Different... Not Less E-Book

Temple Grandin

• Herausgeber: Future Horizons
• Kategorie: Ratgeber
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 508

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Temple Grandin offers the world yet another great work, an inspiring and informative book that offers both hope and encouragement.

In these pages, Temple presents the personal success stories of fourteen unique individuals that illustrate the extraordinary potential of those on the autism spectrum.

One of Temple’s primary missions is to help people with autism, Asperger’s Syndrome, and ADHD tap into their hidden abilities. Temple chose these contributors from a wide variety of different skill sets to show how it can be done. Each individual tells their own story in their own words about their lives, relationships, and eventual careers. The contributors also share how they dealt with issues they confronted while growing up, such as bullying, making eye contact, and honing social skills.

Different...Not Less shows how, with work, each of the contributors:

Found invaluable mentors Learned skills necessary for employment when young Became successfully employed Developed self-confidence Faced the challenges of forming and maintaining relationships

(and sometimes) Raised families

Leseprobe

DIFFERENT...Not Less

Inspiring Stories of Achievement and Successful Employment from Adults with Autism, Asperger’s, and ADHD

DIFFERENT…NOT LESS, Revised and Updated 2ND Edition: Inspiring Stories of Achievement and Successful Employment from Adults with Autism, Asperger’s, and ADHD

All marketing and publishing rights guaranteed to and reserved by:

[phone](817) 277-0727(817) 277-2270 (fax)E-mail: [email protected]

© 2020 Temple Grandin

Cover design by John Yacio III & interior design by Cindy Williams

All rights reserved Printed in USA

No part of this product may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of Future Horizons, Inc, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

ISBN: 9781949177473

eBook Designed by Acepub

To every individual on the spectrum who believes in finding a sense of fulfillment and success in life, sometimes against all odds—

May you find valuable information, inspiration, and hope in the pages of this book.

The contributors to this book must be acknowledged, not only for their courage, but also for their candor. I thank them profoundly for their willingness to welcome readers into their lives and tell their stories—the ups and downs, the good times and bad. I absolutely believe their life experiences and wealth of knowledge will help countless others on the spectrum. They are living proof that individuals with autism can achieve great things—even when life seems like an uphill climb.

Publisher’s note

Foreword

Introduction

Chapter 1

Charli Devnet: Tour Guide and Lover of History

Chapter 2

Stephen Shore: Special-Education Professor and Autism Advocate

Chapter 3

Karla Fisher: Senior Program Manager for Intel and Successful “Techie”

Chapter 4

Moppy Hamilton: Mother of Two and Retail Employee

Chapter 5

In memory of Steve Selpal (1950-2017): Freelance Artist Who Found Success through Art

Chapter 6

Anita Lesko: Nurse Anesthetist and Aviation Writer

Chapter 7

Wenn B Lawson: Psychologist

Chapter 8

Neil McRae: Veterinary Surgeon in Scotland

Chapter 9

Kim Davies: Successful Physician

Chapter 10

Robert Cooper: Owner of a Computer Server Design and Support Firm.

Chapter 11

Leonora Gregory-Collura: Autism Outreach Consultant and Dancer/Choreographer

Chapter 12

Stewart Forge: Partner and Creative Director of an Advertising Agency

Chapter 13

Richard Smith: Investor/Philanthropist

Chapter 14

Jay Rothman: Writer

Temple’s Epilogue

Further Reading

About the Author

First and foremost, this book is the marvelous brainchild of Dr. Temple Grandin. It is and has always been very important to Temple that people with autism and Asperger’s syndrome find their niche in life. As she famously emphasizes during conferences, “Collecting Social Security is not a job description!”

It is imperative that these outstanding folks use their unique and special skills to help themselves and the rest of the world. Temple came up with the concept for this book last year and has been relentless about her ideas coming to fruition. We applaud her passion.

Many readers will already be familiar with Temple’s story from watching the award-winning HBO biopic, Temple Grandin, starring Claire Danes. Those of us in the autism world were surprised and delighted by the overwhelming number of people who were touched and inspired by Temple’s story. Here you will find fourteen similar stories, each a singular source of inspiration.

One of Temple’s early livestock plans is depicted on the cover of the book. Not only does it illustrate her obvious talent, but we believe it offers a glimpse into what greatness lies in the minds of so many people with autism and Asperger’s syndrome. These folks have extra burdens to overcome to be able to share their light with the world, and it is so important that they figure out a way to do so. The stories in this book relate the different paths the contributors have taken to find success—from dealing with the challenges of being “different” to ultimately discovering that they are “not less.” Indeed, people on the autism spectrum have more than their share of talent to offer the rest of the world.

It was important to us, and to Temple, that each contributor’s point of view be expressed in his or her own voice. As such, you will notice a variety of writing and communication styles throughout the book, which are unique to each individual. Also, as this is a book that delves into the early years of each contributor, there are some instances of mild sexual content. If you are a parent and will be giving this book to a young teen, please peruse it first to be sure the content is appropriate. Please note that some of the names in this book have been changed.

There are words used in this book that may be new to someone who is unfamiliar with the world of autism and Asperger’s syndrome. An “Aspie” is someone with Asperger’s syndrome. Aspies use this term proudly, and rightfully so. A “neurotypical” person, sometimes called “NT,” is someone who develops and functions in a usual way (i.e., neurologically typical). If you have never heard these terms before, it is likely you are a neurotypical person.

A few thanks are in order. First, thank you to the illustrious Teresa Corey, who helped Temple find, gather, and filter all of the original contributions. As there were many interesting submissions from talented individuals, this was no small feat. Also, thanks to Heather Babiar, who edited the submissions and brought them together into a readable and cohesive format. Thank you to Cynthia Williams, who generated the initial interior design, and to John Yacio, who designed the cover and completed the final layout.

A special thank you to Dr. Tony Attwood, who wrote such a wonderful foreword, and to the many exceptional contributors.

And, of course, we must thank Dr. Temple Grandin, who put her heart and soul into this very important project.

Jennifer Gilpin Yacio

This is an inspiring book. The stories of achievement will be encouraging for parents of a young child with an autism spectrum disorder and will be especially inspirational for adolescents and young adults who are feeling despondent that autism could deprive them of a successful career or relationship. This book has antidepressant qualities to rival those of medication.

The stories serve to illustrate a cross-section of abilities, experiences, and adversity for mature adults with an autism spectrum disorder. There are clear themes in terms of adversity, such as being bullied at school and having self-esteem challenged by the ignorance and prejudice of peers and coworkers. There are descriptions of the difficulties caused by sensory sensitivity, social naivety, and vulnerability. Some stories explore the time it may take to eventually find a career that constructively uses the qualities and abilities attributable to autism. Where there is a successful outcome, common themes include the discovery of a mentor within the person’s family, circle of friends, and colleagues who is able to provide guidance and encouragement, as well as the individual’s personal qualities of determination and perseverance.

Other keys to a successful outcome are employment during adolescence in the form of a part-time job and recognition that there is no career that should be avoided by someone with an autism spectrum disorder. The careers described by the contributors include employment in information technology and business, the arts, the caring professions (including becoming a psychologist), and the animal sciences. The contributors provide an international perspective, as well as illustrations of outcomes for both men and women with an autism spectrum disorder who have a range of intellectual ability, from average to superior.

The stories also include “dark” times, including depression, relationship breakdowns, and even a term of imprisonment. However, these have been catalysts for positive change, and the eventual outcomes have been perfect illustrations of being Different … Not Less.

Dr. Tony Attwood

The individuals who wrote their stories for this book are adults, most of whom are about fifty years old. For many of the contributors, receiving a diagnosis of an autism spectrum disorder helped them to understand their problems with relationships. It was a relief to have an explanation for problems they had in relating to other people. Their journeys have not been easy, but they have all found success by earning a living, and some have even had children. Some of the contributors came from families with modest financial resources, which meant they had to work harder to succeed.

Since the publication of this book in 2012, there have been changes in the diagnostic criteria for autism. The 2013 version of the DSM has removed the Asperger’s designation where there is no obvious speech delay. This has resulted in a huge autism spectrum that ranges from the individuals who tell their stories in this book to individuals who may be non-verbal and not able to dress themselves. The International Classification of Diseases (ICD) has a draft version of new guidelines that will have different levels of severity, ranging from no intellectual or language impairment to severe impairment of both. New research now clearly shows that attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) and autism share some of the same genetics. This may explain why a diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder and ADHD are sometimes diagnosed in the same individual (see reference list in the appendix for further information on autism and ADHD).

Throughout my life, I have met and worked with many people on the autism spectrum whose condition has gone undiagnosed. Many of them are in technical fields, such as engineering, computer programming, industrial design, and equipment construction. I too am a “techie” and feel that my career is my life. I am what I do. I have observed that “techies” who get into good careers appear to be happier because they are surrounded by “their people.” John Robison, in his book Be Different, embraces Asperger’s syndrome and talks about his good techie life, making special effects for rock bands and learning about electronics from various mentors. At the time of writing this introduction, I was doing lots of public speaking and teaching but not a lot of technical work. In between speaking engagements, I managed to visit a beef plant to fix some equipment problems. It was so much fun being a techie again. I love using my mind to solve problems.

Some of the most important companies in Silicon Valley are led by people on the autism spectrum. Many school systems today would assign a diagnosis of autism to Albert Einstein. He did not speak until the age of three, and he demonstrated many odd behaviors that are attributed to autism. At an autism meeting, a retired NASA space scientist walked up to me and said that he was sure many of his colleagues were on the autism spectrum. Several books have been written that profile famous scientists and musicians who were likely on the spectrum, as well.

NOT ALL TECHIES

The “techie”-type person is only a portion of the population on the autism spectrum. A huge percentage of autistic individuals do not have primary strengths in technical subjects or art to rely on for employment. They long for satisfying relationships, and this group often has a more difficult time finding work. They do not have easily displayable skills in art, design, music, math, or programming that can be shown in a portfolio. In my livestock design business, I sold clients by showing my portfolio of drawings and photos of completed projects. I sold my work, not myself. Nontechnical people on the autism spectrum often have keen interests in facts about a favorite subject, like history or politics. Though interests can be harder to sell, it can be done. In this book, Chapter 1 will begin with the account of a woman whose life became happier and more meaningful when she became a tour guide, allowing her to talk about history.

Autism is a truly continuous spectrum. There is no black-and-white dividing line between the geek, the nerd, the socially awkward person, and the mildly autistic individual. In fact, many people in the general population have autistic traits. A large study conducted in Korea showed that in seven- to twelve–year-old children in regular schools, 1.89% had symptoms of autism but had not received an autism diagnosis. I have visited state science fair competitions and have seen many children with autistic symptoms. Some had received a diagnosis, and some had not. Many of the individuals who tell their stories in this book had difficult childhoods, in which they were ostracized by other children and constantly bullied for their apparent symptoms. Yet, they were inspired to succeed by teachers and mentors who encouraged interests in skills and things they were good at.

ASPIE FRIENDS IN COLLEGE

Life was really difficult for me in both college and graduate school. I did not fit in with the other students. The saying, “Birds of a feather flock together,” rang very true. During this time, I had several friends whom I believe were on the spectrum but were undiagnosed. My college years were very difficult emotionally. These friends kept me going when I felt depressed. Through the years, I have maintained contact with the friends I made then. Some of them endured many difficulties, but they all managed to support themselves and remain employed. These people were some of the few who sought me out and made an effort to be my friend.

Tim, a short, nerdy kid who loved CB (Citizens’ Band) radios, invited me to join his CB club. Nobody else at my college shared Tim’s enthusiasm for CB radios or emergency communication. Tim saw me as a kindred spirit who could share his interest in CB radios. We had a great time going to CB Club meetings off campus. Tim went on to become an emergency medical technician, or EMT, and today, he runs an ambulance company.

The physical education teacher, Mrs. Estes, also sought me out. She was the weird lady on campus who wore long johns under all her skirts and put together strange mixtures of clothes. When I felt lonely, I often went over to her house just to talk. When I graduated, she gave me a little card and told me that it was a “phone card” I could use to call her anytime if I ever needed advice. Today, if Mrs. Estes were a child, I think she would likely receive a diagnosis of Asperger’s. Mrs. Estes was married to another faculty member and had children, as well.

In graduate school, I became friends with two people who were definitely on the autism spectrum. One of them received a PhD in history, and every year I receive a card from him. He has been underemployed all his life in specialty retail. He has held three jobs since he graduated in the mid-1970s. One job he lost when the business closed, and his present job, at a large specialty retailer, has been stable for years. Specialty retail is a good job for a “non- techie” type because the employee is appreciated for his or her keen knowledge of the merchandise. Examples of specialty retailing are hardware, men’s clothing, sporting goods, electronics, computers, jewelry, books, and furniture. I can also remember the Aspie guy who worked for years at the local hardware store. He knew everything about paint. Everybody laughed at the goofy Superman advertisements he did at the local TV station. It was “Bobby to the rescue for your painting problems!”

ASPIES IN MY WORKPLACE

I have worked with all kinds of technical people who are on the autism spectrum but have never received a diagnosis. They have adapted better than some of the people in this book, and therefore didn’t feel a need for a diagnosis. The reason why the contributors sought out a diagnosis as older adults was because of the serious problems they continued to face. When I first started my career, I often got lonely, and I would go down to the Armour Corporate Center in Phoenix to talk to Sam. Sam was an engineer, and his work mates would say, “You ask Sam what time it is, and he will tell you how to build a watch.” It was so much fun to talk to Sam about building meat plants. He was definitely on the spectrum, and he held a high-level engineering job and frequently visited the meat plants. When I was fully engaged with individuals who loved to talk about engineering, animal behavior, or cattle, I was happy, and I forgot about the emotional difficulties.

Some of the people I work with on my design projects have a certain degree of autism. One, an excellent specialty metal fabricator, has worked on many of my projects. He has a small shop and builds conveyors for many major meat companies. He called me one day all upset because a plant manager had been really mean to him. He told me the entire story, and it became obvious that the manager was using him and had no intention of paying for the equipment he “bought.” I understood his frustration and was able to help. I told him that the guy was a jerk and that the best thing to do was to quietly remove the equipment and walk away. I reminded him that he had many good clients and that he needed to concentrate on them. I told him to work with the many other clients who appreciated his excellent, innovative work.

OBSERVATIONS OVER THE YEARS

So many people sent in personal stories for inclusion in this book that it was impossible to use all of them. I tried to pick a wide variety of people who have supported themselves in many different types of employment. I purposely avoided filling the book up with successful, happy people who work in computers or science. During the thirty years that I have been a part of the autism community, I have seen some definite trends. Services for individuals with more severe problems have greatly improved, and sometimes these people have fewer problems integrating into society when compared with a fully verbal individual on the milder end of the spectrum.

In the 1950s, children with severe problems were simply “put away” in institutions, but most Aspies with milder cases managed to remain employed. In the 50s, manners and basic social skills were pounded into all kids. I was expected to be on time, shake hands, and say “please” and “thank you.” When you do not instinctively pick up on social cues, learning basic social rules like these is a lifesaver. Recently, somebody wrote on the Internet that I was showing my age, because I emphasized manners and criticized excessive video-game playing. Some job counselors estimate that 65% of teenage boys on the spectrum are addicted to video games. If it could be proven that the video games were helping them learn skills to make them employable, I would not be critical. Video-game companies are short on programmers and software engineers. What I would like to see is getting them interested in spending hours making the games instead of playing them. However, the video-game field is very crowded, and jobs in other types of computing would be easier to get. An April 2020 Forbes article outlined the most in-demand tech jobs, citing the need for software engineers, programmers, developers, and tech leads. There is also a need for electricians, plumbers, and technicians to repair medical equipment. These are all jobs that could be fulfilled by Aspies.

DIFFICULT JOURNEYS

The people in this book have had their difficulties—especially in the area of relationships. For some of these individuals, this arena has been more difficult than employment. One of the reasons why they sought out a diagnosis was their difficulty with relationships. For most individuals on the spectrum, the road to successful employment started with teenage jobs, such as paper routes. Having a paper route taught the basic work skills of being on time and having to do it every day. Today, the paper routes are mostly gone, but a good modern substitute for a young Aspie is dog walking. Like a paper route, it has to be done every day. Other good jobs for teenagers on the spectrum would be fixing computers, making PowerPoint presentations, maintaining and updating web sites, working in a farmer’s market, writing for the church or community newsletter, selling art, or helping an elderly neighbor.

When I was a teenager, I did hand-sewing for a seamstress, cleaned horse stalls, built carpentry projects, and painted signs. The crucial skill that has to be learned is how to do work that is assigned by other people. In my design work, I often had to modify my designs to either fit the building site or satisfy some whim of the client. There are some people on the spectrum who can get hired easily by showing a portfolio of artwork or programming code. However, they cannot keep a job because they do not get assigned work done. They are either rigid and inflexible in modifying a project to satisfy the boss, or they refuse to do work that is outside their area of interest. When kids do jobs in middle and high school, it teaches them valuable work skills, such as flexibility and doing assigned tasks. If a teenager is creating a website for a real-estate office, he will learn that he cannot decorate it with science-fiction characters. When I made signs as a teenager, I did not paint horses on a sign for a beauty shop. I had to learn how to do work that other people wanted.

Recently, I had a lady walk up to me in the airport and say, “Your book, Thinking in Pictures, saved my marriage. Now I understand my engineer husband, and we are able to work things out.” Each contributor in this book has a unique story, and my intent is that their stories will provide hope and insight to individuals on the spectrum, as well as parents, teachers, and professionals.

People on the autism spectrum always keep learning. It is never too late to learn new skills, improve relationships, or learn better work skills. To grow, a person on the spectrum has to “stretch.” Stretching is a good analogy, because sudden surprises cause fear. Even individuals my age can learn new skills. When I was writing this introduction, I talked to a family member of a woman in her sixties who has autism. Within the past year, she discovered that the way she dressed herself improved her life, and now she enjoys nicer clothes. The mind of the person with autism can always keep learning. It is never too late to change. A person on the spectrum needs an employer, spouse, or friend who will calmly coach him when he makes social mistakes. He has to be instructed on how to behave, like a character in a play. In my own life, I have gained great insight from reading the writings of other individuals on the spectrum.

Dr. Temple Grandin

CHARLI DEVNET

Tour Guide and Lover of History

CHARLI DEVNET, BA, MA, JD

Age: 57Resides in: Croton-on-Hudson, NYOccupation: Tour guide and legal freelancerMarital status: Single

FROM TEMPLE:

I chose Charli as the first Different … Not Less story because I know her insightful cover letter will offer hope to so many people on the spectrum. After years of struggle and a series of false starts, Charli found positive direction in life through an unusual job that was right for her. Charli’s chapter begins with her cover letter, explaining why she would be a good candidate for inclusion in this book.

CHARLI’S INTRODUCTION

Despite my seemingly satisfactory verbal skills, I have been significantly challenged by autism. I know many adults have received a diagnosis of some form of autism, yet—in my eyes—they have such a mild level of impairment that they seem to be able to lead fairly normal lives. Any one of them could provide you with a more conventional career success story. When I first heard about Temple’s new book, I was afraid it would only relate the stories of higher-functioning individuals and that those of us who have struggled with near-insurmountable difficulties just to achieve a measure of acceptance in our personal and professional lives would be overlooked. I believe that those of us who are not in the “near-normal” category should also have a voice. Feel free to use my name. I am not ashamed of who I am—not any longer.

For the past ten years, I have worked at a historical house museum called “Kykuit” in Sleepy Hollow, New York. Kykuit was formerly the countryseat of the Rockefeller family. I work as a tour guide and, on Saturdays, I sell memberships for the National Trust for Historic Preservation, the present landlord of Kykuit. The name “Kykuit” is a Dutch word, meaning “lookout” or “high place.” When the Dutch settled along the banks of the Hudson River back in the 17th century, they assigned the name to a craggy, rocky hilltop 500 feet above sea level. This hilltop was used by the local Indian tribes as a signal post. Now, 500 feet may not seem very high to those who live in Colorado, but here in Westchester Country, it almost touches the sky! A hundred years ago, the richest family in America transformed this barren, rocky hilltop into a little bit of paradise.

This is the best job I have ever had. I love my work for so many reasons. First of all, the site itself is both peaceful and inspiring. Sculpted on the façade of the house are two classical deities, joined together by a laurel branch—Apollo, who represents culture, art, and science, and Demeter, the goddess of agriculture and harvest. Art and nature work in harmony to create a place of wonder—the sweeping views of the Hudson and the Palisades take your breath away, enhanced by the sculpture gardens, fountains, and greenery. The house itself is interesting, but it’s the exteriors that are a treasure. John D. Rockefeller, Sr., the oil baron, was a robust, outdoorsy, athletic type of man. Despite his vast wealth, he cared nothing for high society or manmade opulence—he was a Baptist and preferred to spend his money, if he must spend it, on the gardens, golf course, and woodlands.

Sense of Camaraderie with Tour Guides

My colleagues at Kykuit have provided me with a sense of camaraderie that I have not known since junior-high school. The other guides are all intelligent and highly educated, with diverse backgrounds. Some are retired teachers, and some have a background in the arts. A few, like me, have worked in the legal field. Now, I myself am intelligent and educated, and those qualities alone would never impress me. However, the other guides embody the attributes that are lacking in me, which I therefore admire in other people— attributes like poise, sophistication, self-assurance, and possession of the social graces. They generally consider themselves “artsy,” and, as such, feel almost obligated to be tolerant of the quirks and eccentricities of others and have therefore been more accepting of me than coworkers in the legal or business world might be. However, this was not always the case. At first, in my eagerness to become one of the “troupe,” I made comments that seemed witty and incisive to me but may well have been perceived as offensive, rude, and gauche. As time went by and we became better acquainted, we began to get on much better. If I did not find any close friends among my colleagues, at least we became friendly. On occasion, we get together outside of work for a field trip to a museum or other attraction. A few years ago, there was a public art “happening” in Central Park, called “The Gates,” and the guides all went down together. While I might have gone alone, it was much more fun going with the gang from work.

One of the best aspects of my job is that it allows me to talk and be the center of attention. For two-and-a-quarter hours, visitors must follow me around and listen to me speak about matters in which I am interested and knowledgeable. They cannot change the subject and have a conversation in which I can take no part—about their children or their mortgages or where they are going on vacation—nor can they just talk over me as if I were not there.

What I like best about being a tour guide is actually the greatest obstacle to retaining the job. While the wages are low, the job actually requires a high-level skill set. It requires knowledge of both American history and art history (which fall right in my area of special interest). I have always had a keen interest in history and politics, so for any aspects of the material of which I knew nothing—for example, modern art, styles of architecture, and landscaping theory—I quickly picked them up. In fact, I enjoyed having new subjects to delve into. However, a guide also has to be comfortable with public speaking, which presented me with a great challenge. My first season was almost my last. Sure, I could talk on and on—but does anyone want to listen? My presentation was where I ran into trouble. In my first year, I was criticized for speaking in monotone, not looking visitors in the eye, not projecting my voice, having a “flat affect,” and being consistently late to the bus at the end of the tour. I came very close to losing my job, as I had lost many others before it.

Developing Confidence

During that first summer, however, my beautiful mother died at the age of seventy-four, from smoking-related lung cancer. Her loss threatened to send me into a serious tailspin. I adored my mother. She may not have been the most nurturing or supportive of parents, as she had difficulty expressing her emotions—but I loved her. Despite the fact that she smoked, she had always taken good care of herself, and I had thought she would die well into her nineties, if at all. Because of my mother’s death, I needed the structure and the socialization that my job at Kykuit provided, and I acquired the social skills that were necessary to keep it. I discovered in myself abilities that had lain dormant all my life—abilities that few autistic people ever get a chance to develop: the self-confidence to speak in public, to be articulate and to modulate my voice, to make witty comments that are amusing to everyone (and not just to myself), and to impart my knowledge in a way that holds a visitor’s interest and attention. Problems remain in abiding by the schedule and making it to the bus on time, but the other guides know I have this tendency, and they hurry me along.

When talking about career success, if you’re referring to fame and fortune, a fat paycheck, a position of power, or a world- shattering discovery, I have nothing to offer. However, what I am able to impart is a story about a low-paying, seasonal, offbeat job that has made me very happy, provided me with a touchstone through years of loss and personal tragedy, and given me an opportunity to develop many interpersonal and social skills that I never dreamed I could possess.

Mid-Forties Subsistence Living

Although I have several advanced degrees, I have spent most of my adult life either unemployed or underemployed. By my mid-forties, I had learned to eke out a subsistence living by putting together a patchwork of part-time, low-paying jobs, all of which I was over-qualified for. I understand this is a common pattern with Aspies. At the time, however, I had not received a formal diagnosis. To my mind—and the minds of others around me—I was simply a disappointment, a failure, and an underachiever—a “no-good, lazy bum” who did not try hard enough. As a child in the 1960s, I had been tagged as being “emotionally immature,” and that label stuck well into midlife. Then I saw an ad for tour guides at Kykuit. I’ve had this job for ten years now, and it has quite literally saved my life during my darkest days.

Feeling of Empowerment from Diagnosis

Three years after losing my mother, my dad also passed away. Two years ago, I lost the elderly aunt who had rescued me when I was a totally dysfunctional person in my early twenties. She had given me a home for thirty years, and when she died, I was so paralyzed with depression and anxiety that I contemplated suicide. In the end, I sought therapy and received a diagnosis of Asperger’s syndrome with anxiety and depression. My diagnosis has given me a feeling of empowerment. Finally knowing what was “wrong” with me allowed me to embark on a belated but liberating journey of self- discovery. Through it all, my job as a tour guide at Kykuit has provided me with solace, purpose, and, at times, the only social life I had. It has also given me the chance to shine. Today, guests often compliment me—sometimes to management—on what a knowledgeable, funny, and articulate tour guide I am. Although few people in the neurotypical world would consider my story indicative of professional success, the personal level of success and fulfillment I have found is invaluable.

MY STORY

To look at me now, you might never know I have spent my life living in a world of strangers.

Until the summer I turned thirteen, I was a rather high-functioning child in the small riverside village of Croton-on- Hudson, New York. My mother was beautiful, intelligent, glamorous, and aloof. I adored her. She had difficulty displaying her emotions, but it was probably not her fault. Her own father, for whom I am named, was just like her—handsome, taciturn, and remote— a “refrigerator grandpa.” I adored him, too, but he never let me get close. My mother’s name was Jacqueline, like the First Lady, whom she did indeed look like. In fact, the resemblance was so strong that when Jackie Onassis died, I felt pangs of grief, although my own mom was alive and well at the time.

My Parents

My mother claimed that, as a child, her family had been wealthy and lived in a big house on a hill with a maid. I discovered later this was indeed true. Grandpa Charlie had once been a big wheel in the local restaurant business and probably a former bootlegger, as well. By the time I was born, however, my grandparents were anything but rich. They operated a bar and grill two blocks from Sing Sing Prison in the neighboring village of Ossining. We called it “The Saloon,” but it was no honky-tonk—just an everyday bar and grill where the correctional officers hung out between shifts. Nevertheless, my mom always carried herself like a displaced aristocrat.

You would think that, given her obsession with lost wealth and status, she would have married “up,” but the opposite was true. She wed her childhood sweetheart, the eighth of ten children of an Italian stonemason, all as poor as could be.

My dad was the polar opposite of my mom: warm, loving, easygoing, and thoroughly neurotypical. At the age of seventeen, he had quit high school and gone off to fight with the marines in World War II. He almost drowned at Okinawa, but fortunately he survived to return to his hometown and marry his childhood sweetheart, whom, like me, he regarded with absolute awe. Despite his good nature, my dad had very few parenting skills. Perhaps he was so disappointed I was not the daughter he had expected and longed for that he kept me at bay. Perhaps, as I began to suspect many years later, the horrendous events he had seen at places like Okinawa, Iwo Jima, and Nagasaki never really left him.

A Tomboy Best Friend

That my parents were not the best nurturers in the world mattered little at first. I had two sets of grandparents and a plethora of aunts and uncles within a few miles’ radius to take up the slack. There were also plenty of other kids—our neighborhood was literally crawling with children my own age or near to it, as it was the height of the baby boom. I even had a best friend—golden-haired Alexis, who lived next door. She was a tomboy, like me, but she was built like a pixie. I spent a lot of time at her house, at the homes of other playmates, and out on the street in pickup games with the other kids. Sure, I was a bit of a misfit, but I was not lonely—at least, not then.

My mom knew I was different, but she believed I was different in the best of ways. She thought I was a near-genius. The evidence for this was not overwhelming, but I could read fairly well by the age of four, and shortly thereafter I came up with interesting but useless facts, such as the capital cities of every state, all the kings and queens of England, and the gods of Mount Olympus. My mother was certain she had a precocious little sage on her hands.

SCHOOL YEARS

Unkind Treatment by Teachers and Classmates

My troubles began when I started school, and I received unkind treatment by both teachers and classmates. I recall being sent to a speech therapist, but my teachers did not see me as being impaired—they viewed me as a gifted child with a behavioral problem, and they came down on me harshly. Such a bright child as myself should have known better than to misbehave so consistently; I did know better, and I misbehaved anyway. I did not mean to do so, and sometimes I didn’t even realize I had misbehaved until I found myself cooling my heels in the principal’s office. Especially in the early grades, the schoolwork did not engage me, which led to trouble. In my view, my mom had done me no favors by teaching me to read as a toddler. What was I supposed to do in the first grade, when the rest of the class struggled to learn the letters of the alphabet? What could I do but goof off, cut up, and act out to relieve my boredom? It was the practice of the time for scholastically advanced students to be allowed to skip a grade, but I was never permitted that option because I was “emotionally immature.”

The difficulties I had with other kids were even more worrisome. At least I knew what the teachers expected of me. Although I did have friends of my own, most of my classmates treated me like a misfit. Some of them were schoolyard bullies, who seem to have an unwavering instinct for targeting children who fall short of societal norms. They chased me down the street and tried to steal my books and throw them in the mud. Others mocked and made fun of me, and I was never really sure why. Perhaps I talked a bit funny, and perhaps I really did walk like a swaying ship, as my classmates said. Perhaps it was my many food aversions, which made me an extremely picky eater—a circumstance which some found amusing.

I consulted my mother. She advised me that the other children were all jealous of me because I was so highly intelligent. I doubted the soundness of her opinion. In my eyes, I was not particularly bright or gifted. Anyone could open up a book or study a map and learn things. Where was the magic in that? I admired children who possessed skills that I coveted but entirely lacked—those who could turn perfect cartwheels, keep a Hula-Hoop up on their waist, or make sculptures with papier-mâché. At the age of seven, I was the last kid on the block to take the training wheels off my bike and learn to keep my balance. In many ways, I felt like a first-class dummy.

Life Is Not Meant to Be a Bowl of Cherries

Despite these challenges, I rather enjoyed elementary school. Back then, kids seemed to understand that life was not meant to be a bowl of cherries. All of us expected to get some bruised knees and hurt feelings at times, and we all had battles to fight. Some students could not keep up their grades, and others could not play sports. Some were called names because they were too fat or too skinny. Eventually, I learned to stand my ground and ward off the bullies. I tamped down my urge to misbehave, which appeased my teachers.

I also benefited from the freedom that was granted to youngsters back then. Our parents did not expect to know where we were every hour of the day. We left in the morning and came home for dinner. If I was on the outs with the other kids, I did not have to stick around, nor did I have to run home and hide. I could hop on my bike and pedal across town to the home of a relative who would listen sympathetically. Or, I could go to the public library, where I could lose myself in stacks of tantalizingly unread books. I could go to the sweet shop, get a soda, and read the comics—or, I could simply ride down an unfamiliar street and explore.

My favorite subjects in school were history, geography, and social studies. The other kids hated history, and I wondered why. To me, history was full of wonderful stories, and I could easily recall names, dates, and places.

I also had a bent toward theology. Both my parents had been raised Roman Catholic, and they made sure I had a religious background. Dad had lost his faith somewhere along the way, probably during the war in Japan, but Mom was more steadfast. She rarely went to church herself; however, she made sure I went and attended catechism class on Thursday afternoons at the local catholic school.

When I was small, I became aware that having no siblings made me different. One day in first-grade art class, the teacher told us to draw pictures of our siblings. The other two “only children” in the class submitted pictures of their pets. I had neither sibling nor pet and had nothing to draw. After school, I ran home and angrily confronted my mother. Why had she made me such a weirdo? Why didn’t I have a brother or sister, like “normal” kids did? To my surprise and delight, she replied that it was indeed a good idea and that she would think about it.

As it happened, a few months later, my mother presented me with my very own brother. I was ecstatic. A little pal! A second in my corner! Someone to talk to when everyone else deserted me! I proudly took his baby pictures to school for “show and tell” and declared that I now had a “real” family, just like everyone else.

My Younger Brother Was Unlike Me

Unfortunately, the promise of a baby brother turned out differently than I’d hoped. At first, all went according to plan. He dutifully toddled around the house after me, calling me “Yar-Yar” in an attempt to say my name, “Charli.” As he grew older, however, he treated me with complete indifference. All my life, I have grieved the loss of the brother and pal I wanted and expected. In his place stood the perfect stranger.

My brother could not be more unlike me. He is quiet and shy, sensitive and withdrawn—a natural introvert. His one lifelong obsession has been music. As a tot, he drove us all crazy with his constant repetition of television commercials. As a child, he raided my record collection with seeming impunity. I cannot recall whether he had friends in school, but by college, he had fallen in with some musically inclined students, and his life improved. All his friends are musicians. As an adult, he became a music writer and even published two books on rock music. Like me, he has never married, but he has had a proper series of live-in girlfriends. If fame and fortune are the standards by which to judge “success,” then my brother had the career success in the family. However, I do not believe it brought him much long-lasting happiness or self-fulfillment. He has been out of work for some time now and fears that, at fifty, he is washed up.

My brother is so dissimilar from me that, even when I began to suspect that I might be on the autism spectrum, it never occurred to me that he may be, as well. Two years ago, when I received a formal diagnosis, my psychiatrist gave me books on Asperger’s syndrome. One of the books indicated that autism runs in families . A light went on in my head, and I immediately telephoned my brother. However, a lifetime of misunderstanding is not easily overcome.

Seventh grade was the best year of my life. Junior high brought a greater variety of class work, and advanced courses were available in my favorite subjects. I took violin and played in the school orchestra. I played sports the other girls played—floor hockey and softball. I was fairly good, despite some deficits in motor skills. Both the disciplinary problems and the bullies were behind me. I even went to dances and began looking at boys. It seemed that I had finally conquered whatever-it-was that had kept me from fitting in. Just to be certain, I consulted my guidance counselor. “Do you think there is anything wrong with me?” I asked him. “Not at all,” he replied. “You seem like a typical twelve-year-old to me.” I beamed in satisfaction.

My World Came Crashing Down When I Was Uprooted from My School and Friends

Unfortunately, my world soon came crashing down. The summer I turned thirteen, my parents purchased a crumbling old estate further up the Hudson, in the middle of nowhere. I was uprooted from my home, my school, and my friends—life as I knew it was over. I had no one to talk to, nothing to do, and no place to go. I mean no one. There were no neighbors. There were no kids my age around, nor even any grown-ups. My brother had already locked me out of his world. Aunts and uncles came up to see us at first, but my mother did not encourage visitors, and gradually I lost touch with my relatives. The nearest village was three miles away, and although I soon learned to bike there and haunt the small public library, the icy fingers of deep loneliness reached into my heart and paralyzed me. I foundered. I regressed and fell apart. As B.J. Thomas sang, “I’m so lonesome, I could die.” He could have been singing about me.

For the most part, my parents did not understand what was happening as their little savant shattered into pieces. My mother believed that it was all make-believe and that I was pretending to be abnormal to punish my parents for tearing me away from my friends and my hometown. My father was convinced that my breakdown was physical in nature, and indeed I showed physical signs of distress. I had begun my menses six months before we left Croton. Once we moved, they stopped entirely. As a child, I had always been one of the tallest kids in my class. By seventh grade, I had attained my full height of five feet four inches and never grew a smidgeon more. My dad believed it was an indication of some unspecified illness.

Unbearable Loneliness in a Big High School

Eventually, I was sent back to school, but that did nothing to alleviate my unbearable loneliness. The high school I attended was a modern, sterile, overcrowded facility to which teenagers were bussed from surrounding towns. The teachers were too busy to devote personal attention to any one student. I made no new friends to replace those I had left behind. The necessity of riding the school bus seemed a humiliation. In Croton, school buses were associated only with the very youngest children and those who lived out in the sticks. After third grade, you walked or biked to school. Bullies reappeared in my life. These bullies did not chase me around the schoolyard. They walked right through me, refused to move when I walked by them, and generally acted as though I was not there—which, in a way, I was not.

For a while I had a horse named Perhaps, who brought me some solace, although he could never replace Alexis. We cleared out a dusty stall in one of the old barns on the estate for him. Since we lived in such a remote area, I could ride him up and down the road without any danger. I had Perhaps for a year and a half. The second winter, it was extremely cold and I could not ride. By then I was battling not only loneliness, but what would now be called depression and anorexia. My mother quietly gave Perhaps away to a local horse farm. As a teenager going through a tailspin, I had neither the maturity nor the energy to care for a horse.

It was when I stopped eating that my father finally took action. With no notice and against my will, I was admitted to the local hospital. I was terrified. For a week, my blood was drawn and tests were run to check for every conceivable affliction. All the doctors could find was an underactive metabolism, for which thyroid supplements were prescribed. I was also given a psychotropic medication—I believe it was Ritalin. However, it had no beneficial effects; it certainly did not make me less lonely. I told my mother that I did not believe I needed it, and she agreed. The prescription was not renewed. The thyroid supplements, on the other hand, did seem to work. My menses came back, and so did my appetite. This satisfied my dad.

The only thing that ever did me any good in high school was my participation in the movement opposing the Vietnam War. I have read that Aspies have a keen sense of social justice. I would like to say that this was what finally motivated me to stand up for myself. The truth was, I was spurred on by an intense identification with the innocent Vietnamese peasantry, who, through no wrongdoing, saw their huts burned, their villages strafed, and their kinfolk decimated. Wasn’t that similar to what had happened to me? While I was undergoing tests in the hospital, I pored over news magazines to ease the boredom, and the articles I read instilled in me a renewed sense of purpose. Shortly after my release, I began hiking a mile to the bus stop, taking the bus to Poughkeepsie, and holding candles against the wind, marching with signs to demand peace and volunteering for antiwar candidates. I wrote letters to the editor of the school newspaper and spoke up in class. Many of my teachers were likewise opposed to the war and looked upon me with favor. With their help, a political science club was organized, and at last I found classmates with whom I shared an interest. While I never made friends, as Alexis had been, I finally had people to talk to every now and then.

College Was a Disaster

If high school had been tough, college was an utter disaster. At first, I resisted the whole idea, but there did not seem to be a feasible alternative. I had very little guidance in choosing a career path. A large IBM headquarters had been built in a nearby town, and the people who worked there were paid a much higher salary than anyone else around. I never learned what it was the IBM folks did, but it was assumed that all the “bright” kids would try to get such a job, if not at IBM then in a similar firm. In preparation for such a position, one had to go to college. The entire prospect scared the living daylights out of me, but I was completely unaware that there were other options.

If a young Aspie came to me today and asked for advice, I would say, “Above all, choose a work environment in which you can thrive and be productive.” Not everyone is cut out for the corporate life. Would you be happier working on a ranch? In a zoo? Designing sets in a theater? Punching tickets on a train? As for me, it took many years—and many false starts—before I realized that work does not have to entail a windowless cubicle or a forbidding high-rise.

In the end, I selected Catholic University in Washington, DC. I selected it for no legitimate reason other than I thought it would be exciting to live in the nation’s capital.

It was a bad fit from the beginning. The student body was homogenous to the extreme—all white and middle- to upper-middle class, all perfectly attired and perfectly behaved. I found no diversity of thought, either. Somehow, it seemed I had chosen the only university in the l970s without its share of hippies, counter-culturalists, or freethinkers.

I Wanted to Be Social but Was Rebuffed

I wanted very much to be social. I tried very hard to make friends, but I was constantly rebuffed. I tried to establish relationships with young men, to no avail. Unable to find a warm welcome on campus, I spent a lot of my time in the downtown area, running wild in the streets and attempting to latch onto the radical groups who eventually rejected me, as well.

In truth, I was not an attractive person when I was in college. My parents, for all their poor nurturing skills, had at least provided me with some structure. They cooked my meals, did my laundry, saw to it that I went to bed at a reasonable hour, and got me off to school the next day, adequately dressed and groomed. Without their guidance, I did what was right in my own eyes. I bought an oversized khaki jacket from the army supply store and wore it day in and day out. What had begun as innocent idealism had devolved into full-blown anarchism. I was so full of resentment that I wanted to bring the world crashing down with me. I walked around campus muttering about the coming revolution and the “military industrial complex.” My hair was uncombed and uncut. Showers grew more and more infrequent. I plastered my dorm room with controversial posters.

The school administration attributed my weird behavior to drugs, which was a fair assumption. Illegal drugs were rampant on college campuses in those days, and it was known that students who abused drugs acted in strange ways. In truth, I never really took drugs, but the college officials searched my dorm room regularly anyway.

Things came to a head at the end of my third year, when rumors swirled around campus that I had attempted to injure someone. Although the rumors were completely false, no one came to my defense. I was subjected to a psychiatric examination. I must have passed the exam, because I was readmitted to the university. It was too late, however, to salvage my college career or my faith in humanity. I spent the next two years holed up in an off-campus apartment, gorging myself on my favorite foods and rarely attending classes.

Once I graduated, then I had a real problem—what was I supposed to do next? I was in my early twenties and had absolutely no clue as to how to live an adult life. If I had not been rescued, I do not know what would have become of me.

EMPLOYMENT

A Kind Aunt Helped Me Get My Life Together

My dad’s older sister, Aunt Rose, graciously took me in. She cleaned me up, gave me a bit of a polish, and provided me with some minimal social skills. I returned to the village in which I had lived as a child, and she taught me to bake bread and drive a car. It was far from easy. When I first went to live with her, I had the social graces of one of those jungle boys in the old movies, Raised by Wolves. I may as well have been.

Up until this time, I had never worked a day in my life. I hadn’t done any babysitting as a teenager, presumably because I had fallen to pieces and my parents wanted to keep me at home. In high school I did do some volunteer work for antiwar political candidates, but by the time I went to college, I really was in no condition to work.

Aunt Rose helped me look for work. She called up her friends and neighbors and lined up job interviews. She dragged me to career counselors. She found me temporary positions as a lunchroom monitor for the school district, an election registrar, a dog walker, and an office clerk. However, nothing really panned out long-term, so when my parents offered me the opportunity to go back to school, I jumped at it. Reading books and taking tests had never been a problem for me. I earned my Master of Arts degree, and then I went to law school. Aunt Rose inquired whether I would not be more comfortable with some “quirky, offbeat job” (her words). She was unaware that I was an Aspie, of course, but she was a keen judge of character. Unfortunately, it would be another few years before I listened to her.

Getting and Losing Jobs

I was thirty years old when I got my first “real” job working for a lawyer in Atlantic City, New Jersey. The year I spent working in Atlantic City was the happiest of my life since junior high. I had gotten the job entirely on my own merits—no one had called up a friend of a friend. No agency sent me. I had not even responded to an ad. I had just knocked on the door of an attorney who happened to have an important brief due the next day, which he had not even started to compose. I was so proud to be employed. I felt authentic, legitimate, and grown-up. People no longer walked through me. They talked to me with respect. Atlantic City was a good fit for me, too; it almost felt like home. In those days, the city was transitioning from a quaint, rundown, seaside resort to the bustling “Las Vegas of the East” that it is today. There was enough of the quirky old town left to make me feel that I belonged, while I could enjoy the adventure and excitement of venturing into the sparkling new casinos that sprung up at an amazing rate. For the first time, I had money of my own; I no longer had to beg my parents for every dollar. My boss’s secretary and I developed a friendly working relationship. I located an apartment with a landlady who was sympathetic and kind. I made up my mind to stay and practice law in South Jersey for the rest of my life. That summer, I took the New Jersey bar exam. When I passed, my boss threw me a little party. My commitment to my new career was so strong that I put down two months’ salary on a secondhand Chevette, which I could drive to the courthouse on the mainland.

I Never Saw the Social Warning Signs

Like many Aspies, I never saw the warning signs, which, in retrospect, I am certain were there. Perhaps my boss was growing irritated with my quirky behavior. Perhaps I was tardy once too often. Perhaps I dressed too casually in his eyes. Maybe it was not all my fault. My boss was a lone wolf himself and simply may have had no desire for a permanent associate that he had to pay week in, week out, no matter what the workload. One Friday afternoon, my boss handed me my paycheck and announced, “This isn’t working out.” I was stunned and completely blindsided.

A Kick in the Pants

Losing that first job sent me into another tailspin. I hopped in my Chevette and headed west, looking for another place where I might feel that I belonged. I spent the next year on the road, sometimes picking up work along the way. For six months, I worked for a small-town lawyer in Colorado. He asked me to stay, but the twin demons of loneliness and homesickness landed me back on Aunt Rose’s front porch, begging her to take me in again. She agreed, but on one condition. Aunt Rose gave me what she called “a kick in the pants.” This time, there would be no “moping around.” I would have to work. Even though I experienced depression and anxiety, when I was working steadily, the depression receded. I am glad I found work and actively developed the skills that steady employment requires.

My first job upon returning to Aunt Rose was my worst. I was hired by the collections department of a magazine in lower Westchester County. The work was borderline scummy—extracting money from struggling start-up businesses who could not afford to pay their advertising bill. The owner of the magazine treated everyone very unkindly. She ranted and raved and made demands that could not be satisfied. She spread stress around like butter on toast. No one lasted very long in that office; the turnover was phenomenal. She hounded people until they quit. I gritted my teeth and hung on for a year and a half, until I too could take it no more.

Two weeks after I left the magazine, I ran into a local attorney who said he might have some work for me. He did not mean putting me on the payroll or giving me a regular job. He wanted me to help him on a per diem basis, whenever his workload became overwhelming. This finally opened my eyes. I did not have to squeeze myself into that “windowless cubicle,” corporate-type job after all. I had marketable skills. I could freelance. In every small town, there is at least one solo practitioner who has neither the money nor the inclination to hire another full-time employee but who will invariably have special projects from time to time for which assistance is required: filing papers, serving process, answering the court calendar, conducting legal research (my specialty), and drafting briefs. I even helped one attorney supplement a legal treatise. I had a business card printed up, and, before I knew it, my phone was ringing.