Gracefully Leaving a Job: A New Skill to Learn

After a year at the cash register, Daughter Dearest is quitting her job at Kohl's. And it'll be okay. 

I haven't written about DD's exploits in awhile, mostly because she's doing fairly well. For the most part, no news is good news. But this IS Two in Transition, and though she's not always the squeakiest wheel, DD is wending her way through the chutes and ladders of her world too. For those of you who are just joining us, meet DD. All caught up now?

After getting an A in a summer early art history course that required a ridiculous amount of memorization ("Oh, I know that one! Tile with arabesque decoration, 15th century Ottoman, Anatolia, carved, glaze painted and guilded earthenware!), DD is now taking two academic courses and a science lab at Ivy Tech. Plus her job at Kohl's. She's learning to balance and spin the demands of multiple plates pretty well. Having a tutor for biology helps with her focus and preparation. All good. 

The problem is that she just can't face the loss of Thanksgiving with family up north and a holiday season with very long hours listening to carols from Taylor Swift (who seems to be the ambiance wizard's favorite songstress to pipe in over the PA) while she does her best to redeem Kohl's Cash coupons as fast as her scanner can beep, all while she's prepping for final exams. Too. Much. Stress. 

She's been looking (sort of) for a non-retail position, but it's been slim pickins. So rather than push her into another Black Friday (she survived, but barely), we're supporting her decision to leave Kohl's and get another job after winter break.  

As you can imagine, for a person with both Aspergers and OCD, there's been some strategizing involved with just how and when to give notice and leave gracefully. Yesterday, though, DD and her dad (he of the human resources persuasion) wrote a very nice letter of resignation thanking Kohl's for her first job, for the skills she's gained and for the boost to her confidence. In the letter, she gave them two week's notice, but said she could be flexible if they needed her to work another shift or two before the next schedule is posted.  

DD didn't give a reason for leaving. If anyone asked, we told her she could truthfully say it was because of school demands.

So like before when she needed to advocate for herself for shorter hours (you can read about that one here), DD sat in the parking lot, taking deep breaths, trying to steady her nerves for several minutes. And again, she said, it took all of five seconds. The manager took her letter, said she'd make sure it got to the scheduler and that was it. Employees come and go at Kohl's. Not a big surprise. And once again, the world began spinning on its axis. 

I'm a little concerned about too much free time, so I'm pushing the volunteering button, at least until she gets another job.  We'll see how that turns out. Meanwhile, Kohl's has been a very good first gig. They trained her and had her volunteering with other staffers her first month there. She learned how to respond in a variety of situations with customers. She got to laugh with other staff at the absurdity of life behind a cash register. We're grateful for all Kohl's has done for her, but it's time for DD to move on. Gracefully. No harm, no foul, no bridges burned. 

A Day at the BMV: Getting a State ID Card

Son Fickle Fan takes after his dad--he's somewhat of a political junky. Not surprisingly, FF is looking forward to voting for the first time on November 6. To make that possible, he spent some time at the Indiana Bureau of Motor Vehicles in May, getting his state ID card. I'm not going to get into the controversy of voter identification laws in this blog post, but the fact is that Indiana now requires ID at the precinct before they'll let you have a ballot. FF, though he's now 18, doesn't have a driver's license, thus the need for an alternative.  

This is another one of those Major Steps along the transition road. In addition to exercising his voter rights, there are other reasons for having an official ID, including opening a bank account, writing checks, filling out some job applications, enrolling in courses and other instances where he would need to have verification of his identity. 

Was it difficult to get one? Nope, but it takes some preparation, so please first check out the BMV website, especially the section listing which documents you’ll need to have with you to apply for a Secure ID.  There’s a handy little checklist they’ll give you on the site.  Also note that if you’ve never had a driver’s license or ID from the Indiana BMV in the past, you need to apply for a Secure ID. (There is also something known as a non-Secure ID, but it’s only given to people who already have a license or ID but who don’t have their Social Security card or documentation necessary to prove Indiana residence. You can still vote with a non-Secure ID.) According to the BMV, “A Secure ID meets federal government requirements for driver’s licenses, identification cards and permits.”

So here’s what you need to bring with you:

• a document proving identity--usually a Passport or a certified copy of a birth certificate;
• a document proving Social Security number (preferably a Social Security card, a W-2 form, or a paystub showing both the applicant's name and SS number)
• a document proving lawful status in the United States (the Passport or birth certificate will also work for this); and
• two documents proving Indiana residency.

It's the two documents proving Indiana residency that were the challenge for FF. After all, he doesn't pay bills yet, doesn't have a job, and didn't have a voter registration card or any of the other suggested documentation (there's a list on the BMV site). However, you can submit documentation on behalf of someone with a disability (the BMV uses the term "incapacitated," which I detest!) if you have legal guardianship or if you are a legal caregiver who lives with the applicant and you are at least 18 years old. So, in our case, I needed to sign an Indiana Residency Affidavit for FF and also show my driver's license, my birth certificate (or Passport), two documents proving my Indiana residency and a letter proving legal guardianship. Thank heavens, you can leave the partridge in a pear tree at home. 

Unlike a driver's license, there is no fee charged for obtaining a Secure ID.

My biggest fear was that we would need to wait for hours in long lines or sit forever in torturous folding chairs, waiting for our number to be called--the usual BMV nightmare. Fortunately, we went on a Tuesday morning, so it wasn't incredibly busy. My husband was also with me in case FF needed to go out for a walk or a break, but the wait was actually very short.

I really only had four relatively minor complaints about the process, which I'll share with you here, only so that you'll know what could happen and how to prepare accordingly if you're also planning the trip to your local BMV. 

1. The BMV staffer assisting us, though very nice, kept having problems with his data entry, which meant that FF had to have his picture retaken three times and the guy had to re-enter all of his information three separate times, until a supervisor finally came to the rescue. I was incredibly impressed with FF's patience and composure that day, because he usually hates waiting and has very little tolerance for repetition.
2. FF also has terrible dysgraphia, so it's difficult for him to sign his name in small spaces. For the ID, he needed to sign his name on one of those electronic keypads, which a) was very small and didn't give him enough room to sign and b) kept timing out because when he does sign his name, FF is very slow and deliberate about it. As it was, the BMV staffer said it really didn't matter, so he only has his first name, not his full signature, on the ID. That concerns me, because I don't know if a first-name only John Hancock will be accepted in the event a store clerk or bank teller needs to check his signature against his ID. 
3. As part of the process of obtaining a first ID or driver's license, the BMV is supposed to also allow you to register to vote and--if you're male and between the ages of 18 and 25--register for Selective Service. Voter registration was easy, but for some reason the BMV's computer system didn't trigger the Selective Service question that would've allowed FF to register. (And, yes, you must still register for Selective Service even if you have a disability.) We even asked the staffer about it. He knew it should have come up on their screens, but he and his supervisor didn't know why it didn't come up, and they couldn't register him manually. Not a big deal--we did it online later that week--but it should have been part of the ID process. 
4. And oh those terrible photos! I'm not blaming this one on the BMV.  In Hoosierland, you are no longer allowed to smile, showing your teeth, when they snap your pic. Unfortunately, FF interpreted the "don't smile" directive to mean "scowl and look angry." It would never occur to him that it was even possible to not smile and look pleasant at the same time. We should have prepared him for that one by doing some mugging in the mirror beforehand.

The ID came in the mail in about a week. Sadly, it shows a menacing FF with a first-name only scrawl. Makes him look far more disabled than he really is. Sigh. But he now has it in his wallet, which he's learning to carry with him whenever he leaves the house, and he's had the chance to use his ID several times over the summer. 

What about an actual driver's license? Ah, now that's another blog for another day.

Meandering Through the Medicaid Minefield

Benefits make me a little squeamish.  I’ve always thought it best to side-step the issue whenever possible. I’m not sure, though, that when you have two children in transition you can avoid stepping in the benefits minefield, fraught with its complexity and controversy.  Add to that an election year when both Medicaid and Medicare could figure prominently in the decision of who sits in the Oval Office or at a desk in the Capitol or downtown Indy, and I figure no matter what I have to say…Boom! 

So here’s a little of our tiptoe through the minefield this summer.

Our family’s personal involvement with benefits is minimal at best.  Son FF with autism, now 18, was diagnosed at 3 ½, but, given our income—in the Midwest we would probably be considered mid-to upper middle class—we knew he would never qualify for federal or state benefits to supplement his care.  We never had early intervention. We paid for additional speech services, some OT, high school evaluations, and even his psychiatric care and medication management out of our own pockets.  None of that was covered under my husband’s health insurance. (And I, of course, left my job to coordinate the therapy and extra care FF needed.) That meant we struggled to find appropriate services for him at times, because many supports and services for families with children who have disabilities are only dealt out to those who have Medicaid or who are on the Medicaid waiver.  It meant no behavior supports at a time when we desperately needed them. 

  

And, oh, we sooo needed those services. So we added ourselves to the new waiver waiting list in Illinois, and when we moved to Indiana, we started over again at the bottom of the waiting list, which was expected to be 10-12 years.  When FF was young, I was told at an autism conference that waivers were a way for states to widen the net and extend needed services to middle and upper income families as well. So, okay, I told myself, we would wait, and when his number came up at least then he would have some supports.

We were not really worried about Medicaid in the health care sense of the word yet for him yet. After all, thanks to the Affordable Care Act (Boom! A controversial explosion!), he now has health care coverage under my husband’s new (much better) health plan until he’s 26. Whew! No need to apply for Medicaid any time soon, we thought.

So this year FF turned 18, graduated from school and applied for Vocational Rehabilitation Services (we’ll get into that another time). It’s now pretty evident that he’ll need extended follow-along services for employment.  Without follow-along he will only be eligible for 90 days of job coaching services from our provider after the day he is employed. (He does, however, have ”job seeking” services and supports while he looks for a job.) But that’s not much for a person who struggles with emotion, frustration, and with saying the appropriate thing. Without the right workplace supports, I have Mom Worry that ranges from he won’t be able to stay in a job to I’ll get a call from a police officer some day.

But, uh oh. Turns out that follow-along supports are paid for with Medicaid funds. (Boom!) FF needs to apply for Medicaid. Sigh. We’re not happy about having to keep him impoverished at a time when he’s looking for a job and when he’s just beginning to learn basic money management skills (he has a very small checking and savings account) (Boom!). However, people with disabilities are eligible only if their assets are less than $1,500. Go figure.  “Get a job, but you can’t earn money, FF. We know you just got a checking and savings account so that we could teach you some independent financial skills, but oops, that will have to wait, because now you need to be poor, maybe for the rest of your life.” Yes, this is painful for us. But he needs the follow-along so okay, we thought, we’ll apply.

Boom! We have a 529 educational savings plan in our name with FF as the beneficiary, making him ineligible—that was the first ruling.  We started the 529 plan, by the way, based on recommendations we received at an autism conference when FF was young. Particularly because FF was high functioning and we could not predict whether he would be able to attend college or not, a 529 plan could be used to save for college, or if our son could not go to college, we could cash out the savings, pay the 10% penalty, but still have the savings to use for his care—rent for an apartment maybe, transportation needs, a personal care assistant.

Heartsick, I delivered the bad news to our provider. But meanwhile, and coincidentally, we were contacted by the Bureau of Developmental Disability Services (BDDS). At 18, FF was now targeted for the Medicaid waiver, specifically the Support Services Waiver (as of September 1, now the Family Supports Waiver). This is fantastic! And, says our provider, we should check to see if the Support Services Waiver will pay for his follow along. It might mean that all or most of his waiver funding will need to be used on follow-along, but okay. Next day FF and I meet with BDDS. But lo and behold--Boom!--if you’ve been denied eligibility for Medicaid (because of the 529 plan), you’re also denied the waiver.

What??!! Sure enough, FF needs to also be impoverished to qualify for waiver services. Boom!  That concept of “waiver” as a wider net is true in some states, not in others. Not in Indiana. Indiana and many other states adhere to what I’ve learned is the more common definition of Medicaid waiver in which eligible families are “waiving” institutional care and opting instead for selected community-based services that would help them care for their loved one in their homes. The word eligible looms large there. No Medicaid, no waiver.

Three weeks after FSSA denied FF eligibility, though, they phoned to say they’d changed their ruling, and that a 529 plan or Coverdell educational savings plan held by a parent would not be counted against the person with the disability—even if that person is the beneficiary. FSSA suggested we reapply.  Moob! (Reverse boom.) At what cost, though?  I admit to being torn.  My husband, not so much. He’s pretty sure we should steer clear of Medicaid, given that the services would be very minimal and we would be teaching FF all the wrong financial stability lessons. Can we actually afford to find our own follow-along care and pay for it out of pocket?  I don’t know. We're on shaky ground here and choosing our next steps carefully.

Next up, Social Security.  Boom!

Top Five Things My Son with High Functioning Autism Needs to Succeed in College

Before you read this post, please be aware that I do understand the differences between entitlement to services and supports in k-12 education for students with disabilities vs. eligibility for accommodations in college.  (For those of you who are parents of younger children or who don't dwell in our world on regular basis, here are the basics on that.) Basically, students in k-12--by law--are accorded a number of supports and services that help make school more accessible for them. In college, not so much. Postsecondary education requires that students be able to meet the requirements all other students must meet and that they advocate for themselves for accommodations (like extra time on tests or the use of assistive technology in the classroom that could help with essays or notetaking). 

Trouble is, "advocating for themselves" is one of the core challenges that many, if not most, students with autism (and their families) struggle with on a daily basis. Comes with the territory. So even if they've already passed the entrance exams, have a good grade point, and are capable of understanding college-level material, if they can't walk into the office of disability services and ask for the specific services that would help them, they're at a distinct disadvantage. 

In order for him to be successful in college, though, our son FF needs more than simple accommodations. And he's not alone. That "one-in-88" diagnosis so many of us in the autism community are now shouting from whatever soapbox we can stand on, also means that there are a number of students now graduating from our nation's high schools who walk out the door their senior year with a diploma and who still have Asperger's or high functioning autism. Surprise! They weren't cured. (Yes, I'm joking.) 

Trouble is, we have a little perfect storm brewing on the horizon: increasing numbers of students with autism entering college--primarily community colleges--and faculty, staff and administrators, including those in offices of disability services, who are woefully unprepared for these students. I suspect many of those professionals don't necessarily feel the need to be prepared. After all, the onus is now on the student; it's the student's responsibility to acclimate to college life, perform well academically, and practice self-determination skills. While that's true in part, I think it's tremendously short-sighted and sets these students (and colleges) up for frustration and failure. It's a big loss, since so many of these students have so much to contribute. 

It's true, though, that just as in the neurotypical world, not all students with autism are savants and geniuses. Many of them, FF included, fall into that capable-but-not-excelling, middle-of-the-road category (at least right now). You can debate whether or not he deserves to be in college; he and thousands of other Indiana community college freshman are in the same boat, floating on a sea of okay grades and positive end-of-course assessment scores, but for a variety of reasons, still in the community college harbor and not out on the state college or other 4-year college ocean. The point is that he recognizes college can give him opportunities--better jobs and a possible career, certainly, but more importantly to him right now, a chance to be with "regular" kids his age. College, more than anything, will allow him to continue to be in the real world with his peers, at least for awhile longer. Look at that sans the autism diagnosis and isn't that really what community college is all about?  

So here's my top five list of what FF needs to be successful in college:

1. Awareness and Encouragement. Staff members who will welcome him, say hi in the hallways, recruit him into a club, ask for his input or help, laugh with him, etc. People who actually want him there and appreciate his interest in economics or his ability to tell you the Academy Award winners and nominees for 2007. His anxieties are pretty high and he feels like he doesn't fit in anywhere. If a staff member on campus can build a rapport with him, it'll help a great deal. Training for key staff in the characteristics of high functioning autism and Asperger's as well as effective supports would be extremely appreciated. 

2. Peer mentoring. Students who are willing to take a student with disabilities on a campus tour, have lunch, meet after classes to hang out, go to a movie, attend a meeting with a professor for moral support, send occasional "how's-it-going?" emails, etc. A friendly familiar face in the hallway can be so crucial, but in community colleges that are most often commuter schools, students come and go. They don't always stick around to socialize. It would go a long way if student retention and/or disability student offices could actively recruit students--males as well as females, please!--to help students with disabilities fit in to campus life. 

3. Tutoring. Most colleges have tutoring offices. In our case, however, it's a drop-in tutoring center. We need tutors who understand the executive function and fine motor challenges of students with autism, who often need help keeping track of due dates, assignments, meetings and who struggle mightily with any kind of writing. Ongoing tutor relationships are usually better in that situation--not just whoever's on duty in the center that day. Screening and recruiting good tutors is a real challenge for families. Recommendations from the disability student office would be very helpful. 

4.  Transportation. Very few students with autism drive. I've been taking him to classes these first few weeks, but it's not an ideal situation. My work schedule is disrupted and he'd be much happier if he were going with a peer instead of (disgusted sigh!) a parent. I so appreciate that our local community college offers free bus passes for students. But in our case, campus is across town, two bus rides away. I'm not sure he can actually navigate that, but in any case, FF will need bus training and/or someone to drive him back and forth. Again, assistance from the disability student office would be very helpful. 

5. Assistive technology--in the classroom and at home. FF has a laptop, an iPod and a tablet (though not an iPad). What he doesn't have is training on how to use those things to his advantage, particularly in college. He needs an assistive tech evaluation, recommendations on apps and software that will best support him, and training on how to use those things. And NOT training from parents who are hopelessly, notoriously uncool. For the sake of peace on the planet, this kind of assistance needs to come from a trained third party.  The folks staffing the office of disability services also need to be aware of what works and what campus, local and state resources are available for students. And just FYI, when you're handing a student a stack of lined carbonless paper for notetaking, I would suggest you need a tech update.

For now, I'm going to side-step the question of who should pay for these services. (Encouragement, btw, isn't expensive.) I'd just like the services to be available to students with disabilities and their families making the leap from high school to college. As it is now, families are scrambling to cobble together their own supports. Yes, it's expensive, but it's also time consuming. In too many cases (and I'd like to see some real stats here) I'm guessing there are a number of adolescents with autism at home on the couch watching reruns of SpongeBob or bagging groceries at their local Kroger who could benefit from a college experience.

And, obviously, the list above isn't one-size-fits-all. It would be nice if transition teams could put together a list of needed supports and services and help families learn how to access them BEFORE their student walks into their first college course. A closer relationship between high school guidance counselors who staff those Transition IEP teams and the director of the office of disability services at the local community college could also pave the path from door to door. I'm sure they could learn from each other.

Families out there who've been down this road: How did you make it work?  Or, if your student wasn't successful in community college, why? What would have helped him or her?  Are there other things that should be added to the list above? I'd love to see Indiana start an online Ivy Tech "user group" for families of students with autism and other disabilities, so that families can learn from each other. Is there such a thing? 

Transition Boot Camp

It's been a heckuva transition summer. This post should be subtitled What I Did This Summer and Why I Need a Vacation.

Here's the short version (hang on; it's a bumpy ride): 

• The non-graduation
• "I don't have any friends"
• No support for postsecondary education from VR 
• Denied Medicaid 
• Targeted for the Support Services Medicaid Waiver
• Not eligible for the Support Services Waiver
• Pulling the rug out from under my Fundamental Assumptions about benefits, the waiver and services 
• The Rent-a-Friend semi-solution
• Much needed vacation 
• Enrolling at Ivy Tech 
• "Flunking" Ivy Tech's Compass "placement" tests 
• "Passing" the Compass tests 
• Gone fishin' 
• John Hancocking a bazillion forms when you have fine motor challenges
• Red tape--there oughta be a law.
• Starting classes at Ivy Tech
• Zeroing in on the primary objective, a.k.a. "This is not meeting my expectations!"
• Searching for supports
• Leaving work early to play taxi
• Disillusioned, disheartened and discouraged with Indiana benefits
• No peer mentoring for Ivy Tech Welcome Week
• This is a web-based class?
• Dropping a class
• New ruling: a 529 educational savings plan held in a parent's name does not necessarily mean you are denied Medicaid. "You should reapply."
• To jump through hoops or not jump through hoops?  That is the question.

Caught up yet? And this is just for one of our children. I need a swig o' Pepto after just rereading the summer summary.  

Stay tuned. I'll flesh out a few of the details. 

Advocating for Yourself: New Life Skills

Last week Daughter Dearest learned how to speak up for herself at work. Cheers, whistles, fireworks, and woohoos are in order!


DD's been working a part-time job at Kohl's for about 10 months, which is still great for her. Her schedule, however, varies greatly--10 hours one week to 28 hours the next. And that's the problem. She would really like to keep her hours to somewhere around 12-15 hours per week, something she told them when she first started. More than 20 hours puts her on edge and increases her level of anxiety to about a 4 1/2 on the 1-to-5 scale. Not good.  


She's also taking a summer class at Ivy Tech, which started this week.  Given her Asperger's, it's a lot. Trouble is, she's never declared her Asperger's to Kohl's human resources department.  And I understand that--she just doesn't want people looking at her differently.  


But DD loathes confrontation and is just now, at the ripe old age of 21, learning to speak up for herself in a calm, appropriate, effective way. She's being coached on this, both at home and with her therapist, but it's still tough. For the past several months, we've explored ways to help her communicate the message--"I need fewer hours, please!"--to her managers. We explained that it's really not a big deal for Kohl's managers, that they probably hear about scheduling issues from employees all the time.  


DD's no longer working with her employment services provider (you have 90 days with them following date-of-hire), but I'm sure they, too, would have been willing to coach her through this. But, again, that involves calling someone on the phone and saying, "I have a problem."  


And then there's the tortured thought process. Each time her schedule would balloon with hours--this week it's 38--she would think that it was because the person doing the schedule was purposely disregarding her need to keep her hours below 15 per week. We tried explaining that it was much more likely that she was a reliable employee who did her job well and was there on time. They count on her. Or it could be that there are fewer workers in the summer, with vacations and students who've left town, so Kohl's needs to put her on the schedule more often. 


So last week, in despair seeing that she was again on the schedule for 32 hours, DD forced herself to go into work on an off day. She sat in the parking lot for 30 minutes steeling herself for the conversation to come. And. Then. She. Did. It.  Took all of 5 minutes.  


"Hey, Bob, I need to talk to you for a minute about my schedule.  I'm taking a class this semester and I really need to keep my hours to about 12." 


"Oh, okay. Could you do 15 sometimes?"


"Sure, I could do that."


"Okay, not a problem, I'll just leave a note for Pam [the scheduler]."

Heart restarts. Breathing continues. Heavens part. Huge weight comes off the shoulders. Smile re-emerges. 


Ironically, this week DD discovered the mystery of the way-too-many-hours schedules. Turns out Kohl's "rewards" employees who sell more credit applications to customers (something DD just HATES doing) by giving them more hours. Lately more of her customers have been filling out apps, thereby moving DD up a notch on the favored employee list.  


The wonderful thing is that DD learned how to advocate for herself and found that it's not the huge obstacle she made it out to be. It's actually pretty doable. The firmament will not split in two. People won't think she's a horrible person. Meteors will not fall from the sky. Pestilence will not consume the earth. Hallelujah! Now we're holding our breath for the ultimate reinforcer--seeing that the scheduling manager has followed through and lightened her load a bit. 

Picking a Single Transition Path

Remember when I recommended the combo approach to transition?  In a previous post (toward the end of this one, if you need to refresh your memory) I noted that we tend to choose multiple paths in life--school, work, volunteering, hobbies, etc.--and I suggested that our children with special needs should have that same choice. Well, easier said than done. 


At our final Transition IEP case conference, I was introduced to a new participant in the process: Reality. Our Indiana Vocational Rehabilitation counselor invited him. He's kind of a downer, actually, but she sent him home with us and I suspect he's here to stay.

It always amazes me how clueless I still am about how transition really works. This despite the fact that I try to read the research, I attend conferences when I can, and I work in an office with transition experts. But I'm still in the dark. For the past two years, I've had a very hard time trying to envision what our son Fickle Fan's life will be like post high school, what supports will be available to him, who will provide them, and what he'll actually be doing with his time all day. FF graduated last week, and I still don't have answers to most of those questions. 


I do know now, though, that FF will need to pick a VR path. A single, either-or path. Employment or postsecondary education. VR will support him in one of those, but not both. I was hoping that FF could take a couple of classes at Ivy Tech and have a part-time job, supported in both by a local disability service provider. That way, FF continues to learn and get exposure to new fields while he also gets needed job experience, where he'll learn job skills and all of the things that come with that, like money management, social awareness, time management, etc. Both avenues accompany opportunities that could lead to permanent employment. And, yes, I know that we'd be beating the odds if that were to happen. 


VR, however, can only put its financial eggs in one basket at a time. FF CAN decide to pursue an associate's degree at Ivy Tech and see how that goes. Then, after a year or so, if that's not working out, he can go back to VR and ask for employment support. At that point VR would then pull the lever and switch the track over to employment services. So, as I understand it, FF isn't completely out of luck if he chooses a path that doesn't immediately work for him. He could reorient himself and try again.


But I'm loathe to limit his options when he's just 18 and still stretching and opening up to life's possibilities. And, given his high-functioning autism, I'm not sure the single focus approach is a good one. Many, many neurotypical teens hold a part-time job while taking classes at a community college. I think that makes sense for FF too. 


So is that our only option? No. FF could choose to attend Ivy Tech with VR support, and he could get a part-time job, but he'd be on his own, without help finding a job, without a job coach, and on the front lines in potentially stressful situations without an advocate or with co-workers who may not understand FF's particular version of autism. It's a little scary. 


We could also take the other route. FF chooses employment with VR support and takes a class or two at Ivy Tech, but again, without support.  We would need to recruit, screen and hire tutors and probably a notetaker/scribe, and we'd need to provide him with transportation. The Ivy Tech in our area provides very little support for students with disabilities. The office of disability services will provide letters that the student can then take to professors to ask for accommodations, but, as in many other universities, the student is expected to advocate for themselves on campus and in the classroom. Self-advocacy is one of those skills that the majority of students on the spectrum lack. Nothing makes my children cringe like the thought of asking a stranger for something they need.  So having him take classes without any support seems like setting him up for failure.  


We're hoping to put a plan in place with VR in the next week or so that would also get him some sort of support for the summer. I'll keep you posted. Meanwhile, Reality says he wants to move in, rent free, and begin calling the shots. Demanding little bugger! Sigh.