a monolithic dragon to be slain.”).
Children and adults are no longer “afflicted.” They’re “affected.”
To many (including me) ASD is not a “disorder.” It’s a “difficulty,” or a “difference” to be worked with.
