Some Passions Never Die, But I Really Wish This One Would

When I kick the bucket, I'll know instantly that I've gone to the wrong place if I hear the non-lilting falsetto strains of Pikachu assaulting me as I cross the threshold. I can't tell you how much I loathe that little yellow guy and his boy-controller, Ash. Not a Pokemon fan.  

Pikachu, Charizard and all their annoying anime friends have been with son Fickle Fan (and therefore with me) now for over 12 years. It started innocently enough with the television show. I'm not sure how he discovered it, but it quickly became an obsession. Pre-Game Boy, when he was six years old, he actually flew into a desperate rage one afternoon in speech therapy because speech occurred at the same time his beloved Pokemon were battling on TV. We were not allowed to tape it. Watching it at 7 p.m. was just not the same as watching at 4 p.m. How clueless could we be??  

Fortunately, we came to our senses and eventually gave in and got him a Game Boy and earplugs. That introduced him to the world of Pokemon Red, Pokemon Blue, Pokemon Gold, Pokemon Silver...and the rest of Pikachu's palette.  And initially it meant new crises, when FF would be "stuck" on a level, unable to progress or win battles. (And speaking of battles, have you been treated to the exciting background "music" and sound effects of a Pokemon-to-Pokemon death match? Please. That composer needs to roast in Pokemon hell with me!) At one point I actually went online to an all experts site with my "How do I advance from Level 5?" question. Some wonderful guy actually answered and patiently explained how to go back and collect whatever gizmo FF needed to be able to defeat whatever opponent was blocking his progress. 

Through the years we've learned that having a passion or obsession for something means carving out space, providing access, or finding solutions to obstacles. And of course, we've also learned that those same passions can be wonderful motivators and distractions and can provide hours of calm.  

Some adults with autism have even built passions into careers. I remember a Chicago Tribune article about a man who loved trains and maps. After memorizing the entire bus and el system and all of its stops and connections, he was hired by the transit authority to advise people on how best to get from point A to point B. And I love this video from the Arc of Indiana's "Pathways to Employment" series on Drew, a young man who never gave up on his love for animals. 

Sure, there are probably more destructive or more disgusting passions FF could've chosen to latch onto than Ash's anime army. I think Pokemon probably provides consistency combined with a "safe," mild challenge and a sense of self-satisfaction when he wins a battle or gets to a new level. I keep reminding myself of that whenever I think of the incredible amount of time wasted on button pushing his DS. 

Unfortunately, I don't think Pikachu is going to turn out to be a pathway to a lucrative profession. FF has had other passions through the years that showed career or job-possibility promise--reptiles and dinosaurs, filmmaking, theater, cooking, sports facts and stats, and everything you've ever wanted to know about U.S. presidents. But they've all gone by the wayside. His room is full of stacks of books on the presidents, lighting and camera equipment, theater programs, and cookbooks. (He finally made dinosaurs extinct.) 

The passion for Pokemon waned through the years but resurfaced again in high school. Ugh. Left to his own devices (which is all too often now that he only has one community college class and work has dwindled to four hours a week), FF will play Pokemon on his DS or old games on his Game Boy, search for Pokemon clips on YouTube, watch episodes on TV that he's figured out how to record with the DVR, or even research new Pokemon in a game guide he got for Christmas. (Okay, yes, I bought it; as much as I hate the little beasties, I can't deny him the thing that he loves.) 

Anyone need a Pokemon expert?  Anyone??  

"Pikachu, I choose you!" Gag me. 



Okay, for those of you who just need to be tortured, click on the links: "Ash Meets Pikachu" and, oh help me!, there's a soundtrack!  

On a Random Tuesday

On a random Tuesday while I was at work, I got a phone call from FF. Bam. There's that gut-wrenching feeling. Now what? Parent T in T readers get this. It's the quaking you experience when you see that the school is calling. It's never good news. 

FF, though, is now 20. The pre-frontal cortex is maturing, doing its thing. He's attending community college classes. And, more importantly, he hasn't had an incident in more than a year and a half. But I know there's always that possibility that something or someone (or he himself) will make him feel belittled and humiliated, that he'll feel boxed in and powerless. So the Mom worries? Still there. 

On this particular random Tuesday, I had dropped him off at his class downtown. On Tuesdays, after class, his peer mentor (PM) picks him up and they go do "guy" things (Buffalo Wild Wings, bowling, video games, walk on campus). The PM and I usually text beforehand, just to verify the pickup. Since this class is downtown and not out at the main campus, you can bet I texted FF after class the first couple of times to be sure pickup went smoothly and they were on their way. But this was 5 weeks into class, so I had faded back and was trusting that all was well.

The call came 30 minutes after class had ended. Uh-oh. But:

FF: Mom?

Me: Yep. Are you okay? Did PM pick you up?

FF: Oh yeah. I'm fine. I'm just calling to let you know PM and I are going to a movie, so we'll be back later. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Okay?

Me: Yes, that's great. Thanks for letting me know. And have a good time. 

FF: Okay bye. 

Three waves of relief here. 1) He's more than fine. He's having a good time. 2) He called to let me know he'd be late. 3) I don't have to see that movie!

Several days later, I checked with him about the call. "Did PM have you call me to let me know you'd be late? That was thoughtful." And the about-left-me-on-the-floor response: "No, I just wanted to call because I knew we wouldn't get back until later than we usually do." Communication, consideration for someone else's feelings, executive function skills. The trifecta!

On that random Tuesday, as I was driving home from work, I realized my son was at a movie, my daughter was staying on campus for something course-related, and I would be headed out to a meeting. Everyone off doing their own thing. I understand that this happens all the time in "normal" families, but it just doesn't happen in ours. 

I could get into this normal family thing. On any random Tuesday.


 

Career Choice with a Twist: Ducking the Usual Question

"What do you like to do?" 

Son Fickle Fan gets asked that question probably seven to ten times a year, because if you don't know where you're headed career-wise, that's where every employment specialist, disability service provider, potential employer, teacher, and parent starts. That's square one. 

Trouble is, that's not where FF is standing. He's not even playing that game anymore. He doesn't believe he should begin looking at what career he'd like to pursue by ticking off the things he likes to do in his spare time. 

He doesn't think the two things are related. Nor should they be, the way he sees it. 

Because here's the thing: FF is concerned that if he chooses from among the things he likes doing, he will no longer like to do them when he's not on the job. And he doesn't want to face that. 

What if he got a job in filmmaking, but after hours editing a project, or working on a set, he didn't feel he could stomach sitting in a theater to watch the umpteenth version of Transformers in its screen debut? Or what if he became a sports analyst for ESPN, only to discover that he couldn't enjoy tallying the stats and making lists and tables of the top characteristics of the winning pro-football teams that season. Or, heaven forbid, that he wouldn't eagerly anticipate the football draft? 

It doesn't speak very highly of how he feels about the world of work, does it?

In high school some of FF's early career choices were torpedoed naturally as he began exploring and participating in those interests. Football quarterback? Loved working out with the team, but being on the field? Not so much. Cooking? Top Chef was (and continues to be) a must watch. Loved being in cooking classes. But earning minimum wage, working in high stress, tight spaces, and those late hours? Nope. 

And that's okay. There are a lot of twenty-somethings out there who, somewhere along the line, realized that being a rock god or the next playwright to win a Pulitzer might not actually be a reality. That self-discovery is a part of the process. 

But for FF it's been more difficult to replace those early career goals with something that might be a little more doable. His only goal now is to complete his required basics toward an associate's degree. Then he wants to obtain a bachelor's at a four-year college somewhere. Why? He can't articulate that. He just knows that's what's expected if you want a good job with a living wage. So for now, he'll meander through the course catalog at the local community college every semester.

Little resource side note here. There are two relatively new publications out for teens and families on the process of career preparation and development. The first, from the Department of Labor's Office of Disability Employment Policy, is "Shelly Saves the Future: A Story of Career Development." It's a cartoon/infographic about what an Individualized Learning Plan is and how it can guide and help you toward a career goal. The second is "Understanding the New Vision for Career Development: The Role of the Family," an Info Brief from NCWD/Youth. This one clearly describes the process of career development and what steps families can take to ensure their transition-aged adolescent is making progress. Honestly, though, there's no way FF would have accepted that Role of the Family when he was exploring career goals as a teen. It's still a problem. My mantra throughtout much of his school years: The information and guidance HAS to come from somewhere else, a third party. I don't think we're alone in this. There's a large slice of the ASD population that views any information coming from a parent as highly suspect, worthless, or even toxic. The information in the NCWD/Youth "Understanding the New Vision" guide is still useful; if your family is like ours, though, you may just need to get creative with how some of those tasks get accomplished.

For now, we know FF's going to need to choose a path soon, and he'll need help to do that. Our job will be to talk with the placement and career center folks before he meets with them so they understand his perspective and don't open the coversation with that question. You know--the usual question: "So, what do you like to do?"

The Phone Interview

FF, on the phone in kitchen: "Yes, hello. This is he."

The prearranged morning phone interview with a major big box company gets underway. This is a first. FF usually only talks on the phone with family or people he knows, and then it's brief and to the point. So this should be interesting.

Me, listening to his end of the conversation from my mutually agreed upon spot in the living room ("I don't want any distractions, Mom."): Silence, [thump, da thump, da thump...] heart beating. [Good start.]

FF: "Okay...okay. Gotcha. I thought this was a seasonal position, for the summer. Oh, okay. Okay. Gotcha."

Me: [Gotcha??]

FF:  "I've done mostly processing. Taking things out of people's cars, and then getting them ready to be categorized and put out on the floor. But I'm looking for my first summer job."

Me: [Good answer.]

FF: "My strength would be honesty and the weakness is writing. Right. Okay."

Me: [Yes! he answered without hesitating and didn't sound embarrassed about it. So far, so good.]

FF: "Um, well. I don't really know. Let me check on that. Just a minute."

Me:  [Uh oh.]

FF: Coming into the living room with his hand over the phone."Mom! They want me to give an example of when I've worked in a team situation."

Me:  "I think you can tell them you've done that at your Restore position."

FF: To the interviewer. "I've worked with a team at my volunteer position."

Me: "You can tell them that it's the Habitat Restore."

FF: "At the Habitat Restore. I've worked with a team of people there."

FF: "Oh. Just a moment again. Turning back to me. Mom! Now they want to know if I've ever worked on a team goal. Have I?

Me: [So now the interviewer surely knows the status. At this point, I think it would probably be better for FF to tell the interviewer that he has high functioning autism and just explain that he's getting some support during the interview. But FF is not really into full disclosure at this point, so we press on.] "At the Restore you've worked with other volunteers on customer service."

FF:  "At my volunteer position, I've worked on customer service." Holding the phone away from his face, but this time forgetting to cover the receiver, "Have I ever worked to accomplish multiple goals in a short time?" Realizing who he's talking to now, and back to the phone, "Oh, sorry, just a moment again, I need to ask my mom."

Me: [Wracking my brain for something.] Just tell them you can't think of anything right now.

FF: "I can't really think of anything now."..."Um." To me. "Can I give them an example of when I've exceeded expectations?"

Me: Knowing full well this is lame, "I think you've done that at the Restore and I think you did that in your public speaking class too."

FF: "I think I've exceeded expectations at Habitat and in one of my previous classes."

At this point the interviewer asks him if he has any questions. Asking his own question during an interview is something we've prepped him for, but he came up with the question himself.

FF: "What would a typical day be like?" 

Me: [Good job! He sounds interested and engaged.] 

FF: How many hours a day would I be working?

Me: [That's fair.]

FF: "What kind of responsibilities would I have on the job?"

Me: [Okay, enough with the questions, already!]

I can tell they're beginning to wrap things up. I grab a pen and piece of paper and write, Don't forget to say "Thank you!" 

FF: "Okay. And thank you for this phone interview and for the opportunity. Okay, gotcha. Bye!"

Yes! He's very proud of himself. And I'm proud of him too. 

He got through it and for the most part he did pretty well. We certainly need to coach him on the types of questions he was asked for which he needed Mom help. But, all in all, for a first one of these screening interviews, in challenging circumstances (on the phone), he did very well. I'm just glad it wasn't a Skype interview. 

I'm intrigued by the new virtual Job Interview Training software developed by SIMmersion Inc., with a grant from the National Institute for Mental Health. FF has played around with the test version, which you can do for free, but I think it would be good if he could practice some more with "Molly." 

Will he get called for a face-to-face interview? I wish, but I recognize the reality is probably not. It was pretty evident that he may need on-the-job supports. 

If he were working with a disability service provider, his job coach or employment specialist would clue-in human resources about FF's abilities and the right job fit for him. We don't have that support, so my dilemma is: Do I intervene and call human resources to explain the situation, hoping they'll at least give him an interview and may even give him an opportunity? (This is a company that's hired other workers with disabilities.) It's a discussion I need to have with FF. For now, he'll wait a week and then we'll talk about follow-up. 

Me: "Whew!"

Need a quick list of tips to prepare your transitionee for a phone interview? Try these Top 9 Tips for Crushing Your Next Phone Interview. 

The Situation: Summer Job No Supports

The summer job dilemma. With his classes at Ivy Tech ending in mid-May, FF has decided a part-time summer job might be a good thing. We agree. How

does he make that happen? I wish there was an e-how video on shoe-horning a young adult with high functioning autism into employment. I checked. There isn't.

Step one. We started small. Ivy Tech's spring student career fair. FF actually got dressed up (shaved without me asking him!), took copies of his resume, and gathered up his courage. Anxiety was leaking out of his pores. 

In his case, the anxiety presents itself in the form of venting at me. Rudeness, belligerence, intolerance. I'm not going to sugar coat it; this is tough on me. But I try to recognize it for what it is and give him some slack. Doesn't make it right; doesn't make it appropriate. I would love to have a therapist come along some day and help FF discover a more useful way to channel that anxiety. 

I dropped him off at the door after he agreed that it would be okay for me to come in a little later to visit the WorkOne table. He just didn't want me there at the career fair while he was making the tour of the employer exhibits. Moms just don't shadow their children while they're talking to their potential HR managers. He's right: That IS inappropriate. 

Ten minutes go by, while I park the car. As I'm coming up the walk, FF is exiting, now all smiles. Mission accomplished. He tells me he submitted his resume to four or five local employers and the city parks and rec department. Yea! He's pleased with himself, says he even tried hard to smile and shake hands. I know those employers won't appreciate the ordeal this was for him, but I do. They should hire him on that basis alone. But, okay, I'm his mom. I get it. 

Step two. I visit with a kindly staffer at the WorkOne table to discuss "The Situation." Twenty-year-old part-time college student with high functioning autism needs summer job. Not on Medicaid so not eligible for waiver supports. Has a postsecondary goal (two classes a semester; no real career path) so no VR support for employment. As we've mentioned herein before, VR cannot support someone who wants to go to college AND have a job. It's considered double dipping. You have to choose. Also, VR supports individuals who are looking for permanent employment, not a part-time summer job. 

I want to know if--by some long shot--FF actually lands the summer gig of his dreams, the employer can turn to someone within WorkOne or some other agency to help them include a worker with autism. The answer is essentially "not really." Usually a provider agency fills that role. But FF isn't working with a provider--remember: postsecondary goal, not an official employment goal, so therefore no VR and no provider support. 

The kindly WorkOne staffer (boy! he should've ducked under the table when he saw me coming) diagnoses The Situation a little differently. What FF needs, he says, is a job developer who can both help find him a job and serve as a job coach for awhile. Okay, maybe, I reply. But let's review The Situation. No VR supports for employment, no provider supports, no Medicaid waiver supports. 

Could I hire a freelance job developer, I ask? Out of pocket? (Financial ow! But what can I do??) Kindly WorkOne staffer appears perplexed but eventually gives me the number of a Person to Call. 

Step three. Person to Call listens to The Situation via phone. He completely agrees that FF needs a summer job to increase his confidence and build his experience. This is a perfect time to look for summer employment. 

Fabulous. But no, Person to Call works for--wait for it....a local provider agency. He doesn't freelance and doesn't know that a freelance job developer would be allowed. Allowed? I let that one go. Person to Call thinks he may have the solution! WorkOne! They have a summer jobs program for youth. Various local employers use the youth job corp for both office work and outdoor maintenance and groundskeeping services. 

Person to Call tries to allay my concerns. FF can probably do this independently, without a job coach. It's very inclusive, he assures me. The supervisors are understanding; the employers would have supports through WorkOne. He thinks this may be just the answer. 

Step four. I visit the local WorkOne office. A kindly front desk WorkOne staffer takes me back to a cubicle where I meet a kindly WorkOne staffer. No, they haven't run a summer jobs program for youth in quite few years. And no, they can't really help find jobs for young adults looking for summer jobs. Their mission is to help individuals find permanent employment. (Do I hear an echo?) 

As a youth with a barrier to employment (a disability) he might be eligible to attend a workshop though, says kindly WorkOne staffer. Great. What do you do in a workshop? Would he get experience and be paid, I inquire hopefully? Oh no. In a workshop, we help people work on their resumes, cover letters and interviewing skills. 

Uh huh, I say. Like the class he has now at Ivy Tech, where he's working on cover letters and resumes and participating in mock interviews? Like the voc ed class he had his senior year of high school? Oh, she says, I guess that's not really something he needs then. Truthfully, I tell her, he does need help practicing interviewing skills and talking on the phone to employers. But not through a workshop. 

Kindly WorkOne cubicle worker needs to talk to her boss before he leaves for the day. She thanks me for coming in. I thank her for trying. Kindly WorkOne front desk staffer stops me on the way out and suggests that I try a local autism support group. Maybe they could help. 

Buck passed and still making the rounds. 

Transition in the Trenches: Midwinter Mash Up

Notes. In no particular order, here's a little of what's been happening during January and February in our neck of the woods. These could all be little

individual posts, but today you get a mash up. Lucky you!

• Once again, as required, FF made the call tonight to the jury duty hotline. Once again, I breathed a sigh of relief--he doesn't have to go in to the courthouse--yet. He's on duty for the entire month and calls in every night to check his status. I need to remind him to make the call, but he's doing it on his own. Talking on the phone really isn't his thing, but calling a recorded information line is okay. He calls in his own med refills now too, but only because it's automated. No communication with an actual person necessary. Update: He made it through the month and wasn't called in. Whew!

• Polar vortex. In case you hadn't heard.

• He's gaining confidence at college. I dropped him off the other day for one of his classes and watched as he walked up to the door, backpack slung over one shoulder, jeans, Colts shirt, no coat despite the not too balmy 24 degree day. Just like every other kid. An hour and a half later, back in the car, chatting away about the instructor, the syllabus, the presentations he'll need to prepare. He's got this handled.

• The public speaking class is in the morning. Foolish, foolish me. I'm again scraping a 19-year-old out of bed. Today he got to class with all of a minute to spare, but I pity the person who had to sit next to him. Hygeine got left at the bottom of the priority list. For the 7,953rd time we had the discussion. Teeth, face, deodorant, hair, clothes. Update, one month later: Some progress. He's setting his alarm. I sometimes have to call him, but it's not an epic battle anymore. And he usually gets the teeth brushed and clothes on without me saying anything. Hasn't been late once.

• Addendum to that last note: Lots of grumbling about what FF views as my daily Style Commentary. I may be the autism mom version of Joan Rivers. It's not quite, "Are you wearing THAT!??" More along the lines of "It's too cold out to wear that," or "Find a clean shirt, please." Today's words of style wisdom had to do with the open zipper on his shorts (it was 9 degrees out, BTW, which I did not mention). I pick him up after class and am maternally aghast when I see his zipper still unzipped. When I ask about it, he tells me the zipper is broken. Oh, well then. Perfectly understandable. But NOT SO MUCH! It never occurred to him that it might be preferrable to find a pair of pants with a working zipper. This is why I continue to be on style patrol. 

• Polar vortex. 

• On her own, DD auditioned for and landed a small part in a student theater production. Four nights a week she's with her geeky drama peers, learning the Bard's lines and laughing. We support laughing. It's a very good thing.

• Without prompting--ooh, that sounds very nice; let's say it again--without prompting, FF had the instructor sign his accommodations forms AND he dropped off the copy at the disabilty services office. Color me impressed.

• It's freezing. 

• This semester DD and FF both have two classes. New tutors for chemistry and for public speaking class are coming and going. I am the official Tutor Seeker, Screener and Scheduler. 

• And Cab Driver. No progress on transportation. I come and go, to and fro. Classes, workouts, volunteering. Somewhere in between those, I actually go to work for a few hours. 

• In an effort to increase her financial responsiblities, DD is now paying us a small monthly rent. That and gas are pretty much her only regular expenses. She's now working somewhere between 18-22 hours a week, has her own checking and savings account, and is comfortable using her debit card for little things and for withdrawals and deposits. Paying rent gives her practice writing checks and paying bills. She's now paying for her own tuition and books, but we reimburse her from her college savings account. Next up: phone and car insurance. If at some point she moves to an appartment, she'll at least have an inkling of what financial independence is all about. At least that's the hope. 

• Update on that one. Out for a drive in our car, DD skidded into a ditch. Polar vortex, freezing, snowy roads. Hondas make terrible luges. Lots of damage but not to her, thankfully. She gets to pay the deductible. Isn't responsibility fun? The good news is that she held up, shivering and shaking for an hour, talking to both the sheriff's deputy and the cop that drove up while waiting for the tow truck. Cop even wished her happy birthday. Probably not her favorite day of celebration.

• Attic furnace sputters out during polar votex. Heating and AC guy gives it its last rites. Suggests a $5,000 replacement. And do it soon, he says. Ugh.

• For the first time since the nasty incident of almost a year ago (which shall not be further mentioned herein, ahem), FF is talking about getting a job. Maybe a summer job, he says. How to make that happen without any supports is the question of the hour. (FF is now on a postsecondary education path with VR and so no longer has any assistance for employment.) I'm happy, though, that he's ready to get back on the horse.

• February thaw. "We're melting!" (Think Wicked Witch of the West.) 

• Though neither child 'o mine likes to talk on the phone (see above), DD is now adept at pizza delivery. She will not starve. Yea. (The pizza boxes and pop cans will eventually engulf her, but she will not starve.) 

• Because of this newfound skill, the husband and I actually left the house for a night, went to dinner and stayed at a hotel about an hour away. They survived. We, of course, drove them nuts by calling often. Did I mention they're not Chatty Cathys? Short conversations. Meds were taken, garage doors were closed, the cat was fed. We need to do this more often. 

• Polar vortex reprise and, oh look, the Weather Channel is predicting substantial icing over the weekend. 

There will be warmth and sunshine again, right? Right?

Acceptance and the Dark Cloud of Doom

FF and I had one of those car discussions this morning about his autism. He's sick of it. He would get rid of it in a minute if he could. It makes him different and that's what's so painful about it, he says. Above all, he needs to feel that he's like his peers, that he fits in.

"Don't you understand, Mom? Autism just makes me stick out."

I listen, I tell him I do understand. I try to point out that he has strengths and some extremely good traits, that his autism isn't all bad. 

He doesn't care and doesn't want to hear it. He just wants it to go away. And on and on. I seriously don't know how our conversations in the car devolve into dangerous territory like this. Sigh. I wish he could reach some level of acceptance and peace with it, but no. Or, at least, not yet. I'm not suggesting that he needs to love his autism or begin glorifying it in any way. I'd just like to see him arrive at a level of tolerance that would enable him to "walk around" the potholes in his life.

I imagine some day in the not-so-distant future when he'll calmly be able to talk to people about what it's like to have his brand of autism. Maybe he'll even be able to stand up in front of a classroom and describe the day-to-day hurdles to a class of college students. Or maybe he could at least get to the point where he can explain his challenges to a college professor (without an emotional upheaval) so that he can appropriately advocate for his own accommodations without having someone do that for him. But for FF, at least for now, the not-being-able-to-accept-it IS a part of the disability. 

As it is, I'm able to divert the conversation to something happier, just before I drop him off for his community college class--a very good thing. But Mom Worries taunt me. How will the conversation color his day and his mood--and, for that matter, eveyone else's with whom he may come into contact?

An hour-and-a-half later I pick him up, he slides into the front seat, and cheerfully tells me all about the TED talk that his instructor shared with the class from a young college student who has, wait for it..., autism. The video was one of several the class watched, illustrating good public speaking techniques. I actually watched this video months ago, and I even showed it to FF and told him about it--although I'm sure he wasn't interested in watching the whole thing. He remembered the student, who is studying quantum physics in Indianapolis (and, no, FF is not one of THOSE students with autism).

Did the instructor include the video specifically because FF is in his class? Did he show it so that FF would know that his autism doesn't need to be a barrier in his class? Or maybe so that the other students would see the tall awkward kid in their class a little differently? Or maybe it was just a coincidence (but I doubt it). I don't know. But at least for a little while, the Dark Cloud of Gloom dissipated. He was happier. I was happier. 

So thank you, COMM 101 professor. By showing him that he's not the only one, you helped him fit in just a little bit more. It's a little thing, I know, but you eased him into a better day. And for that you get the Gold Star of the day from a grateful autism mom.