Michael Savage, host of the radio show Savage Radio, recently had some nice words for autistic children and their parents. He recently stated on air, "I’ll tell you what autism is. In 99% percent of the cases, it’s a brat who hasn’t been told to cut the act out. That’s what autism is.” He then went on to say, "Straighten up. Act like a man. Don’t sit there crying and screaming, idiot." And then he of course went on to blame the parents as basically being checked out and not involved.
Having spent the better part of 2007 and 2008 dealing with my three year old son JP's Autism Spectrum Disorder diagnosis, of course I was horrified by these idiot remarks. I was reminded all over again what it was like to see your child rip out his own hair and bite himself until he bleeds, watching him lose total control of himself and look absolutely terrified while attempting to throw himself down a flight of stairs. Or the flip flop in my stomach when I walked through the doors of his daycare dreading the look on his exhausted teachers' faces. I would read through the journal they kept of his meltdowns, tantrums and fits. On a good day there would be only two or three, about 10 - 30 minutes in length. Detailed accounts of what set him off, how they handled it and how it stopped. I would drive home recounting the past week's diet, sleep patterns and any change in routine. I would pour over those journals and chart out his behavior on excel spreadsheets, desperately searching for a pattern or an answer. Finally I was given one.
After nearly two years of Early Intervention services, major hearing issues, occupational therapists, and speech therapists, I had a piece to this puzzle I had never considered: Autism Spectrum Disorder. I felt immediate relief. Why? Because I felt exactly the way Mike Savage had described it. I was feeling like maybe this was my fault. Maybe it was my working full time? Maybe it was because I failed at breast feeding. I was falling into the Mommy Guilt Trap. It took a team of Early Childhood Developmental Specialists, a pediatrician and many other professionals to convince me, but after doing some homework I knew it to be true. This wasn't my doing. So yes, I was relieved on many levels. I felt that now that we had a diagnosis, I could get to work curing him. Or at least getting him on track to living a normal, healthy and most importantly - a happy life.
Last fall the daycare we were at decided they couldn't safely care for my son. His issues were putting other children at risk. I remember driving home and looking at his sweet face in my rear view mirror. He was singing along to his favorite cd, laughing with his twin brother Seth who was making funny faces at him. His beautiful eyes gleaming, dimpled cheek and cherub mouth happily singing Itsy Bitsy Spider. His fingers precisely and perfectly making a little spider climb up the spout. "Again mommy! Again!" At a red light I opened the letter I was given and re-read the words that said his needs were too great, his behaviors too risky for daycare. How could this be the same child? What happens to him that he acts this way?
I think every parent who has a child with behavioral problems asks those questions. The short answer is, "I have no idea." To the people in the world who think the way Mike Savage does, I invite you to walk in my shoes for a day. Read my journals and see the library of books I read. I wish you could have sat up with me at night while I rocked my little boy back to sleep because the rocking motion was the only thing that could calm him. Or see his exhausted father take over for me at two in the morning after a thirteen hour shift. Read his files, meet his caretakers. If you know something I don't, I'm all ears.
To that end, it might surprise you that in this moment I am going to defend Mike Savage. Why? I am afraid that we are becoming a nation screaming for dialogue about culture and race and rights and health care and then clamming up out of fear of saying the wrong thing. We have stunted ourselves in the face of political correctness. If the United States becomes a place where public persecution limits its people's freedom of speech, what then is the difference between us and Cuba? North Korea? Dare I say Nazi Germany? If we can effectively kill a man's or woman's livelihood because we don't like what they say, what's next? Entrance exams about our feelings on various topics du jour when applying to college? For a job?
Enough with the whispering, its okay to speak. To listen. Its okay to turn the channel. And it really is okay to upset people with your ideas and thoughts. I am not offended by Mike Savage's lack of education and general disdain for a certain diagnosis. I could care less that Ann Coulter doesn't like how some of the widows of 9/11 spent their settlements and life insurance money. I think Ann Coulter is ludricous. When I see her on a show I do something that can revolutionize how we live our lives, how we raise our kids: I change the channel. I know, I know! Its genious!
I applaud Mr. Savage's unfiltered rant. I encourage him to continue to estrange audience members from his show with his uneducated ideas and opinions. His narrow-mindedness will eventually come to such a fine point that the only one listening will be his own mother. Who no doubt will see his ranting, his self injurious behaviors, his dimpled cheeks and wonder, "Where does this behavior come from? What happens to him that he acts this way?"
Having spent the better part of 2007 and 2008 dealing with my three year old son JP's Autism Spectrum Disorder diagnosis, of course I was horrified by these idiot remarks. I was reminded all over again what it was like to see your child rip out his own hair and bite himself until he bleeds, watching him lose total control of himself and look absolutely terrified while attempting to throw himself down a flight of stairs. Or the flip flop in my stomach when I walked through the doors of his daycare dreading the look on his exhausted teachers' faces. I would read through the journal they kept of his meltdowns, tantrums and fits. On a good day there would be only two or three, about 10 - 30 minutes in length. Detailed accounts of what set him off, how they handled it and how it stopped. I would drive home recounting the past week's diet, sleep patterns and any change in routine. I would pour over those journals and chart out his behavior on excel spreadsheets, desperately searching for a pattern or an answer. Finally I was given one.
After nearly two years of Early Intervention services, major hearing issues, occupational therapists, and speech therapists, I had a piece to this puzzle I had never considered: Autism Spectrum Disorder. I felt immediate relief. Why? Because I felt exactly the way Mike Savage had described it. I was feeling like maybe this was my fault. Maybe it was my working full time? Maybe it was because I failed at breast feeding. I was falling into the Mommy Guilt Trap. It took a team of Early Childhood Developmental Specialists, a pediatrician and many other professionals to convince me, but after doing some homework I knew it to be true. This wasn't my doing. So yes, I was relieved on many levels. I felt that now that we had a diagnosis, I could get to work curing him. Or at least getting him on track to living a normal, healthy and most importantly - a happy life.
Last fall the daycare we were at decided they couldn't safely care for my son. His issues were putting other children at risk. I remember driving home and looking at his sweet face in my rear view mirror. He was singing along to his favorite cd, laughing with his twin brother Seth who was making funny faces at him. His beautiful eyes gleaming, dimpled cheek and cherub mouth happily singing Itsy Bitsy Spider. His fingers precisely and perfectly making a little spider climb up the spout. "Again mommy! Again!" At a red light I opened the letter I was given and re-read the words that said his needs were too great, his behaviors too risky for daycare. How could this be the same child? What happens to him that he acts this way?
I think every parent who has a child with behavioral problems asks those questions. The short answer is, "I have no idea." To the people in the world who think the way Mike Savage does, I invite you to walk in my shoes for a day. Read my journals and see the library of books I read. I wish you could have sat up with me at night while I rocked my little boy back to sleep because the rocking motion was the only thing that could calm him. Or see his exhausted father take over for me at two in the morning after a thirteen hour shift. Read his files, meet his caretakers. If you know something I don't, I'm all ears.
To that end, it might surprise you that in this moment I am going to defend Mike Savage. Why? I am afraid that we are becoming a nation screaming for dialogue about culture and race and rights and health care and then clamming up out of fear of saying the wrong thing. We have stunted ourselves in the face of political correctness. If the United States becomes a place where public persecution limits its people's freedom of speech, what then is the difference between us and Cuba? North Korea? Dare I say Nazi Germany? If we can effectively kill a man's or woman's livelihood because we don't like what they say, what's next? Entrance exams about our feelings on various topics du jour when applying to college? For a job?
Enough with the whispering, its okay to speak. To listen. Its okay to turn the channel. And it really is okay to upset people with your ideas and thoughts. I am not offended by Mike Savage's lack of education and general disdain for a certain diagnosis. I could care less that Ann Coulter doesn't like how some of the widows of 9/11 spent their settlements and life insurance money. I think Ann Coulter is ludricous. When I see her on a show I do something that can revolutionize how we live our lives, how we raise our kids: I change the channel. I know, I know! Its genious!
I applaud Mr. Savage's unfiltered rant. I encourage him to continue to estrange audience members from his show with his uneducated ideas and opinions. His narrow-mindedness will eventually come to such a fine point that the only one listening will be his own mother. Who no doubt will see his ranting, his self injurious behaviors, his dimpled cheeks and wonder, "Where does this behavior come from? What happens to him that he acts this way?"
Comments
Post a Comment