# data[].attributes.body
"Imagine if you were asked the same question again and again throughout your life . . .
Imagine if it was a question that didn’t bring about the happiest of memories . . .
This is the experience of Joe, who just wants to have fun in the playground. Which is hard when kids keep pointing out he’s only got one leg and asking:
“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?!”
Constantly interrogated about his disability, Joe is cross . . . and fed up. How should Joe deal with their questions? Does he owe them an answer when all he wants to do is play Pirates? Maybe if he holds out, they’ll lose interest and join in his game instead.
Eventually the penny drops and the children realise that it’s a question Joe just doesn’t want to answer and that, in fact, Joe is playing a rather good game . . . one they can join in with if they stop fixating on his missing leg.
Including a letter to parents at the back, What Happened to You? aims to educate young readers – and their parents! – on how to address difference. It also speaks directly to disabled children to try to offer them acknowledgement, guidance and reassurance."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
‘What Happened to You?’ storytime with author James Catchpole (for ages 3+)

# data[].attributes.body
One element of an authentic friendship tends to be engaging in shared interests or activities. In speaking about how disabled students can build meaningful connections, it is suggested that educators can "nurture disabled students’ natural strengths and interests so they have something to share with their peers and aren’t just takers in their friendships" (Disability Wisdom Consulting, 2019, para. 10).

# data[].attributes.body
Bacon & Lalvani (2019) share that by inviting guest speakers into schools who identify as disabled to speak in classrooms or assemblies can help to promote “…authentic understandings of disability.” (p. 400)

# data[].attributes.body
"Kids his age, teenagers, will for the most part either ignore him, ridicule him, or ask to do his respite care to fulfill their community service requirement at school. They never ask him what he wants" (Cevik, 2019, para. 2).

# data[].attributes.body
“In contrast to this deficit-oriented framing of self-advocacy as a skill students lack and must be taught, we recommend modeling Gay Straight Alliance (GSA) clubs that are common in many schools to promote identity-building and supportive inclusion for Lesbian, Bisexual, Gay, Transgender, and Queer/Questioning (LGBTQþ) youth. With regard to a disability framework, schools might support youth to come together around advocacy issues that impact the inclusion and social integration of students with disabilities in their school and community. The ally model would promote an identity-based, yet inclusive platform for students to work collaboratively for social change. Being diligent in critically assessing the presence of dominant authoritative knowledges in classrooms and schools and integrating alternate perspectives creates the potential to shift discursive structures and understandings of youth in schools” (Bacon & Lalvani, 2019, pp. 400-401).

# data[].attributes.body
“The physical aspect – the fact that public transportation is accessible, there’s curb cuts, most places, almost, most places are accessible. And what this does is leads to a social acceptability. That somehow because there’s physical access there’s simply more disabled people out and about in the world and so people have learned how to interact with them and are used to them in a certain way. And so physical access actually leads to a social access and acceptance” (Taylor, 2010, 1:05:10)

# data[].attributes.body
“Another area of silence pertains to the lack of language available to students in discussing disability. As teacher-educators, we have had recent conversations with inservice and pre-service teachers who have stated that, outside of the context of special education, the term disability itself seems to be considered taboo and, consequently, is avoided; in its place, there are an alarming number of euphemisms used when referring to students with disabilities, such as: “exceptional,” “special,” “differently-abled,” and “inclusion kids. ”The rhetoric of “we are all different” seems, to many teachers, to be sufficient in addressing the topic of disability. Even within bullying, anti-bias, or character education curricula, although there is often discussion of “differences” or “diversity,” disability is not typically named. As noted by Allen (2013), a key way to promote critical inquiry is to adopt and model language in schools that subvert dominant and negative discourses. We assert that the ways teachers talk about disability in their classrooms and the ways they model conversations about disability can have immense impact on students; thus, we
recommend directly naming disability and issues of ableism in schools” (Bacon & Lalvani, 2019, p. 396).

# data[].attributes.body
"Friendship between children is wonderful. However, it is not a big deal. If we commend and praise children without disabilities for their interactions with their peers with disabilities (either publicly or in other ways), we inadvertently make friendship a big deal and imply that all children are not created equal. We reinforce the idea that it is morally and socially admirable to "help the handicapped," and, thereby may remove the opportunity for equality and reciprocity" (Van der Klift & Kunc, 1994, p. 56).

# data[].attributes.body
“We urge that, in studying disability history, students should learn not only about the historical oppression of people with disabilities, but also about their resistance to oppression and their empowerment through the disability rights movement. Typically, social studies units include a study of civil rights movements, and of the historical figures and leaders associated with them. This provides natural opportunities for students to learn about the emergence of disability pride, disability culture, and various disability rights activists such as Ed Roberts, Irving Zola, Harriet McBryde Johnson, Leroy Moore, Mia Mingus, and Judy Heumann” (Bacon & Lavani, 2019, p. 395).

# data[].attributes.headline
Don't Expect Neurodivergent Students to Act in a Neurotypical Way

# data[].attributes.subject
Don't Expect Neurodivergent Students to Act in a Neurotypical Way

# data[].attributes.body
The storybook "Do you want to play?" recognizes that there is no one "right" way to play, and that autistic students do not need to conform to neurotypical patterns of play in order to engage with peers. There are many ways to play.

# data[].attributes.body
“Erevelles argues for an approach to critical pedagogy that productively draws upon a materialist DS perspective as an organizing principle for analysis of intersectional oppression in schools. We find that using the tools of critical theorists, but grounding our analysis in a DS approach, allows us to unpack ableism in K-12 classrooms by teaching children to recognize how dominant narratives are present and reproduced in stories and curriculum. As students engage critically with curricular realities, schooling structures must fight material inequities between groups of students. We believe that using critical pedagogy to support youth’s engagement with curricula can create opportunities for discursive and material shifts in society. Thus, we assert that dominant narratives, silences, and subjugated knowledges about disability in cultural products and literature can serve as useful entry points for critically examining ableism and other forms of marginalization in our society, and can support children in recognizing and confronting such issues” (Bacon & Lalvani, 2019, pp. 392-393).

# data[].attributes.body
Include neurodiversity affirming storybooks in your classroom and school bookshelf and library!

# data[].attributes.body
Read between the lines and recognize ableism in educational initiatives. “Reading between the lines to identify ableism is not about blame or suggesting odious
intent by policymakers or educators, but rather, developing an increasingly sophisticated
awareness of the assumptions about disability that have been absorbed by all citizens simply
by being in the world" (Baglieri & Lalvani, 2020, as cited in Timberlake, 2020, p. 86).

“Unlearning ableism means re-imagining education, asking new questions about what disability means, and challenging the prevalent deficit-based language, practices and policies of schooling” (Danforth & Gabel, 2016, as cited in Timberlake, 2020, pp. 95-96).

# data[].attributes.body
When creating social groups within a community, such as the Autism community, try "a Facebook group or other social media component to the social group [that] can help people feel more comfortable attending and connecting, can help further along relationships, and can help coordinate group activities."

-Taken from the "How to Create Social Groups for Autistic Teens and Adults" Website

# data[].attributes.headline
Taken from "I Am Not Your Mitzvah Project" Website 

# data[].attributes.subject
Taken from "I Am Not Your Mitzvah Project" Website 

# data[].attributes.body
“I want people to be friends with me — and others like me — for the right reasons: seeing our humanity, sharing common interests and experiences, and recognizing that, honestly, we’re cool people and loyal friends. Don’t friend me for lessons learned, self-improvement, service hours or community service. The real mitzvah would be transforming the culture to be rooted in disability justice and empowering people with disabilities, rather than seeing us as a way to meet a goal. The real mitzvah would be taking an interest, dismantling barriers to friendships, and creating genuine inclusion for all people with disabilities.”

# data[].attributes.headline
Take a Peek Inside (What Helped Me Most in School) 

# data[].attributes.subject
Take a Peek Inside (What Helped Me Most in School) 

# data[].attributes.body
"Mikhaela Ackerman is an autistic public speaker, writer, yoga instructor, and advocate. She also holds a Juris Doctorate of law. Diagnosed in early childhood, Mikhaela was nonverbal until she was 5 years old. Today, Mikhaela and her mother regularly appear at advocacy and educational events to provide both the autistic person and parent perspective. Mikhaela’s writing has been featured on The Mighty, Mental Health Talk, and many more. This website serves to bring together a wide range of community to help other autistic people and families."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
With a new school year quickly approaching, I think this is a topic a lot of autism families, especially with younger children are concerned about. My road as an autistic child was not easy. I was blessed to have incredible teachers and an inclusive school environment that allowed me to grow as a student. I was a different student than my peers. Here are the things that made me different, and strategies that helped me the most. I write from my own experiences in what I remember being most helpful in my earliest school years. Every child is different and has different strengths as well as weaknesses. I recognize that for many, the journey of special education and accommodations is a long and confusing one. But I hope this may give you a glimpse into my autistic childhood as a student and perhaps some guidance.
1. Accommodate me, but also prepare me.
I had a teacher in 5 th grade that changed the seating chart at the end of every trimester. For me, this was my worst nightmare come to life. I simply had to sit in the exact same place every day with the same classmate neighbors. It was part of my routine. It helped me focus. I told my concerns to my mom, needing her to fix it. I would not be able to learn if I was constantly changing seats. My mom is a big believer of teaching self-advocacy skills, when appropriate. After all, I know my needs best and she won't always be there to help me. I had to take charge. This was to be my first time self-advocating. We sat down with the teacher and I told him the problem. And here's what happened: he accommodated me, but also prepared me. He allowed me to stay where I was for the year, but also said the rest of the students would continue to move. A compromise that still enabled me to concentrate in class but did not center the entire classroom structure around me as one person. I didn't fully understand how this tactic was in fact one of my most valuable lessons that year. In the adult world I have found you never fully get accommodated. You can get what you need to perform a job of course, but you must also adapt where you are capable.

This compromise struck the balance of meeting my needs while also showing me how to become more adaptable, preparing me for real world unsheltered scenarios later down the road. I think it's important to help us as much as you are able to in the classrooms, but to also teach us how to adapt as we become more in tune with what we are capable of.
2. Allow me to use accommodations at my own pace.
I needed periods throughout the day where I could take a break and "change my engine" so to speak. It took a lot of fuel for me to make it through a whole school day. Being able to have small breaks where other children didn't surround me was imperative. It helped me remain calmer because I knew that if I began to feel a meltdown coming I had the option of going to this quiet space. In this space and even on my person I would have hard candies like starbursts that I could chomp down on with all my might. T his proved to be an alternative to my self-harm way of coping. It created a similar sensation, without the injury. As I grew older, I did not use this quiet space accommodation because I wanted to accomplish everything the same way as the other children. I think that is only natural. We want to feel we belong. That we aren't different. However, simply knowing I had the option if I needed was helpful to me. This gave me the confidence to try my way first with the comfort of knowing I had a safety net. Just because your child doesn't always use the accommodation options you give them doesn't mean they don't require them. Perhaps, they simply want to try on their own first and then accommodate if they feel it is necessary.
3. Help me to feel like the other students.
I needed accommodations, but at my core I didn't want them. I wanted to achieve the same way everyone else did. I did not want to be separated or made to feel differently. Integrate the best you can while also realizing there are situations where special help is necessary. For me, this was math. I had a smaller and more specialized math class in order to help with my math discrepancies. My short-term memory is incapable of remembering sequences of numbers or linear thinking. This meant spaces where I could have my multiplication tables out, or a digital clock were essential to my overall learning. Math was already so difficult; realistically to learn the core concepts of math I needed the multiplication tables and numbers in front of me.

However, I also had some smaller special classes for subjects I excelled in such as reading. I was able to join advanced reading groups, which made me feel proud and that I was achieving. It is important to focus and bring attention to both the strengths and the weaknesses. Addressing strategies for our weak areas without being made to feel we are different or less than the other students while also recognized for what we excel in.
4. I needed a different kind of supervision.
One thing I wish I had been brave enough to ask for was help in finding the people or places that others found easily. For example, my school had a big friends little friends program. Once a month all the elementary school children met with their big friends who were middle schoolers. Essentially, this was a type of mentorship program. We often met on the playground at recess. I vividly remember wandering the playground with no big friend because I could not remember her face. I went group to group just hoping to tag along. The stress and anxiety of finding my big friend was overwhelming. But I didn't want to tell a teacher because it was embarrassing for me. I spent that first session without a big friend.

Another time a teacher sent me to the library in the next building to return a book, thinking it would be fun for me since I loved to read. I was found 45 minutes later wandering the halls of the complete opposite building with no idea where I was. No directional sense at all. These two tasks, finding a library and finding a person that seem so simple to you, were and still are near impossibilities for me. I now have strategies to compensate, but back then I did not. I was still learning. Give extra supervision and attention even if the task seems simple. If the child is like me, they may be too overwhelmed or unsure to ask for help.
5. Remember, I'm seeing a different classroom.
I am always bombarded by sensory. I don't even see the face of the teacher. I can't process a face and the information being lectured at the same time. The lights are bright. I hear every individual pencil that is writing on paper taking notes. Every whisper. Each piece of crinkling paper. Every color is too bright. I always liked the front of the classroom best. There I could imagine it was just the teacher and I. There, I had a chance of filtering out the other sensory. I still had the auditory sensory behind me, but at least now the visual overload was less. See if your child has a preferred placement in the classroom. There is likely a very strong sensory or processing reason behind it.
6. It's OK if I don't want to interact with other children.
I think to neurotypicals, autistic children look lonely. But you are imagining the experience through your lens. To you, social interaction is comforting. Not for us (not me at least). There did come a time where I wanted friends and grew to like having friends once I knew what they were and what they had to offer. But in my earliest school years this did not interest me in the slightest. Interaction with other children was an extra strain on my already overwhelming day of social and sensory onslaught that I didn't need. In fact, I was so overwhelmed by sensory, I barely noticed other children. I only saw them as very loud and too close to me or too touchy-feely. I did not want to be touched; it brought sharp pain to my skin. And I did not want to be around anyone who was screaming or talking loudly while playing. I would venture to guess these are some reasons other autistic children stick to the edge of the playground as I did. Allow an autistic child to see the value of friendship. Create safe, nonthreatening situations for us to get to know another child. Once I saw this value, I did want friends. After reaching that point help guide with social strategies and cues for successful social interaction. I appreciated being gently guided and cued in the neurotypical language so that I could start to understand the foreign land I was in.

Always remember, we truly are learning a foreign language. Imagine you speak no Chinese and are placed in the middle of the subway in Beijing and told to socialize and find the correct train home. It would be overwhelming. You would need some guidance and cues for Chinese social culture. No matter how hard you tried to read Chinese you wouldn't fully know it unless someone taught you the language, even if you became extremely good at guessing. Even then, some of you would be more proficient in guessing, maybe even learning the Chinese characters while others would not pick up on it despite endless lessons. I was one of the proficient guessing ones. Eventually able to better understand and guess your social language, and then at my own pace, join it. But to this day, never close to being fluent in it. All I've done is memorize the Chinese characters, hoping that I can figure out what they mean when presented in unfamiliar order.

For an extended list of back to school transition tips please join the newsletter!

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Take A Peek Inside: What Helped Me Most In School

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
With a new school year quickly approaching, I think this is a topic a lot of autism families, especially with younger children are concerned about. My road as an autistic child was not easy. I was blessed to have incredible teachers and an inclusive school environment that allowed me to grow as a student.

# data[].attributes.body
This author shares her thoughts on pairing neurotypical, nondisabled kids with disabled peers, while expecting something in return, such as volunteer hours. In her post she writes: "Inclusion is a commitment and practice, not a trend or means to an end....I want people to be friends with me — and others like me — for the right reasons: seeing our humanity, sharing common interests and experiences, and recognizing that, honestly, we’re cool people and loyal friends. Don’t friend me for lessons learned, self-improvement, service hours or community service."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
For Jewish teens, especially those preparing for b'nei mitzvahs, mitzvah projects are a rite of passage. Jewish young people are encouraged to do good things on our journeys to becoming full-fledged adults by participating in beach clean-ups, getting involved in social justice initiatives, collecting books for schools and programs lacking access to new reads, and then there's the classic: volunteering with nonprofit programs to befriend peers with "special needs."

Often, these well-intentioned and needed programs serve young people with disabilities like autism and other intellectual and developmental conditions, sometimes lumping them under the stigmatizing label of "special needs" - a term which disabled advocates say is outdated and harmful.

I was raised on the bedrock of mitzvahs, trying to help others and uplift marginalized people whenever possible, whether through giving time, toys or my friendship. As someone diagnosed with autism as a toddler, social exclusion is familiar to me: I've had difficulty connecting with peers because my disability is marked by differences in communication and social skills. I was quiet, respected authority, and struggled to bond with kids my age, particularly other girls. I got along well with adults, and most of the friends I made were either older or younger kids (or boys, because we had similar interests). Having a peer to relate to, who was also a mentor of sorts, would have been amazing. As a child and teenager, making friends was a key goal of mine that everyone knew about. I would have relished the chance to have a female, neurotypical peer befriend me because we clicked.

But something about neurotypical, nondisabled kids being paired with disabled peers while expecting something in return, like service hours or checking a box towards successfully becoming a bar or bat mitzvah, sits wrong with me.

I was never part of a peer/buddy system for kids with disabilities at school or within the community. Because of my masking skills and maturity, I could've easily ended up as either the "buddy" to someone more visibly disabled than I was, or, because of my diagnosis, on the receiving end of that "friendship." The disabled "buddies" are usually impacted by disability in ways that appear to be obvious, while those who seem as if they need less support don't receive equitable assistance in friend-making. While I needed support in making friends and sometimes had a hard time meeting people with similar interests, I never thought friendship with me (or others like me) should be conditional in any way, shape or form.

But friendship programs unintentionally convey this message, promising selfish personal growth, community service hours or the successful completion of a mitzvah project, if only you befriend and spend some quality time with a peer with a disability. The lessons you learn from your "buddy" will be invaluable, and so will the lessons your "buddy" learns.

I think about the young nondisabled people who temporarily join in on these programs for finite amounts of time. They receive their community service hours and successfully complete their bar or bat mitzvahs, then they go off to college, start jobs, or otherwise fall into their new young adult lives. Of course, friendships can be temporary because people naturally grow apart, not because there was a motive to begin with. But inclusion is a commitment and practice, not a trend or means to an end.

Not all volunteers join selfishly and I am immensely grateful for those who genuinely do want to help the disability community and make long-term friendships. The disabled teens join without subtext or hidden meaning: wanting to make friends and needing support in doing so.

When temporary visitors seeking personal benefit show up, what's the message being sent to disabled people like me, who are left behind when our new friends lose touch and move on with their lives after it is no longer required for their project? While I have peers who are still friends with their assigned buddies, others immediately move on following the end of the service - the transaction of friendship ends. We believed we had a real friend; instead, we're left with a scar of transition and starting over with strangers after being shown that our friendship lacked the same meaning as neurotypical friendships. What we're left behind with is the aching notion that friendship with disabled people is disposable.

Friendship isn't something that should be conditional or rooted in pity, complete with major power differentials. We aren't typically invited to hang out with the person's regular friend group at school or other activities, it's always one-on-one or with other program participants. We aren't viewed as genuine partners in the friendship who need the same acceptance and inclusion that all teenagers so desperately crave. Some of my disabled friends recall having a "buddy" approach them at lunchtime, hoping just sitting with them would complete their service requirements, much like those (often) cringeworthy " inspirational" moments like asking disabled teens to prom to score good people points.

People with disabilities don't have spaces to make friends designed with us in mind. Instead of building those inclusive and accessible spaces where we could be recognized in our full humanity, we become the mitzvah projects.

I'm not saying there's no hope for these kinds of programs. Samantha Novick is the president of The Friendship Journey in Parkland, Florida, an organization that fosters inclusive friendships between people of all abilities. "We've been working hard to shift to creating a space for genuine, authentic connections to develop organically versus the standard fabricated 'buddy' system, and also providing more leadership and empowering roles for people with disabilities," Novick tells me.

We disabled people are part of the community - at school, in Jewish spaces, and everywhere - and not just "community service." I am not your mitzvah project. I want people to be friends with me - and others like me - for the right reasons: seeing our humanity, sharing common interests and experiences, and recognizing that, honestly, we're cool people and loyal friends. Don't friend me for lessons learned, self-improvement, service hours or community service.

The real mitzvah would be transforming the culture to be rooted in disability justice and empowering people with disabilities, rather than seeing us as a way to meet a goal. The real mitzvah would be taking an interest, dismantling barriers to friendships, and creating genuine inclusion for all people with disabilities.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
For Jewish teens, especially those preparing for b'nei mitzvahs, mitzvah projects are a rite of passage. Jewish young people are encouraged to do good things on our journeys to becoming full-fledged adults by participating in beach clean-ups, getting involved in social justice initiatives, collectin

# data[].attributes.body
What is your initial response to the idea of a Peer Buddy Program? Use YELLOW stickies.

# data[].attributes.headline
How to Create Social Groups for Autistic Teens and Adults

# data[].attributes.subject
How to Create Social Groups for Autistic Teens and Adults

# data[].attributes.body
Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism – Access to Resources and various organizations for both people with Autism, their families and FAQs on Neurodiversity

***This particular link outlines how one person began creating social groups for people with an “autistic identity” as identified on the website.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Jeff at Spectrum Disordered

www.facebook.com/asdisordered

I have a long history with successful autistic social groups. I started my first in 2006, and although I moved out of the area eight years ago, it remains thriving and still operates under the same general principles. I’ve started several groups in rural areas (where people tell me “there isn’t enough interested people to make this work”).

Putting a social group or club together doesn’t have to be super complex, but I think people need to have a clear sense of what it is and what it is not. If you are looking at setting up your own, I would offer the following guidelines.

The Social Group is the Speed Date

Speed Dating is a type of get-together in which people interested in finding a person to date gather. Attendees are introduced to each other (usually by pairing off and talking for a few minutes before rotating to introduce themselves to a new person) and then people mutually interested are given each other’s contact information.

The important concept of applying “speed dating” to a social group is not the formalized nature of the speed dating setup, but that the group is not the end-all social interaction. The point is to help people make natural and real friendships, not to occupy people’s time for a couple of hours a month. Not every autistic person is going to enjoy hanging out with every other person, so the goal is not that the group be everything to everyone, but that it is a way to facilitate people connecting and developing real friendships and to take those friendships and build on them outside of the group. One shows up to speed date not to have a bunch of 5-10 minute dates, but to find people they want to have REAL dates with and to give them an opportunity to meet, make the connection, and hopefully make arrangements to develop a real friendship. Same general idea here.

In our model, our typical social group took the form of a game night. People were encouraged to bring snacks and a game they were interested in playing with other people. A typical night would start with introductions, and people that brought games would introduce the game. People would peel off to play whatever game they wished, eat food and generally hang out. Apples to Apples and Jenga were two favorites that were accessible and got pulled out most nights. One night that stands out was most of the attendees playing through an impromptu Dungeons and Dragons module!

What would be very typical is that there would be larger groups playing some games, smaller groups playing others, and pairs engaged in a two person game here and there as well.

Autistic Owned and Led Space

A key caveat of social groups I set up is that having an autistic identity was a requirement to enter the space. The adult social group was strictly an autistic-only meeting.

We had our reasons. One key reason is once other people were allowed in, it stopped being our space, and our social group would become a social skills group, with people, well-meaning or no, feeling a need to “teach” us how (they thought) we should socialize. We would find this creep in in both subtle and VERY unsubtle ways.

With non-autistics present, conversations would become sterilized and censored. Very quickly we realized that a clear draw of our social group for many people was that our group was the sole opportunity they had in their lives to have a conversation that would not eventually end up getting reported to their parents, and that was more valuable than gold. I will never forget the one person who showed up to a social club meeting, and in his introduction blurted out “Is anyone a furry? I feel like I am and would love to talk about it with somebody but my parents can’t know.” The group that night took a quite unexpected direction!

Keeping secrets is a hallmark of true friendships.

All that said about the reasons for it being autistic-only space, a goal was for the group to be accessible to anybody that wanted to be there and for plenty of people, that would mean they needed support to be available. We settled on meeting at libraries, where we could take up meeting space for the group while still having a “hover zone.” Parents and supporters could mill around the library and still be a moment away if needed, while the person could have fully solo social interactions.

Another challenge of the “no neurotypicals allowed” policy is helping people through social anxiety of coming to a new place and meeting new people. We always reiterated that we would do anything we could feasibly do to help somebody feel comfortable in the space without their supporters immediately present and would often do things like meet the person and tour the room beforehand, meet in the room with a smaller segment of the social club regulars and other things to help break the ice. However, during club meetings, autistics only.

If the social group will not be as firm on having a “no NT” policy, then the group needs to have a clear understanding with non-autistic people that they are visitors in autistic space and need to act accordingly. Teen groups may require some degree of adult coordination, but leadership of the group should still be vested in autistic attendees.

Another dynamic of autistic-led space is it minimizes situations where participants are unwilling. Not every autistic person is looking to make friends, with other autistics or anyone else. Another firm rule we had is that people coming to our social group needed to have a clear desire to be there. We had neither the interest or the capacity to be a respite service for people without interest in hanging out for a few hours, or a group to “convince” people they should want more friends. However, if the lines between a social space and a “teaching” space get blurred, all the sudden you begin to find your social group is full of people that got forced to be there.

A Clear Line Between Adult and Teen Groups

When launching my first social group, I had the intent of it being for ages 18+, but didn’t feel I wanted to be super firm on that point. I soon found that I needed to paint a clear distinction and keep the space adult-only. The issue is related to the censorship issue above: people wanting to have conversations about adult topics, with not enough people in their life willing to have non-judgmental conversations about the same, and so conversations would drift into conversation about sexuality and relationships, drinking, licit and illicit drugs. These were excellent conversations and we appreciated that a benefit people found of the group was an opportunity to have conversations like this, but obviously not the type of conversations we would feel comfortable extending to minor children.

For teen groups, we tended to structure things with some degree of adult supervision and often more specific activities offered. We seemed to find that many teens were more interested in coming to do something identifiable rather than the primary objective being “social.” Minecraft, Pokemon play sessions, science demos, anything that seemed to match the interests of the people interested in attending. One of my favorites was making LED throwies!

Every Autistic Person (and Gender) Welcome

While people that attend a social group have zero obligation to be friends with everyone they meet as part of a group, they do have an obligation to make the group space friendly, welcoming and accommodating to all. It was very important to cultivate a culture that everybody was welcome and that the group would help police this.

The fact is that some people’s stims and/or mannerisms may not be welcomed by others, but

establishing a culture of inclusion helps the group respect that everyone should have the opportunity to make friends—if you don’t personally like somebody, that is fine, you should feel no obligation to socialize outside the group. However, you do have an obligation to make sure they feel welcomed in the group itself, just as the group welcomed and included you.

Another consideration is that in any group like this, specific attention NEEDS to be paid to making sure people who are not cis autistic males also have a great experience in the group, as many female presenting autistic people simply do not have good social experiences hanging out with other autistics. You need to make sure that the experience of female-presenting attendees to your group is NOT a steady cavalcade of propositions to date (or to simply skip the dating and move on to something else).

An unfortunate reality of autistics and dating is that many autistics are quite motivated to date but do not feel they have enough opportunities. They often get reinforced to believe that the “perfect match” for them is another autistic person, so, they come to a social group and meet a person of the gender they are looking to date! And fifteen other cis autistics looking for dates also meet that person! And what results is many of those people make a pass, all/most are rebuffed, and some may get angry and direct their anger at the person rebuffing them. If you are the person at the center of all of this, do you come back to experience that with new (or the same) people next month?

We were not interested in standing in the way of a romantic/intimate relationship between mutually consenting group attendees, in fact I know of several relationships that started out of social groups I created. While we weren’t interested in barring people from exploring relationships with mutual interest, our general ground rules were to ask people to allow friendships to develop and then feel out relationship interest, and tried to make it very clear that asking somebody out that you only knew through the group had a VERY low chance of success. For people in a leadership role, we would also pay some closer attention to what interactions were going on in the room, and gently interceding if need be.

Consider an Online Component

A Facebook group or other social media component to the social group can help people feel more comfortable attending and connecting, can help further along relationships, and can help coordinate group activities. These groups often dwarf in-person attendance!

I’d recommend similar rules apply to online space: autistic identities only, group members need to show mutual respect, don’t harass people by looking for dates.

Go With the Flow

More important than any specific format is that the group accommodates the wishes of the people involved. These loose guidelines worked generally well for groups I put together, but I would have been more than ready to scrap or tweak things that simply weren’t working for people interested in being a part. The goal is to make a comfortable environment for people to connect. Honestly, if setting up a new group in 2020, I’d probably seek more of an advocacy activism format to act as a the “social grease.”

A final note is that while I personally believe that a critical component of my autistic identity is staying socially connected with my “tribe,” autistic friendships should not be pursued or encouraged just as a matter of course. For many autistic people, a fulfilling social life probably has a mix of people and experiences involved, and those may or may not include other autistic people.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
How to Create Social Groups for Autistic Teens and Adults — THINKING PERSON’S GUIDE TO AUTISM

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Photo © Jonathan Nowak | Flickr / Creative Commons [image: Adults of varied races sitting and standing around a gaming table.] Jeff at Spectrum Disordered www.facebook.com/asdisordered I have a long history with successful autistic social groups. I started my first in 2006, and although I moved out…

# data[].attributes.body
"Finally, a book that does not pathologize autism or insist that autistic children change who they are in order to have friends.

"Do You Want to Play?"

That's what Jamie, with her favourite yellow truck, asks new kid Dylan, who only seems to want to line up his cars.  Can Jamie make a friend before Mommy comes to take her home?

A heartwarming story of learning about others and finding new ways to have fun."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
New Autism Picture Book Reading!  "Do You Want to Play? Making Friends with an Autistic Kid"

# data[].attributes.headline
Buddy System: An Inclusive Teaching Strategy

# data[].attributes.subject
Buddy System: An Inclusive Teaching Strategy

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Buddy system: An inclusive Instructional Strategy (English)

# data[].attributes.body
This is a document that I (Naomi) used with my peer buddies when implementing a buddy program in a Jr. High School. Let's critique this document.

# data[].attributes.body
"We Move Together follows a mixed-ability group of kids as they creatively negotiate everyday barriers and find joy and connection in disability culture and community. A perfect tool for families, schools, and libraries to facilitate conversations about disability, accessibility, social justice and community building. Includes a kid-friendly glossary (for ages 6 – 9)."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
We Move Together: Storytime | Disability, Accessibility, Social Justice, Community Building

# data[].attributes.body
"Follow a group of children through a day in their school, where everyone is welcomed with open arms no matter their race, religion, or background. With vividly detailed illustrations and a gently reassuring text, Alexandra Penfold and Suzanne Kaufman celebrate kindness, inclusivity, and diversity in a joyous read-aloud that is a must for every child's bookshelf."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Read Aloud: All Are Welcome By: Alexandra Penfold and Suzanne Kaufman

# data[].attributes.body
This is another link within the Thinking Person's Guide to Autism.
***This link provides an interview with Raya, who considers herself an Autistic Mentor.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Anne Borden and Raya Shields live in Toronto, where Raya is an autistic mentor to Anne's son Baxter. Both Anne and Raya are members of Autistics for Autistics (A4A), an autistic self-advocacy organization. In this conversation, they discuss autistic mentorship: what it is, why it's important, and how we can forge new approaches to autism through autistic-led and directed projects. Anne: Raya, how would you describe what you do? Is it autistic mentorship, or what term would you use?
Raya: I refer to myself as a mentor and to the work that I do with children and young people as mentorship. I also have my Bachelor of Arts in Child and Youth Care from Ryerson University, and so am also a child and youth care worker, and sometimes refer to my work in that way. I am an autistic adult working with autistic and otherwise neurodivergent children and young people, so I think it makes sense to refer to what I do with children and youth as autistic mentorship.

In recent years, I have been more open about the fact that I am autistic in the work that I do. Previously, I kept this information private for fear of families not wanting me to work with their child, knowing that I am autistic. I've noticed a shift recently with parents seeming to be open in a way that they were not previously (in my experience) to the prospect of having an autistic adult involved in their child's life. That makes me feel hopeful about the future. I've had parents reach out to me because they know that I am autistic, and that feels really amazing.
Anne: Do you feel like a few years ago it was riskier to be open about being autistic, in the work you do?
Raya: Well, yes, in a way though I would say the risk is context-dependent. For example, I started peer mentoring when I was in high school. At that point in my life, parents knew I was neurodivergent (though not necessarily that I was autistic). Then the work I did with children gradually moved from the school and into the community when parents hired me to work with their child on weekends or after school. As I began to connect with parents interested in mentorship or support for their child outside of the school setting, I initially did not bring up the fact that I am autistic. People were contacting me because they heard from others that I ran social groups for neurodivergent (ND) youth, that I worked with children and teens one to one on life skills and particularly coaching ND teens on using the subway with more independence, and that I provided "respite."

At that time (and to some extent now) I had this anxiety that if parents knew I was autistic, they wouldn't trust me to do good work with their child. The irony is that I am good at what I do because I share their child's neurology and can establish relationships that are child led, that respect autistic ways of communicating, and that (I hope) support children/youth in learning new skills in navigating a world that just isn't built with autistic people in mind.

So I guess I'd say that when I first became involved in mentorship there was no need to disclose because everyone who attended my school was ND. Then after I graduated, I spent several years being afraid of disclosing my neurology because of ableism. The experiences of being told that being autistic was bad, that it made me less than human, had made me feel that masking and hiding the fact that I am autistic and ND was the only way I would be able to do the work I loved.

In the last three years or so I've had this wonderful experience of having a few families reach out to me because they knew I was autistic, and that was the reason that they wanted me to work with their child-and that has been so liberating. It felt like I was holding my breath for so many years when working with kids/youth, afraid that any tic, or stim, or the way I spoke, or misunderstanding figures of speech or knowing if someone was being funny or sarcastic, or not holding eye contact for the "right" amount of time-that just started melting away, and I could finally take a breath.

I mean, let go of the breath I was metaphorically holding!
Anne: I'm one of those parents who was looking for an autistic person, specifically, to hang out with my kid. Before my family met you, we went through a series of neurotypical (NT) babysitters and they had such a limited repertoire, like because my kid wasn't into reading Rainbow Fish or making Lego action figures they would just throw up their hands. Honestly, I felt like saying "good luck with life" to them because they didn't seem to have much inclination to adapt at all. I was like, you really can't line up crayons with a kid? That's just too outside of your comfort zone??
Raya: Oh man, some of favourite moments spent with kids are ones where we do something like ride the subway to every stop and photograph each station or ride different elevators around the city. I would be very down to line up crayons.
Anne: Right? I remember there was this one babysitter...after she left one day, Bax said: "Why does Samantha go to the bathroom so much?" And we figured out she was going into the bathroom and texting...not doing her bit at all! And this was heartbreaking, and it was also very hard when [a babysitter] would just not show up, for example. I was mad at them for giving up, for being inflexible. I also just did not get why they couldn't connect, when he was clearly reaching out and doing his best to make a connection with them.

The funny thing is the stereotype of autistic people is we're rigid and inflexible, yet all these NT babysitters we tried were so rigid in their expectations. The person who could go with the flow was you. But it took some time to find you. It's not like there's a database of autistic mentors or babysitters, although there should be.

Raya: As far as I know there is no database for finding autistic mentors here in Toronto although there are many, many respite services and directories that match a non-autistic respite worker to families. I think it's basically word of mouth here, I can think of two or three other neurodivergent folks offering classes or programs or mentoring to disabled kids.
Anne: Yes, and this is in a city of three million, so clearly we need to build capacity and support!

I wanted to ask you about how you deal with parent expectations. How do you negotiate, for example, when parents might have a different expectation than the client, than the kid themself?

Raya: I generally reframe what I am hearing from parents. So with many of the kids I work with, their parents have concerns about anxiety, frustration, socialization, executive functioning skills, and increasing a person's independence. I might hear something like "we want you to help David* develop his social skills." For me, I ask more questions about what the parents think they want and what the child wants and go from there.

For me the question is always: Is this about a critical life skill, is it a safety skill, or is this just an NT social expectation? I draw a lot from Ruti Regan's blog " Real Social Skills " which offers insight into NT social expectations and the logic behind them that can be useful information for autistic folks to know, even if we may not relate that way.

I use a similar approach to the work I do, where my aim is to model ways to relate that are not overwhelming, and that respect autonomy. So parents might list different concerns they have about their child or goals they have for their child and I do my best to sift through the parents' wishes and the child's wishes and move forward in a way the respects the child's autonomy while also reframing the issue the parent has presented.

I'll give an example-many parents do tell me they want their child or teen to develop social skills. They often cite social anxiety, lack of confidence, difficulty tolerating a group environment, or difficulty with the NT conversation dynamic. What I offer is a group of likeminded peers-other autistic teens-who gather regularly and spend time in the community doing activities they mutually enjoy, and help to choose.

Through this supportive and accepting environment, where everyone is ND including myself, there are opportunities to navigate social dynamics on the person's own terms and in a community of peers where it is ok to be autistic.

If parents say they are interested in their child or teen developing a better understanding of how to use public transit or money, I will co-design activities with the young person that address those skills while also respecting the young person's own desires for how they will spend our time together. That might look like taking the subway each week to a different library if the kid is into DVDs or comics, or working with a young person on developing a budget to save up for a special event like Comic Con.

Many of the kids and teens I work with have a lot of anxiety and sometimes trauma from being in school environments where behaviorist-based programming was used. So it's even more important that our work together is client-directed and that the young person has the opportunity to develop skills in a safe environment where their "no" will be respected and understood as a powerful way of communicating their boundaries.

Ultimately, what I hope young people get out of the mentorship experience are tools to advocate for themselves and their needs, pride in their autistic identity, and greater access to their communities.
Anne: What's your favourite thing about mentoring autistic kids? How does this experience impact you personally?
Raya: Hmmm, it's hard to choose a favourite part! I love being able to get to know so many amazing autistic and ND kids and teens, and I especially love that I get to be part of their lives and see them grow and develop into amazing autistic young adults. I've been working with some of the youth I mentor for almost a decade, and to see someone you knew as a ten year old kid turn into an incredible twenty year old young man is really humbling.

I love getting to travel all over Toronto and exploring really niche and fascinating parts of the city-like a 113-year-old vintage birdcage elevator at the Gladstone Hotel, Toronto's "secret" lower Bay Station and old railway cars, and looking for the albino squirrels in Trinity Bellwoods Park. Tomorrow I am going to an antique store with a kid to check out the city's only Biblio-Mat (a vending machine filled with vintage books). I also love quiet moments of connection where I may be reading a book with a kid or watching an episode of Pablo where there is just this easy feeling of acceptance and mutual joy in being with someone who gets you.

I like that I can share my own niche interests with kids and they are so receptive to them and often look for ways to engage with me about them-for example I really love washing machines, especially vintage ones, and when I'm with kids I work with who know how happy these make me, they might point out coin laundromats or send me photos of washing machines they find when they go on trips. (So much for the myth that autistic people lack empathy!)
Anne: Bax does that! He makes little video laundro-tours for you when we're out of town.
Raya: Yes...I like being able to support future autistic adults in a way I wish I was supported as a young (and initially misdiagnosed) autistic child. I think we all need people in our lives who share our identities and who understand what it is like to be neurodivergent in a world that isn't always accommodating or friendly to autistic ways of being.
Anne: Mm-hmm. I'm going to shift to policy for a second, because the work that you and other autistic mentors do-which is incredible-is also really marginalized by funders and I can't leave that unsaid. For example-and this might be hard for some readers outside of Canada to believe-but the Government of Canada just funded half a million dollars for an "autism mentorship" program at an autism centre where none of the so-called mentors are autistic! They are neurotypical social workers or social work students.

Now, how is that mentorship by any definition? Why do you think the government and autism service agencies would call it "mentorship"?

Raya: I think it's twofold. For one thing, the public image of the autistic person is as perpetually white, five years old, and male. I think there is an inability on the part of autism service agencies to imagine what autistic futures or what autistic adult lives might look like. When autism continues to be thought of in terms of young children and when autistic adults are infantilized, I don't think autism service agencies are able to be creative, and to imagine a world where autistic adults are the ones who work with and guide autistic children.

I think following from this incredibly inflexible way of understanding autism, there is also a belief that autistic people need neurotypical mentors who will model neurotypical ways of relating and who will reinforce neurotypical social norms. The idea of an autistic adult working with an autistic child makes some autism "professionals" a little nervous, I think.

After all, traditional autism services often have a normalizing agenda; they want us to learn how to be more NT and it doesn't occur to them that perhaps we would benefit most from learning how to move through this world as an autistic person from someone who has spent their whole life doing just that.
Anne: That's right. And I think there are market forces involved. I don't think most autism service providers actually want to share their space in the market with autistic people. When the autistic self-advocacy group I am in goes to speak somewhere, we get more questions and positive responses from attendees than the neurotypical "expert" presenters do. So there is obviously a demand for what we have to offer! But there is also an element of the established service providers worrying about their bottom line, seeing actually autistic individuals and organizations as competition.
Raya: Interesting. Yes I think that's very true.
Anne: Because if they didn't see us as competition, they would share the space with our organizations... and they do not. There is an entire economy operating around "autism," and that's why I think the neurodiversity movement is really more than a human rights movement, it's also a market disrupter for the autism industry. Autism service agencies feel threatened by neurodiversity and especially autistic-led organizations So they try to co-opt ideas like mentorship, but without actually making any structural changes that might impact their existing business approach. They will even use terms like "neurodiversity" without being inclusive! It's window dressing.

That leaves the question: how do we get the useful programs and services, such as true autistic mentorship, supported, funded, and integrated so that people in our community can access them?

Raya: I honestly don't know what the answer is. It would be great to compile some kind of database of autistic/ND support workers, mentors, tutors, teachers, and autistic-led programs so that the work we are doing in the community is more well-known. In Toronto I can think of three programs that are run by ND folks for ND kids and teens, but there is such a monopoly on private programs run by ABA therapists, private autism centres that run social skills groups...and then government funded "respite programs" that tend to be run out of ABA centres.
Anne: There are some workarounds with funding, sometimes...
Raya: But it doesn't solve the larger problem that you bring up that autistic people are strategically and consistently shut out of spaces that are dominated by so-called autism "experts," in part because perhaps they feel threatened or that their jobs are at stake.

I don't have the answers to this important question but I think a point of entry is through the work of grassroots organizations like Autistics for Autistics and Autistics United Canada. Advocating for a seat at the table in the decisions that affect us and our community-even when it is hard won and tenuous-can give us a little influence, and perhaps open doors towards thinking differently about services and funding for autistic people and moving towards services that we want, that are actually needed, and that we choose and design for ourselves.
Anne: Amen.

What's the biggest message or takeaway that you'd like your clients to get from your mentorship?

Raya: That it is ok to be autistic and that the autistic community is vibrant and welcoming and that they can find a safe harbour with autistic adults. That they are valued and respected and loved for who they are now and that they aren't "too much" or "not enough" despite what they may experience in NT spaces.
Anne: Thank you for all you do, Raya!!
--

*A fictional name; not the name of a real client.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
"I think we all need people in our lives who share our identities": The Power of Autistic Mentorship - THINKING PERSON'S GUIDE TO AUTISM

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Photo courtesy Anne Borden [image: Two white people: A boy with medium-short dark blond hair, and a woman with short dark brown hair, posing for the camera. They are sitting on a wooden bench next to a large bush.] Anne Borden and Raya Shields live in Toronto, where Raya is an autistic mentor to Anne's son Baxter.

# data[].attributes.body
"A great book comparing and contrasting two friends, one with Autism, the other Neurotypical. Children and their grownups are sure to have a much better understanding of the beautiful differences between these two friends!"

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
"When Johnny Doesn't Flap" presented by Brenda Sewell

# data[].attributes.body
What was the inspiration behind our idea?

# data[].attributes.body
Taken from the CBE Indigenous Education Team.

# data[].attributes.body
Food for thought....

# data[].attributes.body
Judy Endow, autistic author and international speaker, voices a perspective on 'peer buddy' programs that pushes back against the dominant discourse of such programs.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
I was taught to say, "Thank you for being my friend."
So I say it.
I was told to smile like I mean it.
So I smile.

The good friends way -
A pal for six weeks
You have been defined

You are a good person
For giving up your spot
At the popular kids' lunch table

You are a good person.
You are a trained good Samaritan now called "friend."

Definition of good Samaritan

"A person who gratuitously gives help or sympathy
to those in distress."

Says dictionary.com

Next month you will get your community service credit.
Your lifelong attitude about people like me
Will have been shaped

Because the peer mentoring training
Has passed on to you
Society's adoption of Jerry Lewis' ideas about me -
A person in need of sympathy
And a person in distress
Only because I am me - an autistic

We have become fake friends
For six weeks -
A Mrs.-Jones-Good-Friends-Program-success!

Your benevolence;
My neediness
Having been defined

When it is over
We say our goodbyes

And like I was taught I say,
"Thank you for being my friend."
And I remember I am meant
To smile like I mean it.
So I smile.

Goodbye peer mentor -
My assigned pal
From Mrs. Jones Good Friends Program.

You go on to your next project
I wait for my next assigned friend to eat lunch with
Both of us having been marked by the experience

That it is indeed YOUR world
And thus, your right
To continually put me in my place

For which I am meant to say,
"Thank you for being my friend."
And to smile like I mean it.

And this status quo could march on and on
EXCEPT

Yesterday I stopped smiling
And for all the rest of my todays

I will no longer say
"Thank you for being my friend."
Even though I know I am meant to.

JUDY ENDOW, MSW

Judy is an autistic author and international speaker on a variety of autism related topics. Read more from Judy on Ollibean here and on her website www.judyendow.com.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
I was taught to say, "Thank you for being my friend." So I say it. I was told to smile like I mean it. So I smile. The good friends way - A pal for six weeks You have been defined You are a good person For giving up your spot At the popular kids' lunch table You are a good person.

# data[].attributes.headline
A Lifetime to Shine: From Special Proms to Authentic Inclusion

# data[].attributes.subject
A Lifetime to Shine: From Special Proms to Authentic Inclusion

# data[].attributes.body
"Real, organic, reciprocal relationships can’t be engineered, not even by social psychologists. But we can identify factors that tend to encourage attraction. Research shows that two of the most important ingredients for relationship making are proximity and similarity. Proximity refers to how often people share the same physical space. The “proximity principle” explains why people are most likely to befriend or date individuals who live, study, or work near them. Similarity, meanwhile, can involve any shared trait, interest or experience." (asilverm, 2019, para. 8)

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
On April 26, 2003, I went to see the new Adam Sandler movie with my two best friends, who happen to be blind. Then, it was time for me to get ready for my senior prom. My mom painted my nails, and helped with my makeup. My prom date happened to be the other blind student at my school. We weren’t a couple, but we were friends, both single, and both interested in going to prom. So, his dad picked me up, we exchanged the customary flower arrangements. We went out to dinner, went to the dance, had fun dancing and meeting each other’s group of friends. It was a fun night, something I still remember, but certainly nothing worth making the news.

Two kinds of disability prom experiences have been making the news in recent years. One is the “night to shine” annual event sponsored by the Tim Tebow Foundation since 2015. On February 8, 2019, 655 churches around the world hosted all-expenses-paid “special needs proms” exclusively for teens and young adults with disabilities. The “honored guests” with disabilities were treated to a night of glamor, dancing, and celebration. But, these guests could not choose who would accompany them on this special night. Instead, they were matched with nondisabled volunteer “buddies” who escorted them to prom.

The second disability-related prom experience I hear about is the public “promposal” in which a nondisabled teen asks an obviously disabled classmate to the prom. Not only does the promposal go viral on social media, but it is often accompanied by stories featuring the beauty and selflessness of the nondisabled promposer. The disabled student’s side of the story is often lost. Sometimes, the prom couple is then voted prom king and queen by the student body, merely because one member of the couple is disabled. Or, we might read about two disabled teens taking each other to prom, and automatically getting voted prom king and queen. The one twist we never see, though: a disabled teenager doing the promposing, asking their crush to the prom, and getting an authentic “yes” in response. That would be a video I could actually enjoy watching.

People like hearing about the Night to Shine events, and watching the promposals. Most ordinary people feel happy about the idea of disabled teens getting to experience prom if they want to. And, there are a multitude of reasons why some disabled teens might miss the chance to attend their high school prom. But, neither the Night to Shine events nor the one-off promposals from kind nondisabled teens really address the systemic barriers between disabled teens and their high school proms.

What can we do, as individuals and as a society, to make proms and related experiences truly inclusive to disabled youth? The real answer is not sexy, it’s not news-worthy, it’s certainly not generative of a social media meme.

Let’s examine the chain of events that enabled me to connect with my own prom date in high school. He and I had the same teacher of the visually impaired (TVI) and the same orientation and mobility (O&M) instructor. Our teachers arranged activities and lessons that we attended together with other blind students throughout the school district. We spent time together sharing common experiences and challenges, and this enabled us to develop an organic friendship which eventually led to our decision to go together to the prom.

I have no objection to the idea of holding exclusive events for youth with disabilities; in fact, as I’ve written before, I work with a program for blind youth where all the youth and mentors are blind. There is a great deal of value in such programs, which can bypass all kinds of participation barriers found in mainstream settings. We’ve seen the magic of relationships (both platonic and romantic) arising out of our program, and the impact those relationships are having on our students’ lives. In contrast, the segregated Night to Shine approach isn’t focused on developing lasting relationships between the participants. Instead, it’s simply focused on giving the participants a fleeting night of fun. The only relationships built are paternalistic ones between a disabled youth and a nondisabled “buddy.” To create the kind of social change we are seeking, we need to put the factors in place so that disabled youth can build meaningful relationships-whether with other disabled youth, or with their nondisabled neighbors and classmates. Because really, relationships are what the prom experience is all about.

Real, organic, reciprocal relationships can’t be engineered, not even by social psychologists. But we can identify factors that tend to encourage attraction. Research shows that two of the most important ingredients for relationship making are proximity and similarity. Proximity refers to how often people share the same physical space. The “proximity principle” explains why people are most likely to befriend or date individuals who live, study, or work near them. Similarity, meanwhile, can involve any shared trait, interest or experience. For example, examination of marriage records has shown that people are more likely to marry others who have similar names or initials than would be expected by chance.

In order to allow disabled youth to experience the joys of prom night, we need to start years before they’re old enough to go to prom. We need to put the conditions in place so that disabled people of all ages can fully access real, organic, two-way relationships. This starts by making spaces accessible so that disabled people can learn and play in close proximity to their peers with and without disabilities. And, instead of making a fus about programs that highlight the differences between disabled and nondisabled youth, we need to provide opportunities for disabled youth to find peers who share similarities with them-whether those peers have disabilities or not.

So, let’s think about how we can make the daycare centers and the playgrounds fully inclusive so kids with and without disabilities can build connections through play. Let’s work to include disabled kids not just in the “least restrictive” classroom, but also in the cafeteria in elementary school and the drama club in high school. Let’s nurture disabled students’ natural strengths and interests so they have something to share with their peers and aren’t just takers in their friendships. Let’s work on creating programs for disabled youth to interact with one another, that are run by disabled adults who have firsthand experience with the populations they serve. And, by all means, let’s work on the proms themselves. Let’s make sure everyone can fit through the door, that people with differing sensory or physical needs have access, that people who don’t dance on their feet can still dance, that the presence of disabled students at the prom can become the ordinary sight it should be.

I do hope that someday, the Night to Shine proms will become obsolete. Someday, a disabled teen being promposed to, or promposing, will be so ordinary that no one will think to pull out a video camera. Then, disabled youth can claim respect, not just for a night, but for a lifetime. Let’s make it happen.

For further reading: Let’s Talk About So-Called ‘Special Needs Proms’ Inspiration Porn Goes to the Prom Pity and the Prom

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
A Lifetime to Shine: From Special Proms to Authentic Inclusion -

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
On April 26, 2003, I went to see the new Adam Sandler movie with my two best friends, who happen to be blind. Then, it was time for me to get ready for my senior prom. My mom painted my nails, and helped with my makeup. My prom date happened to be the other blind … Continue reading A Lifetime to Shi…

# data[].attributes.body
The author writes about the dilemma of teaching social skills to Autistic children. "The current way things are set up, we either teach the kid how to mask, leading to potentially some social acceptance and school success at the expense of their true sense of identity, or we do nothing, causing the child to be socially rejected and possibly a distraction in class."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
TW: suicide, mental illness

This series is going to make SLPs, related providers, and parents feel uncomfortable. It is incredibly painful to hear that your well-intentioned, compassionate, and dedicated therapy plans targeting pragmatic language are likely hurting the very population you serve. It is uncomfortable to hear criticism from the minority you possibly got into this career to help. However, autistic voices on this matter urgently needs to be listened to and appreciated. And this is not just criticism for criticim's sake-there is an actual solution. Current social skills curriculums are not working-but there are meaningful ways forward to truly help autistic kids navigate, socially. Not just autistic kids, but all kids. In fact, that's the key.

Research is just starting to come out saying what the autistic community has said all along-autistic communication is just as effective as neurotypical communication. The breakdown only occurs when autistics communicate with neurotypicals and vice versa (Crompton, C. J., Fletcher-Watson, S., & Ropar, D., 2019). That being said...

There are the autistic kids who end up in social skills therapy, usually led by an SLP but sometimes a BCBA or school counselor, and there are the autistic kids who don't end up in social skills therapy, or any speech-language therapy at all. The first kids more obviously don't know how to fit in with their peers, may not have friends, or are disruptive in class-the second kids may have some friends, but are the cling-on in groups, and might occasionally be kind of awkward in class, but not enough for it to be problematic for the teacher. The first kids don't really know how to navigate neurotypical social skills without guidance-the second kids are able to observe and study peers, Youtubers, and television shows and movies to find neurotypical patterns of behavior to copy and roughly fit to real-life situations. The first kids are being explicitly taught "masking"-the second kids figure out "masking" on their own. Both types of kids are significantly more likely than their neurotypical peers to grow up to an adulthood suffering from depression, anxiety, and obsessive-compulsive disorder. Both types are significantly more likely to engage in suicidal idealization in adulthood-in fact 35% of autistic adults have planned or attempted suicide. Both types of kids are directly more likely to have these outcomes as adults as a result of prolonged autistic masking (Cassidy, S., Bradley, L., Shaw, R., & Baron-Cohen, S., 2018; Hirvikoski, T., et al., 2016; Nimmo-Smith, V., et al., 2020). These statistics need to be repeated. Again and again. Until something is done.

Autistic masking is the conscious and/or subconscious suppression of autistic traits and tendencies in favor of acting more neurotypical....

My first social memory is being in preschool as a 3-year-old. I had a favorite peer, as many autistic kids do. I remember following her around the class, copying every action she did. I was studying her, imitating her, and hoping, as a result, she would like me. My first social memory is one of me navigating the logistics of successful autistic masking. I somehow knew, from that young age, that hiding my authentic self in favor of imitating my peer would result in more social success. I was 3.

When I was 6 my peers started calling me "short." Objectively, I was a short child. However, I knew that society favored taller people, so I thought that others' telling me I was short was a personal attack about how they viewed me as "lesser," just like society views shorter people as "lesser." Plus, being short made me stick out from my peers, and I was socially aware enough to know that's not good. That's why I gotta copy actions from the people I like. So my classmates would call me short, and I would cry, and I would not be able to stop crying no matter how much I tried. One time a classmate called me short, and my teacher made me and her sit in the corner of the classroom until we could resolve the issue. She sat in silence as I cried and couldn't make it stop. This is one example of my NOT being able to mask my true feelings.

As mentioned previously, some autistic kids don't naturally figure out that they need to suppress their true feelings and copy others to be socially accepted. And so there are entire preschool social skill curriculums for those kids! They learn things like following along to the whole group instead of having fun alone with your own unique idea. Look at the group to see what they are doing! Watch them with your eyes, listen with your ears, keep that mouth silent, turn your body toward that speaker, keep those body parts still or else you'll miss the subtleties of how to act JUST like your peers. Listen to their words. WOW! That's important stuff-way more important than your ideas. Stop talking so much! Let her have a turn going first in the game. I can see you are getting upset, but everybody needs a turn going first. Your brain is getting "stuck" like we talked about yesterday. Don't let it win! Hey, that boy wants to help you build your Lego tower. No, no, he won't mess it up. Oh...the base of the Lego tower isn't very strong now-he is stacking bricks as opposed to alternating the bricks for maximum support. No, no, he didn't ruin it. No, it's fine. Everybody has valid ideas and should be allowed to show them off. Hey! We don't kick our toys when we are mad! It's okay to be mad, but we don't kick. Hey, let's go to another table. You are feeling some very big emotions right now-let's see how big that problem is. See, your reaction is are right here, in the "red zone". Your friend wanted to do build the tower a different way-how big do you think that problem is? Oh, you think it is a big problem, also in the "red zone"? Hm, remember what we talked about last week? Big problems, "red zone" problems, are really really big! Like you are lost and can't find your mom! Uh-huh, yeah, this problem right now is a small problem, in the "green zone." Can you think of some ways to problem solve this problem? No? You want to build the tower by yourself? Aw look, look at your friend's face....he is looking down and frowning...he must feel bad about his idea. Your brain seems pretty "stuck" right now. Don't let it win! Let's brainstorm together all sorts of ways to solve this problem. Why does he now think his idea is bad? What could you say to make him feel better?

Although there is a lot to unpack here, I am going to focus on the aspects that teach autistic children to ignore thoughts and feelings. This is a major part of autistic masking, and clearly, it starts young.

Let's say I was diagnosed as a child, given an IEP, and put in social skills therapy as a 6 year old with this same curriculum. My reaction to being called short would be in the "red zone." And since my peers weren't actually being "mean" to me by calling me short, I'd be told the size of the problem would be in the "green zone." But I still thought my peers were being mean-I interpreted their words as truly being mean and causing intense anxiety and torment, given my knowledge that I need to fit society standards. Now I am being inflexible and rigid, because I truly KNOW that being called short is offensive. Can't let that inflexible brain win, so that will be something to work on. In this social skills therapy, I would have learned that my feelings were wrong. But, hopefully, with time, I would use my brain to see that my emotional reaction does not match the true situation. However, I would say that that my large reaction revealed a perfectly valid, insightful, and, ironically, mature understanding of the world around me. As a child, I couldn't express it verbally. But as an adult, I can say that my reaction revealed an understanding of the unequality and injustice in this world that is all too often ignored and invalidated by adults. Short stature is socially inferior. You adults are telling me it isn't. But the subtle clues society is giving me say otherwise. Not only is it upsetting that people are treated unequally because of things they cannot control, but you adults are turning your backs to it, making it seem like I am the one who doesn't understand the social world!

Similarly, in the hypothetical example above, the child's method of building a Lego tower was clearly structurally superior. Superficially, it appears he is upset because he is inflexible and wanted to just build the tower his way. However, his large reaction is compounded by his frustration that the adults are saying that all ideas are valid when, clearly, his engineering abilities are far superior. And the adults are turning their backs to it! The child shows signs of building anxiety early on and being pushed to include a peer in his project, only for the peer to not do it the right way was enough to make him incredibly upset.

We tell small kids that everybody is equal as far as their worth, which is absolutely true. Given this truth, everybody should be treated equally, always. But others can be treated differently based on their age, gender, race, and appearance. And we can treat others differently based on the situation itself, emotions, sickness, fatigue, etc. Not only is it incredibly confusing, especially for a young child, but it is incredibly unfair. But furthermore, we tell them everybody's ideas are valid and good and valuable. But this isn't true. This isn't true in the real world. Some people have better ideas than others on certain subjects or topics. And some people really struggle more than others with certain subjects and topics. Autistic kids often have an unrelenting sense of honesty, equality, and justice and it is being constantly misinterpreted.

We tell small kids that their feelings are valid. But inflexibility or rigidity seems to exist in this vacuum of being unable to be explained by any neurotypical person, ever. Autistic people are inflexible because they are stuck because they are rigid because they want things a certain way because they can't figure out another way because they don't understand others' perspectives because its in the DSM V. Let me be clear: inflexibility stems from anxiety. What if I mess it up this new way of playing the game? What if this new food makes me gag? I don't know this different route to McDonalds...What if we get lost or get there late? I don't know the buildings and trees and neighborhoods on this route. I am anxious. I feel floaty. Get me out of this car. AH! Meltdown!

Keeping everything the same is the way of controlling a chaotic, logically inconsistent, and sensory overwhelming environment. The potential benefits of the new thing are heavily outweighed by the possibility it will be horrible. It is risk-aversion.

Here are some hypothetical examples outlining how the combination of a strong sense of honesty and equality along with anxiety presenting as inflexibility and rigidity can present as poor social skills in young autistic children. And then common therapeutic attempts at helping the child, socially:

Johnny drew a picture of a car during art time. The teacher has every students' drawing in her hand and shows some to the entire class. Johnny is very proud of his drawing but becomes very upset, pounding his fists and whining, when his teacher doesn't show it to the class. Over time and with his therapist, working to be more "flexible," Johnny sees sometimes his drawing is shown and sometimes it isn't. To his teachers and therapists, it appears he learned that he can't always have a turn. Johnny actually learned to hide the intense disappointment of his drawing not being shown most times, and sometimes he doesn't even want to draw now. Masking.

Bella is playing a turn-taking game with the therapist and a peer. Bella wants to play the game the same exact way each time, but the therapist wants to try a new way because she needs to learn to try new things. Bella insists no because she just got really good at the same way, and changing it causes anxiety due to the executive functioning challenges of learning a new multi-step routine and possibly looking dumb. The game gets changed anyway, and Bella loses the game, causing her to cry and remain silent the rest of the day. Eventually she gets used to hiding the anxiety of a new way of playing games. Masking.

Grace's therapist is working on her turn-taking skills during a conversation. The therapist starts a conversation with a question, "What did you do this weekend, Grace?" and Grace responds with what she did. There is a pause, and the therapist prompts her to ask the same question back. Grace says "I don't really care what you did" and the therapist says that hurts her feelings. Grace is startled by this and asks what her therapist did this weekend but doesn't wait to hear the answer, instead walking away to color in a coloring book. Grace was just being sincere and honest, why would that hurt anybody's feelings (?), and would much rather do her coloring anyway than talk about weekend plans. But the therapist starts working into every session how Grace needs to repeat questions back to the partner, even if she doesn't really care. Masking.

Learning to mask yourself or by being in social skills therapy is reinforcing from the youngest of ages that autistics should follow along with the crowd and push away our thoughts and feelings.

It creates the foundation of a lifetime of inauthenticity and shame around our true selves.

So, then what? The current way things are set up, we either teach the kid how to mask, leading to potentially some social acceptance and school success at the expense of their true sense of identity, or we do nothing, causing the child to be socially rejected and possibly a distraction in class. ﻿

The answer: Completely shifting the framework of what it means to communicate and be "social" , starting at the youngest age possible by discussing neurodiversity and neurotypicality. With ALL kids.

No whole body listening-we each are able to pay attention with different bodily presentations. No using logic to convince ourselves our emotions aren't justified-by learning about our brains, our bodily responses, and what they mean, we learn what we feel and how to regulate. No being stuck vs being flexible-just different ways of interpreting situations, consistent with the ways our different brains work. We need to break the deadly cycle of teaching and encouraging autistic masking.

Got an autistic young child as a client or your own kid? Do they know they are autistic? No? Start there. Got a neurotypical young child as a client or your own kid? Do they know about autism and ADHD and dyslexia? No? Start there.

The Dilemma of Social Skills Therapy Part 2: Adolescence will be next in this blog series. This one will focus on perspective taking and problem-solving as is traditionally taught through social skills therapy.

References:

Cassidy, S., Bradley, L., Shaw, R., & Baron-Cohen, S. (2018). Risk markers for suicidality in autistic adults.

Crompton, C. J., Fletcher-Watson, S., & Ropar, D. (2019). Autistic peer to peer information transfer is highly effective. doi:10.31219/osf.io/j4knx

Nimmo-Smith, V., Heuvelman, H., Dalman, C., Lundberg, M., Idring, S., Carpenter, P., Magnusson, C., & Rai, D. (2020). Anxiety Disorders in Adults with Autism Spectrum Disorder: A Population-Based Study. Journal of autism and developmental disorders, 50(1), 308-318.

Hirvikoski, T., Mittendorfer-Rutz, E., Boman, M., Larsson, H., Lichtenstein, P., & Bölte, S. (2016). Premature mortality in autism spectrum disorder. The British journal of psychiatry: the journal of mental science, 208( 3), 232-238. https://doi.org/10.1192/bjp.bp.114.160192

TW: suicide, mental illness

This series is going to make SLPs, related providers, and parents feel uncomfortable. It is incredibly painful to hear that your well-intentioned, compassionate, and dedicated therapy plans targeting pragmatic language are likely hurting the very population you serve. It is uncomfortable to hear criticism from the minority you possibly got into this career to help. However, autistic voices on this matter urgently needs to be listened to and appreciated. And this is not just criticism for criticim's sake-there is an actual solution. Current social skills curriculums are not working-but there are meaningful ways forward to truly help autistic kids navigate, socially. Not just autistic kids, but all kids. In fact, that's the key.

Research is just starting to come out saying what the autistic community has said all along-autistic communication is just as effective as neurotypical communication. The breakdown only occurs when autistics communicate with neurotypicals and vice versa (Crompton, C. J., Fletcher-Watson, S., & Ropar, D., 2019). That being said...

There are the autistic kids who end up in social skills therapy, usually led by an SLP but sometimes a BCBA or school counselor, and there are the autistic kids who don't end up in social skills therapy, or any speech-language therapy at all. The first kids more obviously don't know how to fit in with their peers, may not have friends, or are disruptive in class-the second kids may have some friends, but are the cling-on in groups, and might occasionally be kind of awkward in class, but not enough for it to be problematic for the teacher. The first kids don't really know how to navigate neurotypical social skills without guidance-the second kids are able to observe and study peers, Youtubers, and television shows and movies to find neurotypical patterns of behavior to copy and roughly fit to real-life situations. The first kids are being explicitly taught "masking"-the second kids figure out "masking" on their own. Both types of kids are significantly more likely than their neurotypical peers to grow up to an adulthood suffering from depression, anxiety, and obsessive-compulsive disorder. Both types are significantly more likely to engage in suicidal idealization in adulthood-in fact 35% of autistic adults have planned or attempted suicide. Both types of kids are directly more likely to have these outcomes as adults as a result of prolonged autistic masking (Cassidy, S., Bradley, L., Shaw, R., & Baron-Cohen, S., 2018; Hirvikoski, T., et al., 2016; Nimmo-Smith, V., et al., 2020). These statistics need to be repeated. Again and again. Until something is done.

Autistic masking is the conscious and/or subconscious suppression of autistic traits and tendencies in favor of acting more neurotypical....

My first social memory is being in preschool as a 3-year-old. I had a favorite peer, as many autistic kids do. I remember following her around the class, copying every action she did. I was studying her, imitating her, and hoping, as a result, she would like me. My first social memory is one of me navigating the logistics of successful autistic masking. I somehow knew, from that young age, that hiding my authentic self in favor of imitating my peer would result in more social success. I was 3.

When I was 6 my peers started calling me "short." Objectively, I was a short child. However, I knew that society favored taller people, so I thought that others' telling me I was short was a personal attack about how they viewed me as "lesser," just like society views shorter people as "lesser." Plus, being short made me stick out from my peers, and I was socially aware enough to know that's not good. That's why I gotta copy actions from the people I like. So my classmates would call me short, and I would cry, and I would not be able to stop crying no matter how much I tried. One time a classmate called me short, and my teacher made me and her sit in the corner of the classroom until we could resolve the issue. She sat in silence as I cried and couldn't make it stop. This is one example of my NOT being able to mask my true feelings.

As mentioned previously, some autistic kids don't naturally figure out that they need to suppress their true feelings and copy others to be socially accepted. And so there are entire preschool social skill curriculums for those kids! They learn things like following along to the whole group instead of having fun alone with your own unique idea. Look at the group to see what they are doing! Watch them with your eyes, listen with your ears, keep that mouth silent, turn your body toward that speaker, keep those body parts still or else you'll miss the subtleties of how to act JUST like your peers. Listen to their words. WOW! That's important stuff-way more important than your ideas. Stop talking so much! Let her have a turn going first in the game. I can see you are getting upset, but everybody needs a turn going first. Your brain is getting "stuck" like we talked about yesterday. Don't let it win! Hey, that boy wants to help you build your Lego tower. No, no, he won't mess it up. Oh...the base of the Lego tower isn't very strong now-he is stacking bricks as opposed to alternating the bricks for maximum support. No, no, he didn't ruin it. No, it's fine. Everybody has valid ideas and should be allowed to show them off. Hey! We don't kick our toys when we are mad! It's okay to be mad, but we don't kick. Hey, let's go to another table. You are feeling some very big emotions right now-let's see how big that problem is. See, your reaction is are right here, in the "red zone". Your friend wanted to do build the tower a different way-how big do you think that problem is? Oh, you think it is a big problem, also in the "red zone"? Hm, remember what we talked about last week? Big problems, "red zone" problems, are really really big! Like you are lost and can't find your mom! Uh-huh, yeah, this problem right now is a small problem, in the "green zone." Can you think of some ways to problem solve this problem? No? You want to build the tower by yourself? Aw look, look at your friend's face....he is looking down and frowning...he must feel bad about his idea. Your brain seems pretty "stuck" right now. Don't let it win! Let's brainstorm together all sorts of ways to solve this problem. Why does he now think his idea is bad? What could you say to make him feel better?

Although there is a lot to unpack here, I am going to focus on the aspects that teach autistic children to ignore thoughts and feelings. This is a major part of autistic masking, and clearly, it starts young.

Let's say I was diagnosed as a child, given an IEP, and put in social skills therapy as a 6 year old with this same curriculum. My reaction to being called short would be in the "red zone." And since my peers weren't actually being "mean" to me by calling me short, I'd be told the size of the problem would be in the "green zone." But I still thought my peers were being mean-I interpreted their words as truly being mean and causing intense anxiety and torment, given my knowledge that I need to fit society standards. Now I am being inflexible and rigid, because I truly KNOW that being called short is offensive. Can't let that inflexible brain win, so that will be something to work on. In this social skills therapy, I would have learned that my feelings were wrong. But, hopefully, with time, I would use my brain to see that my emotional reaction does not match the true situation. However, I would say that that my large reaction revealed a perfectly valid, insightful, and, ironically, mature understanding of the world around me. As a child, I couldn't express it verbally. But as an adult, I can say that my reaction revealed an understanding of the unequality and injustice in this world that is all too often ignored and invalidated by adults. Short stature is socially inferior. You adults are telling me it isn't. But the subtle clues society is giving me say otherwise. Not only is it upsetting that people are treated unequally because of things they cannot control, but you adults are turning your backs to it, making it seem like I am the one who doesn't understand the social world!

Similarly, in the hypothetical example above, the child's method of building a Lego tower was clearly structurally superior. Superficially, it appears he is upset because he is inflexible and wanted to just build the tower his way. However, his large reaction is compounded by his frustration that the adults are saying that all ideas are valid when, clearly, his engineering abilities are far superior. And the adults are turning their backs to it! The child shows signs of building anxiety early on and being pushed to include a peer in his project, only for the peer to not do it the right way was enough to make him incredibly upset.

We tell small kids that everybody is equal as far as their worth, which is absolutely true. Given this truth, everybody should be treated equally, always. But others can be treated differently based on their age, gender, race, and appearance. And we can treat others differently based on the situation itself, emotions, sickness, fatigue, etc. Not only is it incredibly confusing, especially for a young child, but it is incredibly unfair. But furthermore, we tell them everybody's ideas are valid and good and valuable. But this isn't true. This isn't true in the real world. Some people have better ideas than others on certain subjects or topics. And some people really struggle more than others with certain subjects and topics. Autistic kids often have an unrelenting sense of honesty, equality, and justice and it is being constantly misinterpreted.

We tell small kids that their feelings are valid. But inflexibility or rigidity seems to exist in this vacuum of being unable to be explained by any neurotypical person, ever. Autistic people are inflexible because they are stuck because they are rigid because they want things a certain way because they can't figure out another way because they don't understand others' perspectives because its in the DSM V. Let me be clear: inflexibility stems from anxiety. What if I mess it up this new way of playing the game? What if this new food makes me gag? I don't know this different route to McDonalds...What if we get lost or get there late? I don't know the buildings and trees and neighborhoods on this route. I am anxious. I feel floaty. Get me out of this car. AH! Meltdown!

Keeping everything the same is the way of controlling a chaotic, logically inconsistent, and sensory overwhelming environment. The potential benefits of the new thing are heavily outweighed by the possibility it will be horrible. It is risk-aversion.

Here are some hypothetical examples outlining how the combination of a strong sense of honesty and equality along with anxiety presenting as inflexibility and rigidity can present as poor social skills in young autistic children. And then common therapeutic attempts at helping the child, socially:

Johnny drew a picture of a car during art time. The teacher has every students' drawing in her hand and shows some to the entire class. Johnny is very proud of his drawing but becomes very upset, pounding his fists and whining, when his teacher doesn't show it to the class. Over time and with his therapist, working to be more "flexible," Johnny sees sometimes his drawing is shown and sometimes it isn't. To his teachers and therapists, it appears he learned that he can't always have a turn. Johnny actually learned to hide the intense disappointment of his drawing not being shown most times, and sometimes he doesn't even want to draw now. Masking.

Bella is playing a turn-taking game with the therapist and a peer. Bella wants to play the game the same exact way each time, but the therapist wants to try a new way because she needs to learn to try new things. Bella insists no because she just got really good at the same way, and changing it causes anxiety due to the executive functioning challenges of learning a new multi-step routine and possibly looking dumb. The game gets changed anyway, and Bella loses the game, causing her to cry and remain silent the rest of the day. Eventually she gets used to hiding the anxiety of a new way of playing games. Masking.

Grace's therapist is working on her turn-taking skills during a conversation. The therapist starts a conversation with a question, "What did you do this weekend, Grace?" and Grace responds with what she did. There is a pause, and the therapist prompts her to ask the same question back. Grace says "I don't really care what you did" and the therapist says that hurts her feelings. Grace is startled by this and asks what her therapist did this weekend but doesn't wait to hear the answer, instead walking away to color in a coloring book. Grace was just being sincere and honest, why would that hurt anybody's feelings (?), and would much rather do her coloring anyway than talk about weekend plans. But the therapist starts working into every session how Grace needs to repeat questions back to the partner, even if she doesn't really care. Masking.

Learning to mask yourself or by being in social skills therapy is reinforcing from the youngest of ages that autistics should follow along with the crowd and push away our thoughts and feelings.

It creates the foundation of a lifetime of inauthenticity and shame around our true selves.

So, then what? The current way things are set up, we either teach the kid how to mask, leading to potentially some social acceptance and school success at the expense of their true sense of identity, or we do nothing, causing the child to be socially rejected and possibly a distraction in class. ﻿

The answer: Completely shifting the framework of what it means to communicate and be "social" , starting at the youngest age possible by discussing neurodiversity and neurotypicality. With ALL kids.

No whole body listening-we each are able to pay attention with different bodily presentations. No using logic to convince ourselves our emotions aren't justified-by learning about our brains, our bodily responses, and what they mean, we learn what we feel and how to regulate. No being stuck vs being flexible-just different ways of interpreting situations, consistent with the ways our different brains work. We need to break the deadly cycle of teaching and encouraging autistic masking.

Got an autistic young child as a client or your own kid? Do they know they are autistic? No? Start there. Got a neurotypical young child as a client or your own kid? Do they know about autism and ADHD and dyslexia? No? Start there.

The Dilemma of Social Skills Therapy Part 2: Adolescence will be next in this blog series. This one will focus on perspective taking and problem-solving as is traditionally taught through social skills therapy.

References:

Cassidy, S., Bradley, L., Shaw, R., & Baron-Cohen, S. (2018). Risk markers for suicidality in autistic adults.

Crompton, C. J., Fletcher-Watson, S., & Ropar, D. (2019). Autistic peer to peer information transfer is highly effective. doi:10.31219/osf.io/j4knx

Nimmo-Smith, V., Heuvelman, H., Dalman, C., Lundberg, M., Idring, S., Carpenter, P., Magnusson, C., & Rai, D. (2020). Anxiety Disorders in Adults with Autism Spectrum Disorder: A Population-Based Study. Journal of autism and developmental disorders, 50(1), 308-318.

Hirvikoski, T., Mittendorfer-Rutz, E., Boman, M., Larsson, H., Lichtenstein, P., & Bölte, S. (2016). Premature mortality in autism spectrum disorder. The British journal of psychiatry: the journal of mental science, 208( 3), 232-238. https://doi.org/10.1192/bjp.bp.114.160192

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
The Dilemma of Social Skills Therapy Part 1: The Young Child - Rachel Dorsey: Autistic SLP, LLC

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
TW: suicide, mental illness This series is going to make SLPs, related providers, and parents feel uncomfortable. It is incredibly painful to hear that your well-intentioned, compassionate, and dedicated therapy plans targeting pragmatic language are likely hurting the very population you serve.

# data[].attributes.headline
Benevolence, Friendship, & the Politics of Help

# data[].attributes.subject
Benevolence, Friendship, & the Politics of Help

# data[].attributes.body
"Perhaps we must begin by acknowledging what should be, but is not always obvious. That is, no one has the power to conjur up friendship at will. Maybe that's just as well. Friendship is about choice and chemistry, and cannot even be readily defined, much less forced. This is precisely its magic. Realizing this, we can acknowledge without any sense of inadequacy that we are not, nor need to be, friendship sorcerers." (Van der Klift & Kunc, 1994, para. 27)

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
HELL-BENT ON HELPING: Benevolence, Friendship, and the Politics of Help

By: Emma Van der Klift & Norman Kunc

Originally published in: Thousand, J., Villa, R., Nevin, A. Creativity and Collaborative Learning: A Practical Guide to Empowering Students and Teachers. Baltimore: Paul Brookes, 1994.
© Copyright 1994 Paul H. Brookes Publishers.

----------------------------------------------------

The move toward cooperative and inclusive education is part of a larger move out of social oppression for individuals with disabilities. It is part of a groundswell movement of social reform that holds as a central tenet the belief that all children, including those with disabilities, are capable of learning and contributing to their classrooms and communities.

Students formerly educated in separate schools or segregated classrooms are appearing in increasing numbers in neighbourhood schools and regular classrooms. Across North America, we are coming to recognize that full participation in communities and schools should be the right of all individuals and that segregation on the basis of physical, mental, or cultural differences is fundamentally wrong.

This is the first generation of children with and without disabilities to grow up and be educated together. Consequently, within inclusive education we have come to entertain a cheerful optimism that the generation growing up now will be different than those of the past. We are hopeful that greater contact between children will begin to break down the barriers of misunderstanding and dispel the myths that have created society's response to disability.

At first glance, this change might seem to be taking place. Individuals with disabilities are more visible and increasingly involved in community life. If we believed that greater proximity led to greater acceptance, it could be argued that we are successfully participating in the creation of a new social order. Unfortunately, this is only partly true. Instead, we are finding that increased visibility and "presence" alone do not necessarily ensure that those with disabilities are fully included.

True inclusion is dependent on the development of meaningful and reciprocal relationships between children. As classrooms become increasingly diverse, new strategies are being developed to ensure that the new students are more than simply present. Friendship circles, school clubs and special buddy systems have been implemented as formalized attempts to foster interaction and develop relationships.

While increased interaction may result from such efforts, friendship often remains elusive. Children may have successful buddy systems during school hours and still be isolated and friendless after three o'clock. Children without disabilities may be helpful and involved, but a reciprocal relationship upon which genuine friendship is based does not always develop. The difficult and often frustrating question is then, "What are the barriers impeding the development of friendship, and how can we move past them?"

FRIENDSHIP AND HELP

At the end of the twentieth century, the most significant barriers preventing individuals with labels of disability from fully participating in schools and communities are still attitudinal. Specifically, our society still perceives those with disabilities as perpetual receivers of help. Descriptors like "less fortunate" and "needy," telethons, and tear-jerker journalism all continue to perpetuate this view.

Unfortunately, there is still a distressing tendency in some schools to base interactions with students on these broader societal misperceptions, despite a sincere desire to end the isolation experienced by so many children with disabilities. Friendship clubs and buddy systems based on stereotypical beliefs risk perpetuating prejudices and myths and even exacerbating the problem.

Obviously, it is essential that students be provided with opportunities to interact. Formalized friendship and support circles may be effective ways to building relationships. However, an over-emphasis on the "helper/helpee" relationship can easily skew the delicate balance of giving and receiving that is the precursor of true friendship. It is critical, then, to regularly and carefully examine the nature of the interaction we facilitate and the attitudes that inform it.

Consider the following scenario:

Four third grade children from a local elementary school have come to speak to a room full of adults. They've been invited, with their teacher, to talk about friendship. Actually, three of them are there to talk about their friendship with the fourth child. Children in third grade make friends all the time. We ask ourselves, "What could possibly be unusual enough about this situation to bring these children here today?"

What's unusual is soon apparent. Three of the four children in the room can speak, one of them can't. Three of the four children in the room can walk, one of them can't. The three walking, talking children are here to tell us about their relationship with the young man in the wheelchair.

Adults in the room begin to smile as the first classmate talks. Approving nods accompany the child's words, "He's different on the outside, but inside he's just like me."

The conversation whirls around the boy in the wheelchair as he scans the room, looks at his communication board and sometimes watches his classmates.

"We take turns being his buddy," offers one young girl. "Everyone has a turn."

As the children talk and answer questions, it is interesting to watch the interplay between the subject of the discussion and the girl to his left. She has one arm around his shoulders, and in the other hand holds a washcloth. She wipes his mouth repeatedly. At one point, he appears to lose patience and struggles a bit. One hand jerks forward. His friend seizes his and holds it still. He makes a noise of clear irritation, and attempts to pull his hand free.

His classmate smiles fondly at him, continuing to restrain his hand, and wipes his mouth again."

Is there anything wrong here? Not much, we might say. A nine-year old who in other times or other places might have been attending segregated classes and a group of nice third-graders together are learning a few lessons about difference and similarity.

We might even agree with comments made by audience members. We heard the boy's three classmates being called "the hope for tomorrow" and "exceptional kids". All over the room, adults were beaming. After all, this relatively new phenomenon seems to hold out some hope for an end to discrimination and distance between those who have disabilities and those who do not.

However, as the presentation continued, it became increasingly apparent that while both adults and children thought they were talking about friendship, much of the discussion taking place was really about help. While there was undeniable warmth between the children, most of the comments and non-verbal interactions reflected a "helper/helpee" relationship, not a reciprocal friendship.

When initially attempting to foster relationships between children with disabilities and their non-disabled classmates, it is common practice to have children "help" the new student. Such help may take the form of physical care, "keeping company" during breaks, or schoolwork assistance. Help giving contact can reduce an initial sense of strangeness or fear, and can, if carefully done, lay the groundwork for friendship.

Clearly, there is nothing wrong with help; friends often help each other. However, it is essential to acknowledge that help is not and can never be the basis of friendship. We must be careful not to over-emphasize the "helper/helpee" aspect of a relationship. Unless help is reciprocal, the inherent inequity between 'helper' and 'helpee' will contaminate the authenticity of a relationship.

Friendship is not the same as help. Attempts to include children with disabilities have sometimes blurred this distinction. Friendship clubs are often really assistance clubs. For example, how much time is spent on the logistics of help? "Who can take Jane to the library on Monday?" "Who can help George eat lunch on Friday?" Still more insidious, how much time is spent bringing George's classmates into a "mufti-disciplinary team system" to analyze the effectiveness of his current behaviour management plan?

Professional caretakers are made, not born. How does it happen? Put a third-grade "helper" next to a third grade "helpee". Add a sizable amount of adult approval, and there you have it.

It is not entirely thrilling that kids who take part in friendship circles during school go on to careers in human service. Don't misunderstand. Lots of wonderful people choose this profession. However, an unfortunate result is that lots of children and adults with mental and physical handicaps have legions of professional caregivers, but no friends in their lives. We must guard against merely creating another generation of "professionals" and "clients", with the former group seen as perpetually competent, and the latter, perpetually needy.

But what's a teacher to do? To create a helper is relatively easy; to facilitate a friendship is tough. After all, friendship cannot simply be mandated. At best, it seems to be made up of one third proximity and two thirds alchemy!

Perhaps we must begin by acknowledging what should be, but is not always obvious. That is, no one has the power to conjur up friendship at will. Maybe that's just as well. Friendship is about choice and chemistry, and cannot even be readily defined, much less forced. This is precisely its magic. Realizing this, we can acknowledge without any sense of inadequacy that we are not, nor need to be, friendship sorcerers.

However, teachers and others do have some influence over the nature of proximity. Thus, to create and foster an environment in which it is possible for friendship to emerge might be a more reasonable goal. In order to achieve this goal, it is essential that we examine the nature of the interactions we facilitate. In particular, we must look closely at the role of help in our classrooms, and look not so much at whether children should help each other, but how that help takes place.

THE POLITICS OF HELP

Let's "begin at the beginning", and examine what help means to all of us. In most societies today, helping others is viewed as a socially admirable course of action. Those of us who are in a so-called "privileged position" are asked to give to others. We know we should give to our families, our communities, and most of all, to those "less fortunate" than ourselves. Yet, why is it that most of us, while perfectly comfortable offering help, are decidedly uncomfortable receiving it?

The answer to this question is at once relatively simple and enormously complex. Consider the contrasting perceptions regarding the giving and receiving of help as presented in Table 1. As Table 1 illustrates, although our society associates a host of positive attributes to help, these attributes clearly are reserved for the "helper."

TABLE 1: CONTRAST BETWEEN OFFERING HELP AND RECEIVING HELP

When people without disabilities are asked to imagine their lives with a disability, their reactions reveal interesting assumptions about disabilities and the Meaning of "quality of life." "I'd lose my autonomy," says one man; "I'd be so helpless," says another. "I'd be vulnerable, and I wouldn't be able to do things for myself!" These are typical responses. In fact, a close look at the controversial right to die issue reveals a disturbingly clear extrapolation of these sentiments; in today's society, many of us would rather die than lose our independence.

Those of us who still are able-bodied and young seldom think about these issues, having the luxury of viewing help as something that is ours to offer or withhold at will. Unless we happen to break a bone or become incapacitated with some temporary illness, we usually don't think about how it feels to be the receiver of help. However, as age and the possible prospect of infirmity approach, it is not uncommon for the always-uncertain future to be viewed with apprehension if not dread.

Is it the need for help itself that causes us to feel this way, or is it the kind of help we expect to get? Those who have closely examined this issue believe that the problem lies primarily with the lack of self-determination commonly experienced by "helpees". It seems that often dignity must be forfeited in order to receive help. The power to decide where and when help should take place, who should help us, and whether in fact help is needed is stripped away.

People with disabilities sometimes do need help. However, if they are uncomfortable receiving it, as most of us are, they are left in a classic "no win" position of either doing without help or enduring the underlying demeaning messages. Furthermore, it is almost impossible to confront the issue directly. If the helper's motives are questioned, the inevitable response is an indignant or sorrowful "I was only trying to help." Consequently, for many people with disabilities, help is a "four-letter word."

In inclusive and co-operative education, we are working toward a time when asking for and receiving help is not considered an admission of inferiority, when being the helper does not imply moral or social superiority. The goal is a future in which the human community learns to merge help with respect. However, in the interim, it is important to acknowledge that the broader societal perception of help does not yet match this ideal, especially as it relates to individuals with disabilities.

RESPONSES TO DIVERSITY -- FROM MARGINALIZATION TO VALUING

Conformity and uniformity are highly valued in today's society. In general, we are uncomfortable with those who are different. However, rather than admit this, our discomfort is often masked by rationalization. We cover our fears by asserting that our actions toward those with disabilities are for their own good. "It's a dangerous world," we say. "Those who are different must be protected from the potential evils of the world". Then, without any apparent sense of contradiction, we go on to say, "Differences are potentially dangerous. We must protect society from those who are different."

Isolation in the name of safety is a double-lock on the door of community. It effectively prevents those relegated to the outer circle from entering and belonging, while still allowing those within to feel that lofty moral imperatives have been well served. We know that good intentions based on unacknowledged fears can result in oppression. Some of the cruelest actions committed by humanity upon its members have been the result of so-called "good intentions."

The act of forcible segregation for those seen as different is not reserved for those with disabilities alone. Throughout history, the dominant cultures have avoided, marginalized and even aggressed against so-called minority groups. For those with disabilities, avoidance and marginalization usually occur under the auspices of "protection". The result, however, is still systematic removal from regular society. Institutionalization and segregation in special schools and work environments have been the means of enforcement.

In the past two decades, more attention has been paid to the injustices and inherent problems created by segregation. As a society, we are beginning to examine some of the underlying motives, and are finding that our actions lack justification. But even as some of the more blatant forms of marginalization and discrimination are changed or eliminated, other hurdles are raised for those labeled different.

We have gone on to say, "You can be with us but you must first be like us." In other words, if you can reform and reduce the evidence of your disability, look and behave "normally", then you can come back into society.

Many remedial, therapy and life-skill programs have been expressly designed to help minimize the evidence of disability and to create an impression of greater "normalcy." The intent is to improve quality of life through increased "functioning" and skill development. The carrot held up is the promise of future belonging and acceptance. The real message is, "You are not valuable as you are."

Those who work on social justice issues are stripping the mask of good intention from the faces of both marginalization and reform. The hurtful results are made more public; their legitimacy and continued existence now in question.

There is, however, another response toward those who are different. At first glance, it is more appealing, and is consequently more difficult to recognize as oppressive. In our society, we believe that dealing well with diversity will require tolerance. In fact, we are regularly exhorted to become more tolerant toward others. Many view intolerance as morally reprehensible and wish and work for a truly tolerant society. The intent -- to create more acceptance of diversity -- can hardly be questioned. Tolerance has seemed, for many, a worthy goal. However, if it is the ultimate and only goal, true social justice will never be realized.

If we comply with the demands made by those with disabilities "because we have to", if our response is merely lukewarm resignation, or even benign patronage, we will not create a society in which equity and respect will be afforded to all its members. Simply being tolerated is not necessarily to be valued. Being present does not automatically mean being included. Having an endless parade of well-intentioned helpers is not the same as having a group of friends who value and respect you.

In sum, to move beyond mere tolerance, another response to diversity -- that of valuing -- must prevail. In a valuing paradigm, diversity is viewed as normal, people are considered of equal worth, relationships are of mutual benefit, and belonging is a central societal theme.

TABLE 2: RESPONSES TO DIVERSITY

We live in a society that tells us there is only one "right" way to be. At times all of us feel measured against an unfairly strict standard: white, able bodied, young, intelligent, successful, attractive, thin and preferably male. Normalcy is a tight bell-curve, allowing little deviance without societal repercussion. Even those of us who find ourselves encompassed well within the confines of the curve feel pressure to conform to the middle, while those who fall outside its range feel that they are seen not only as deviant, but deficient.

It is puzzling that this standard of normalcy includes so few of us. We know that diversity, not uniformity, is the real societal norm. After all, the human community consists of great variety; race, gender, language, colour, religion, ability and sexual orientation. People of colour make up most of the world's population. Women comprise fifty one percent of the global population. Most of the world does not live in a state of affluence.

There have always been people with disabilities in society. Social justice for individuals who carry labels of disability will only come about as we learn to value diversity and recognize the multiplicity of gifts within the human community. Our strength is our diversity. We need a paradigm shift of the most profound kind, and, clearly, this paradigm shift will require a change in attitude.

However, the problems inherent in the creation of attitudinal change continue to be difficult for the agents of any social movement. Attitudinal barriers stubbornly defy legislation, do not respond to architectural adaptations, and do not necessarily improve with the application of more money or better programming. They are notoriously slippery; the insidious products of unconscious socialization.

To further complicate things, as any good social reformer with a modicum of honesty will admit, attitudinal barriers don't exist only among "those retrogressive oppressors out there," but are just as often within ourselves. In the immortal words of Pogo, "We have met the enemy, and he is us."

Inclusive education has begun to push society beyond blatant forms of oppression like marginalization and reform. On a daily basis we are confronted by our prior assumptions, called upon to question them, and asked to move toward a new awareness that differences do not imply deficiency, that people with disabilities are capable of significant contributions.

Genuine valuing of diversity will require further confrontation with the more subtle forms of discrimination (e.g. tolerance) and the courage to examine our own beliefs and practices as part of the process.

FROM TOLERANCE TO VALUING

How then, do we move beyond mere tolerance to true valuing of diversity? For many of us, the struggle is often not in understanding why we should do something, but in knowing what we should do next.

Rather than seek answers, perhaps it might be more helpful to begin by developing a new set of questions. We need questions that are broad in scope, and will challenge the paradigms both inside and outside the context of inclusive education. What kind of educational system do we want? What can schools become? What kind of society do we want to live in?

Schools will be transformed only as we move away from a blindered "that's the way we've always done it" mind set, and begin to focus on creating a classroom community that promotes belonging and acceptance for all, and does not rely on competition and stratification to provide its embers with a sense of worth. We know that cooperative learning strategies are one way to accomplish this goal. A further task for teachers in inclusive classrooms is to create the space in which relationships can develop by consciously thinking about and working on the nature of proximity. The following are some practical ideas to assist the process.

Don't Make Friendship a Big Deal

Friendship between children is wonderful. However, it is not a big deal. If we commend and praise children without disabilities for their interactions with their peers with disabilities (either publicly or in other ways), we inadvertently make friendship a big deal and imply that all children are not created equal. We reinforce the idea that it is morally and socially admirable to "help the handicapped," and, thereby may remove the opportunity for equality and reciprocity.

Respect Personal Boundaries

Adults are seldom comfortable talking about childhood sexuality. But the truth is, children start noticing each other in kindergarten. People with disabilities, however, often receive messages that tell them they are asexual, and these messages begin early. Boundaries of touch that would not be crossed between kids without disabilities should never be crossed with their classmates with disabilities.

An unfortunate side-effect of tolerant or benevolent interaction is a tendency to treat the "different" child like a life-sized doll or pet, or a classroom mascot with whom the usual physical boundaries of touch may be violated. We must always ask, "Do the interactions between children in any way compromise the dignity of the individual with the disability?"

Modeling Behaviour

There is a lot of discussion of how kids model behaviour from each other and how a child's peers are effective arbiters of social appropriateness. While this is most certainly true, we must also remember that teachers remain the most powerful modeling agents in the classroom. If interactions between the teacher and the child with the disability are respectful, the other students will take their cues accordingly.

A child's classmates may provide useful information about the nature of puzzling behaviours. Sometimes children will see things that remain invisible to adult observers. However, the risk involved in eliciting input about behaviour may be the development of an increased sense of difference and distance. People with disabilities tell us that it is easier to be ignored than to be patronized or seen as a "class project."

We can still get the information we need without compromising the equity of peer relationships by positing the issue as the school's problem, rather than the child's problem. This way, it is we who do not yet have the insight, experience or information necessary to support the student, not the student who is in need of "fixing". It may emerge that the real issue, one well worth discussing, has more to do with how we might make schools more responsive to all its members.

Reciprocity and Contribution

Although a majority of educators acknowledge that the rights of students with disabilities should be respected, there is an ongoing debate about whether reciprocity is really possible, and what kind of contribution is realistic to expect. "What," we're often asked, "can a student with a disability really bring to a relationship?"

This question usually reveals more about our own stereotypical views about the idea of disability than about the limitations of a disability itself. After all, there is nothing universally "true" about any disability. Generalizations about "the disabled" will never generate the information necessary to address serious questions about the nature of reciprocity or contribution.

Dembo, Leviton and Wright (1975), first identified a a societal tendency to generalize and make broad inferences about the nature of disability. They called this common phenomenon "disability spread." Specifically, "disability spread" is what happens when we extrapolate the characteristics we associate with the notion of disability to the particular individuals we meet. These perceptions are often based on stereotypes, and what we think we know about a particular disability. They are expressed in predictable ways. For example; "All people with Down Syndrome are happy." "People with cerebral palsy usually have a mental handicap." In fact, these characteristics may or may not actually be true of any individual. The figure below illustrates this concept.

FIGURE 1: DISABILITY SPREAD

Many inferences and assumptions are made about disability in our society. For example, we are inclined to see people with disabilities as a collection of needs and deficiencies (McKnight, 1977). We are led to evaluate people based on what is missing rather than what is present. When our perceptions are based on stereotypical myths and misperceptions we will not see a real person with any clarity.

In fact, every individual is a complex collection of components. Each of us have a variety of interests, skills, capacities, and a unique background. We all have different physical characteristics, and our own idiosyncratic personalities. In our interactions with others, we want most to be understood and seen for who we are, and hope that we will not simply be judged at face value. However, for individuals who have visible disabilities, being judged at face value is precisely what happens most often. When disability is seen as the largest component of a person, much of what is unique and "human" about her or him will be obscured. When needs and deficits are what we see, we only see what that person cannot do.

We will not recognize the diverse contributions of those who wear obscuring labels until we move our focus from the disability and look for the complexity and individuality we take for granted in ourselves. Only getting to know a person in all their multi-faceted individuality can cause the "huge" disability to magically shrink and assume its real proportion -- only one small facet of who a person is. Only then will we find ourselves able to see and receive the variety and richness of possible gifts.

Merging Respect and Help

Too much help can be a disabling force. One of the biggest challenges teachers face in inclusive classrooms is getting other kids to stop doing everything for the child with a disability. Too much help, even when enthusiastically given, is fundamentally disempowering. Help should always be "natural and situation-rooted" (Wright, 1983, pp. 311), and should only be what subjects of a fascinating study on help and disability termed "necessary help" (Ladieu, Hanfmann, & Dembo, 1947, in Wright, 1983, pp. 310)

Help outside the context of choice and self- determination is disrespectful. We all want to feel necessary. However, when our desire to feel needed is at the expense of someone else's sense of competence and autonomy, we commit a lasting act of injustice. People with disabilities literally spend lifetimes struggling to be heard. We must learn to listen. As Marsha Saxton (1985) wrote;

All of those people trying so hard to help me...All of them hoping for me to ... do well, all wanting to be kind and useful, all feeling how important helping me was. Yet never did anyone of them ask me what it was like for me. They never asked me what I wanted for myself. They never asked me if I wanted their help. ...I do not feel entirely grateful. I feel, instead, a remote anger stored beneath my coping pattern of complacent understanding. People do the best they can to help in meaningful ways, I know. I just wish all the disabled children would say to their helpers: "Before you do anything else, just listen to me." (pp. 133 - 134)

We must listen to both the verbal and non-verbal messages expressed by someone who may or may not want help. We must use this information to guide our actions and increase our sensitivity. It doesn't sound like much, but the ramifications are enormous. It is often during times that we are hell-bent on helping that we listen least well. We all know stories about people with visual impairments being forcibly "escorted" over crosswalks by well-meaning pedestrians, of people in nursing homes being fed when they are not hungry, of what the participants in the Dembo study aptly called "unexpected attacks" of help (Ladieu, Hanfmann, & Dembo, 1947, in Wright, 1983, pp. 309).

Empathy and Social Justice

Most children are acutely conscious of what is fair and what is not. It isn't usually difficult to appeal to a child's sense of justice. Furthermore, powerlessness and social stigma are not the sole experience of those with disabilities. Children, by virtue of their status in society, generally understand what it feels like to be without influence. They know how it feels to be silenced, to be disregarded, and to have decisions that concern them made arbitrarily and regularly by others.

We have downplayed and under-utilized these experiences, thinking that "white, middle class, able bodied children" don't experience oppression and won't understand. In fact, most children experience rejection, isolation and a sense of powerlessness at some time. Whether these are children of colour, children who must learn English as a second language, whether they are the children who dress differently, eat different foods or have ethnically "different" last names, or children who just don't seem to fit somehow, there is a kernel of commonality in these experiences.

Too often, in discussions of social justice between educators and children, the issues are portrayed as "theirs". We show kids what institutional life looks like, we talk about the negative effects of segregation, we ask them to think about how it feels to be teased because you have a disability. We even subject them to simulated situations, or "role plays", that supposedly allow participants to feel, for example, "what it's like to be blind". Unfortunately, the unintentional result is more distance, and a greater sense of fundamental "otherness". At best, this approach fosters sympathy, and at worst, a guilty relief, "thank heavens it's not me".

We must take care not to inadvertently reinforce the notion that those with disabilities are objects of pity. Equitable relationships cannot be built on a foundation of pity. Instead, we must build on the shared experiences, the shared stories between us to create a sense of empathy, a sense of "I know what you mean." This does not disregard our different experiences. It is certainly true that having a disability and being an immigrant are not completely comparable experiences. Likewise, being left out of games on the playground and being the victim of racist behaviour is not the same. However, where experiences do intersect, we have an opportunity to build connection and understanding that may extrapolate to other situations in unexpected ways.

Social justice is an important aspect of education. The development of empathy and shared understanding between individuals of diverse background and ability is critical if our world is to survive the next century. We need young women and men who will work together to address the issues of inequity and injustice that still face us.

You may wonder why, in a book primarily devoted to cooperative learning within heterogeneous schools, this epilogue has focused almost exclusively on inclusive education. We believe that individuals with mental and physical disabilities may well prove to be the proverbial canaries in the experimental coal mines of education. These are the people who will teach us most about the nature of help. Through our interactions with those who have disabilities, we stand to learn valuable lessons that will lead us to greater appreciation of diversity in all its forms. The creation of a better world is dependent on our collective ability to learn these lessons well.

*******************

REFERENCES

Dembo, T., Leviton, G.L. & Wright, B. A. (1956). Adjustment to misfortune: A problem of social- psychological rehabilitation. Artificial Limbs. 3 (2). 4-62/ (Reprinted in Rehabil. Psychol. 1975, 22, 1-100.) in Wright, B.A. (1983). Physical Disability - A Psycho-social Approach. Second Edition. New York: Harper and Row.

Illich, I., Zola, I.K., McKnight, J., Caplan, J., Shaikan, H., (1977). Disabling Professions. London: Marion Boyers

Saxton, Marsha. (1985) "The Something That Happened Before I Was Born." Ordinary Moments -- The Disabled Experience. Syracuse: Human Policy Press.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
VAN DER KLIFT & KUNC HELL-BENT ON HELPING: Benevolence, Friendship, and the Politics of Help (1994) - Broadreach Training and Resources

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
By: Emma Van der Klift & Norman Kunc Originally published in: Thousand, J., Villa, R., Nevin, A. Creativity and Collaborative Learning: A Practical Guide to Empowering Students and Teachers. Baltimore: Paul Brookes, 1994. © Copyright 1994 Paul H. Brookes Publishers.

# data[].attributes.headline
"You're Such a Good Friend": A woven autoethnographic narrative discussion of disability and friendship in Higher Education

# data[].attributes.subject
"You're Such a Good Friend": A woven autoethnographic narrative discussion of disability and friendship in Higher Education

# data[].attributes.body
In this article, the authors present an autoethnographic narrative discussion of their friendship, and engage in reflection about a time when one of the friends was told "You are such a good friend", which prompted discussion on disability/disablement, ableism, and the meaning of friendship.

# data[].attributes.headline
Autistic Youth Deserve Better Than Forced Friendship

# data[].attributes.subject
Autistic Youth Deserve Better Than Forced Friendship

# data[].attributes.body
"Friendship facilitation does not mean broadcasting your teen’s lack of friends online or trying to gaslight other teens into taking them to events like homecoming dances, proms, or birthday parties. It means looking for meetups and events that will be accessible to your autistic teen, asking them if they want to participate, and allowing them to leave if and when they wish." (Cevik, 2019, para. 17)

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
"How do I handle my child seeing the children of every new family who moves into the neighborhood surrounding us included in outdoor play, knowing he is being excluded from the group?"
I saw another parent posting this question as one of the most frequent questions autism parents ask as their kids become preteens and teenagers, and I cringed a bit. It is a common concern for all families with autistic youth trying to navigate a world where they are often othered and mistreated. My son and I also see them when we hang out on our deck or the backyard in the summer, or on snow days. Kids his age, teenagers, will for the most part either ignore him, ridicule him, or ask to do his respite care to fulfill their community service requirement at school. They never ask him what he wants.

That last bit is particularly anger-inducing. Asking for my son as if you are doing me the favor of walking the family dog is dehumanizing to my son in a dismissive way that reeks of ableism on steroids. These are not the kinds of interactions that will help him build the self-confidence he will need to navigate this world after his father and I are gone. He needs to understand that random people may be ableist and some people are dangerous. He needs to know that some will offer friendship as a ruse to some other end. He must be given the chance to interact enough to grasp the differences between true friendship and all other types of approaches.

My son is not just Autistic. He is the son of a Black woman. Survival social skill building is a requirement of being Black in America. Like code-switching to gain access to better education and employment opportunities, knowing who hates you and what that looks like can keep you alive. In approaching/considering my son's interactions with others, my racial and ethnic experiences inform my stance on his human rights.

Parts of my childhood were spent in areas where my siblings and I were the only African American children in predominantly white neighborhoods and schools. We were in North Carolina in 1972, where "This is Klan Country" billboards appeared on highways in several parts of the state. We never lived or went to school with the expectation of friendship. We were taught to survive the environments, which were for the most part hostile to us.

My mother was an educator. Her parenting flaws were legion but she had a tendency to rise like a phoenix in times of adversity. When I came home at age twelve with a bruise on my cheek asking what an n-word was, she pulled out an unabridged dictionary and had me look it up. Then she told me in terms that I could understand what this slur was meant to do and why it was untrue. We discussed how I would handle my bullies. She warned that even those in authority might hold biases and turn away while I was being beaten and how to reduce situations ripe for being dragged off and beaten up at school in the future.

My mother said something to me back then that was life-changing. She said people were not required to like me or befriend me. They were required to respect my right to exist, to move in the same space, and to be treated equally under the law.

That is what I want my son to learn. I want him to know, as an Autistic person, that he can choose to befriend someone or not. An autistic young person has the right to have an active and willing agency in the process of deciding who to befriend, what boundaries should be set on such friendships and who they are just not comfortable with. Before any of that can happen, they must understand not to comply with every demand made to them from everyone. They need to understand they have a right to say no to people. And they need to know what kinds of behaviors are abusive and wrong.

But I don't see this happening with parents. The focus is on finding friends, even finding dates when children become teens and adults, without assessment or understanding of their children's needs, wants, or ability to protect themselves from harm. This goes hand in hand with the belief that friendship by any means necessary with "normal" teens will "rub off." As long as parents force friendships their autistic kids will someday go to sleep at night and wake up magically typical in the morning. Any sign of intolerance from their autistic offspring for whatever the parent views as ideal social interactions with peers is then a behavioral challenge needing to be imposed not only on the disabled child but on peers in the neighborhood. This escalates to pleas to communities to create normalizing events by inducing pity for the autistic child or young adult to elicit a response from the schools, friends, or neighbors.

I hope I never embarrass my son by blasting a social media demand that someone come and befriend him without his consent. He played with other children on playgrounds until he didn't wish to go to them anymore. The noise of a gaggle of young folk filling a sidewalk and refusing to yield to his wheelchair is not particularly pleasant for him. If the non-disabled peers who are his neighbors don't even have the courtesy to yield when needed unless he glares at them, how can I as a parent demand that those same teens befriend him?

Contrary to assertions that these forced experiences are a necessary part of the social skills process, the aggressive demand of parents that other teens interact or befriend their autistic teen can backfire by being off-putting. Negative responses from teens cliques/groups parents wish their autistic teen was part of are NOT teachable moments. My view is that my son is a human being, not a social science project. He doesn't exist to teach his non-disabled peers tolerance.

Two cautionary tales of autistic teens irrevocably harmed by the mistaken parental idea that somehow they had neighborhood friends are the cases of the autistic teen boy in Ohio who was assaulted by five teen males with bodily fluids during a faked ice bucket challenge, and the case of an autistic teen boy who was systematically tortured during snow days and holidays by two teen girls. In both cases, parents spoke of insisting their teens leave with their abusers, even when they showed reluctance to do so.

The parents spoke of being relieved their offspring had made friends with typical neighborhood peers. They had no idea their children were being victimized by their "friends." The need for the parents to want their children to have friends in order to make parents feel better overrode possible red flags about these relationships they might have spotted immediately otherwise.

In contrast, every person who has genuinely befriended my son has come directly to him, not me, and extended their hand or signed to him or asked him if he would like to sit with them. They made it clear to my son that they wanted his friendship and their intent was transparent. And yes, they knew he was a nonverbal autistic. They only asked how he communicated, respected boundaries, and made an effort to find activities that allowed him to see us and understand he could return to us anytime he wished.

My point is simple. We parents shouldn't push friendships on our autistic children because we think they need to have them to reach a goal of being indistinguishable from their typical peers. We shouldn't presume their incompetence at acquiring friends or berate them for not having any or enough friends. We should not create or force participation in events requiring typical partners and then send social media lamentation that our kid is autistic and has no friends when things don't go well. What parents do by this behavior is to broadcast across a global platform that they have a vulnerable disabled person who is friendless. They broadcast that they are willing to force their autistic loved one to comply with anyone who presents themselves as a potential friend to them. This destroys our young people's self-worth, reinforces the belief that they must comply with everyone's demands, and leaves them with a sense of helplessness and lack of agency in their own lives.

Look at what your autistic offspring like, what they want, and how they navigate the world first. Consider what would work for them. Then sit with them and however they communicate with you, explain consent and boundaries. Only when parents are certain their autistic teens want friendship facilitation and understand boundaries and consent should friendship facilitation happen with the active agency of the autistic teen. Otherwise, this is about us, not them.

P.S. Friendship facilitation does not mean broadcasting your teen's lack of friends online or trying to gaslight other teens into taking them to events like homecoming dances, proms, or birthday parties. It means looking for meetups and events that will be accessible to your autistic teen, asking them if they want to participate, and allowing them to leave if and when they wish.

This could save our children from irreparable trauma.

Peace.

A version of this article was previously published at The Autism Wars.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Autistic Youth Deserve Better Than Forced Friendship

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
"How do I handle my child seeing the children of every new family who moves into the neighborhood surrounding us included in outdoor play, knowing he is being excluded from the group?" I saw another parent posting this question as one of the most frequent questions autism parents ask as their kids become preteens and teenagers, and I cringed a bit.

# data[].attributes.headline
Recognizing Ableism in Educational Initiatives

# data[].attributes.subject
Recognizing Ableism in Educational Initiatives

# data[].attributes.body
“Educators and advocates for students with disabilities have been on a quest for full participation in the life of school: academic achievement, extracurricular enrichment, friendship and social engagement. (Connor et al., 2016; Danforth & Gabel, 2016)  While policies have helped the quest advance, there are still hidden obstacles in the way”  (p. 96). This paper outlines the theory behind ableism, as well as describes some educational initiatives that were explored under the lens of ableism.

# data[].attributes.headline
Dominant narratives, subjugated knowledges, and the righting of the story of disability in K-12 curricula

# data[].attributes.subject
Dominant narratives, subjugated knowledges, and the righting of the story of disability in K-12 curricula

# data[].attributes.body
This articles “…provide[s] concrete strategies for infusing counter-narratives and subjugated knowledges into the curriculum where silences or authoritative presences exist” (p. 387)  through the lens of Foucault, as well as through Disability-Studies. The authors of this article want to call educators into action in order to “…tackle, head-on, ableist discourse in the curriculum with a goal of promoting liberatory knowledges about disability in schools” (p. 387) by breaking the silence of disability, challenging various authoritative knowledges.

# data[].attributes.body
This is a reference letter I (Naomi) wrote for a student who was engaged in the peer buddy programs at the school where I taught. Let's critique this document.

# data[].attributes.body
This website gives resources for helping to support the development of friendships. "The Community Resource Unit (CRU) exists to create and promote positive change so that people living with disability can belong to and actively contribute to social and economic life. Together with people living with disability, their families, allies in the human services sector and the community we build a movement for change."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
This project is proudly supported by the Queensland Government through the Department of Education.

The Department of Education website outlines its commitment to Inclusive education through its inclusive education policy.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Friendships and belonging - CRU - Community Resource Unit Ltd.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
This project is proudly supported by the Queensland Government through the Department of Education. The Department of Education website outlines its commitment to Inclusive education through its inclusive education policy.