Learning about the Autism Spectrum will be a process for me, but one thing has struck me as I listen; the variety and beauty of God’s design for humans is about as vivid, and, yes, as challenging as any human can imagine.
The following was sent in for you because I asked for help finding ways to let people know about living with Autism.
A day in the life of caring for a 25-year-old son with Autism
By Cynthia Matlock
Having an adult son with Autism is challenging and entertaining.
From a distance my son looks like a typical 6’, 220 lb young man about to cross your path until you question his sudden laughter, song, or repeating a phrase over and over again.
Each day requires thinking, predicting, and planning for behavior triggers that may cause a scene, especially when you go out in the public.
One day I drove to my local grocery store and told him to get out of the car.
He said he would stay in the car.
That’s good, I thought. If I hurry I will not have to worry about losing him in the store.
He loves to just walk around or put a bag of “hot fries” in my buggy.
So I went in, picked up a few things, checked out, and headed back to the car quickly.
When I got to the car he was gone. Imagine the panic.
My hope was he stayed in his routine, which is pacing the store or going to the restroom in the store.
“Routine” is important for those who live with Autism Spectrum. Changing their routine can be a major alteration or frustration to their day and your day.
Luckily he can read and goes in the correct facility, the men’s.
Being a lady, I asked the manager to check if my son was in the men’s restroom. The manager walked in the restroom briefly, came out, and informed me that he was still in there.
I waited outside the door about three or four minutes.
My son has an obsession of admiring himself in a mirror and smiling again and again. Impatiently, I cracked the door and shouted for him to hurry!
I then started walking toward the front of the store. Out the corner of my eye I saw the man, not my son, come out the bathroom.
Then, straight ahead I saw that my son was already going out the front door ahead of me to the car. Realizing my mix up, I made my escape quickly, hoping my flushed face didn’t show.
Oh boy, another day in the life of an adult with Autism.
Some days you just shake your head and smile.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Pee in the Cup
The last time I applied for a job a million years ago, no one asked me to pee in a cup.
For those of you who are retired and missed this phenomenon, now days, if you want a job with almost any big company, you have to submit to a drug test.
There was a time many moons ago, when you could look for a job without anyone even once recommending that you head to the potty. In fact, in those ancient days, people considered it poor etiquette to even mention the potty during an interview.
We even had euphemisms in the unlikely event that the subject could not possibly be avoided.
Like powder room. What a lovely concept!
Of course, powder was an extremely feminine luxury and putting powder on your nose was considered a complex and perplexing mystery.
Nothing at all like peeing in a cup. Which is pretty vulgar.
If you ask me, peeing in a cup is an incentive for keeping the job you’ve got.
While I was looking for a job, I applied at some temp agencies. I can write, but apparently I can’t type, so they never called me.
I was relieved. Not in the euphemistic sense.
Young people coming out of college seem to assume that peeing in a cup is just part of the process of landing their first big job. They have such good attitudes about the whole thing.
I try to tell myself that I should emulate their example, change with the times, accept what I cannot change.
And I will, too. Right after I write this column.
My goal is to write something that employers can give to their prospective employees along with all the proper medical forms, to acknowledge that, yes, the new system is really icky.
Imagine how happy I was to learn that peeing in the cup happens at a lab and not at the work place.
Picture yourself handing a cup of pee to your boss and you have the general concept. Try not to think about it.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
For those of you who are retired and missed this phenomenon, now days, if you want a job with almost any big company, you have to submit to a drug test.
There was a time many moons ago, when you could look for a job without anyone even once recommending that you head to the potty. In fact, in those ancient days, people considered it poor etiquette to even mention the potty during an interview.
We even had euphemisms in the unlikely event that the subject could not possibly be avoided.
Like powder room. What a lovely concept!
Of course, powder was an extremely feminine luxury and putting powder on your nose was considered a complex and perplexing mystery.
Nothing at all like peeing in a cup. Which is pretty vulgar.
If you ask me, peeing in a cup is an incentive for keeping the job you’ve got.
While I was looking for a job, I applied at some temp agencies. I can write, but apparently I can’t type, so they never called me.
I was relieved. Not in the euphemistic sense.
Young people coming out of college seem to assume that peeing in a cup is just part of the process of landing their first big job. They have such good attitudes about the whole thing.
I try to tell myself that I should emulate their example, change with the times, accept what I cannot change.
And I will, too. Right after I write this column.
My goal is to write something that employers can give to their prospective employees along with all the proper medical forms, to acknowledge that, yes, the new system is really icky.
Imagine how happy I was to learn that peeing in the cup happens at a lab and not at the work place.
Picture yourself handing a cup of pee to your boss and you have the general concept. Try not to think about it.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Publicity vs. Advertising; Know the Difference
“I count on you for advertising,” said the nice lady on the other end of the line.
Count to ten before you say anything, I thought to myself.
I know she didn’t mean it. She just didn’t know any better.
What she meant was, she counted on me to help her get the word out about her events.
She wanted publicity. And I wanted her to have it.
Most folks don’t know the difference between publicity and advertising.
Publicity is free. Advertising costs money.
You can imagine why that difference is crucial, especially with small town newspapers feeling the crunch of spiraling costs of paper, dwindling revenue from classifieds, and the general encroachment of the web on the news business.
Asking for free advertising is a sure way to make an enemy out of any local newspaper editor worth his salt.
A while back, I sent a press release to a newspaper in our region, which they graciously printed for a particular organization. For free. It was publicity.
The next time our organization had a meeting, one dear lady complained that another nonprofit organization was getting more attention than we were.
Don’t say a word, I thought to myself.
Later that day, I called a sales person at that paper and asked what the cost would have been if we had paid for it.
$800.
At the next meeting I pointed out what the free press release was worth.
Just for the record, there are some spots in the newspaper that are not for sale at any price.
Just so you’ll know, I write this column for free because I have a thing for community newspapers.
When nonprofit organizations demand publicity or want a price break on advertising, one experienced newspaperman in Central Texas puts it this way.
“You may be nonprofit, but I’m not.”
Advertising is the engine that drives the train. Publicity is a comfy passenger car that gets people places. It can also contribute to a better newspaper and a better community. Publicity has its place.
One word of advise, though, if you want to stay in the good graces of the newspaper editors and publishers you know, don’t call up asking for free advertising.
They want to pay their employees. They are in business.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Count to ten before you say anything, I thought to myself.
I know she didn’t mean it. She just didn’t know any better.
What she meant was, she counted on me to help her get the word out about her events.
She wanted publicity. And I wanted her to have it.
Most folks don’t know the difference between publicity and advertising.
Publicity is free. Advertising costs money.
You can imagine why that difference is crucial, especially with small town newspapers feeling the crunch of spiraling costs of paper, dwindling revenue from classifieds, and the general encroachment of the web on the news business.
Asking for free advertising is a sure way to make an enemy out of any local newspaper editor worth his salt.
A while back, I sent a press release to a newspaper in our region, which they graciously printed for a particular organization. For free. It was publicity.
The next time our organization had a meeting, one dear lady complained that another nonprofit organization was getting more attention than we were.
Don’t say a word, I thought to myself.
Later that day, I called a sales person at that paper and asked what the cost would have been if we had paid for it.
$800.
At the next meeting I pointed out what the free press release was worth.
Just for the record, there are some spots in the newspaper that are not for sale at any price.
Just so you’ll know, I write this column for free because I have a thing for community newspapers.
When nonprofit organizations demand publicity or want a price break on advertising, one experienced newspaperman in Central Texas puts it this way.
“You may be nonprofit, but I’m not.”
Advertising is the engine that drives the train. Publicity is a comfy passenger car that gets people places. It can also contribute to a better newspaper and a better community. Publicity has its place.
One word of advise, though, if you want to stay in the good graces of the newspaper editors and publishers you know, don’t call up asking for free advertising.
They want to pay their employees. They are in business.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Slithery snakes, sexual abuse, and being brave
I have a fear of having a snake show up in my garage.
Lest you think I am paranoid, this actually happens in my neighborhood from time to time. If you live in the country, you know what I mean.
I am not afraid of snakes in my yard and have learned to identify the common East Texas varieties.
I know I can take a deep breath, get my shovel, and cut the heads off the venomous varieties. I’ve done it so often that I am confident that I am the smarter, faster adversary.
But there is something so claustrophobic about meeting up with a snake, of any variety, in close quarters. It gives me the creeps and makes my skin crawl.
I have a very beautiful friend who has the cleanest, most ship-shape home I know. She is the last person on earth to find a snake in the garage, especially since she lives right in the heart of Tyler, surrounded by neighbors, neatly fenced yards, and concrete curbing.
Not like out here where we live, surrounded by woods, pastures, and oil top lanes.
One day she found a snake in her domain, all right.
And not in the garage, either.
That snake found his way to her master bedroom and was relaxing near her bed! Imagine the panic.
That was the snake’s final and most deadly activity – for him.
My friend’s brave and dashing grandson had the snake decapitated in no time.
On any given week day, in courtrooms all across the US, victims of sexual abuse are taking the stand to testify, often about close friends and trusted family members.
You may wonder how parents could not notice, but the truth is, just like snakes, sexual predators are sneaky and slithery.
This column is dedicated to the young victims who have the courage to testify.
Thank you for taking another snake out of action.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
Lest you think I am paranoid, this actually happens in my neighborhood from time to time. If you live in the country, you know what I mean.
I am not afraid of snakes in my yard and have learned to identify the common East Texas varieties.
I know I can take a deep breath, get my shovel, and cut the heads off the venomous varieties. I’ve done it so often that I am confident that I am the smarter, faster adversary.
But there is something so claustrophobic about meeting up with a snake, of any variety, in close quarters. It gives me the creeps and makes my skin crawl.
I have a very beautiful friend who has the cleanest, most ship-shape home I know. She is the last person on earth to find a snake in the garage, especially since she lives right in the heart of Tyler, surrounded by neighbors, neatly fenced yards, and concrete curbing.
Not like out here where we live, surrounded by woods, pastures, and oil top lanes.
One day she found a snake in her domain, all right.
And not in the garage, either.
That snake found his way to her master bedroom and was relaxing near her bed! Imagine the panic.
That was the snake’s final and most deadly activity – for him.
My friend’s brave and dashing grandson had the snake decapitated in no time.
On any given week day, in courtrooms all across the US, victims of sexual abuse are taking the stand to testify, often about close friends and trusted family members.
You may wonder how parents could not notice, but the truth is, just like snakes, sexual predators are sneaky and slithery.
This column is dedicated to the young victims who have the courage to testify.
Thank you for taking another snake out of action.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.
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