THINK: 50 Cent and Autism

If the R-word campaign and Judy Endow's The Power of Words have taught us anything, it's that words matter.  What comes out of our mouths and/or off of our typing fingertips has the power to hurt or heal, to build up or burn down.  While Good Friend has spent the last five years educating some 17,000 students and adults about the importance of speaking positively about autism and those who experience life through its lens, there are those who continue to remain ignorant about this neurobiological developmental disorder and make insensitive comments.

Such comments sting in a far more reactive way when they're inflicted by celebrities.  For better or for worse, our society is acutely aware of media moguls in various industries, including music, film, and sports.  Rapper 50 Cent, no stranger to the spotlight, got particularly ugly with a threatening Twitter follower last week. According to a Huffington Post article, his response was "yeah just saw your picture fool you look autistic." And, heaping burning coals on his own head, tweeted, "I dont want no special ed kids on my time line follow some body else".

This brought to mind a favorite mantra.

Many 50 Cent fans insisted he was only trying to be funny.  It was the furthest thing from comical or entertaining.  If great power (or influence) comes with great responsibility, then we have to THINK before we speak.  If it isn't True, Helpful, Inspiring, Necessary, and/or Kind, then we should, as I often tell my son when he gets into his self-regulatory scripted talk at inappropriate times, keep it in our heads.

While 50 Cent took his nasty tweets down at the emphatic request of autism activist and mother Holly Robinson Peete, it took the public outcry of the autism and special needs community, plus those who support common decency, to get him to offer an apology.  Thousands of pictures with hashtag #thisiswhatautismlookslike flooded Twitterverse, apparently prompting his Sunday morning olive branch extension.

Let's hope we all THINK before we speak.  Because, for those of us who have reliable spoken language, just because we can speak, doesn't mean we should.

Vertigo Builds Empathy

Who knew?  Who knew that what started out as an awful world-spinning, head-dizzying week could end with me having a better understanding of what some people with autism must experience?  On Tuesday, our family had scheduled a fun-filled day at an amusement park complete with water park.  We were excited!  We had worked it out so my son's therapist could join us, in case our two children with autism spectrum disorders required us to divide and conquer.  What we didn't really plan on was Mom ending up with vertigo before we even walked through the gates.

Yes, what seemed like an adventurous string of three thrill-seeking roller coaster rides turned into a nauseating nightmare.  I guess I should have known by the near stumble up the ramp to the second coaster that my inner ear was far less amused than my brain, but I chose to ignore the dire warning and pressed on.  And on.  Until fail.  Literally.

So the 80-minute ride home was a malignant medley of starting and stopping and snack smells and horn blows, endurable only with my eyes closed and focused deeply on my breathing.

photo by Vincent Laforet

A couple days later, when my thoughts could focus on other than the symptoms and side effects of vertigo, I recalled what Judy Endow had presented on at the 2011 Autism Society of Wisconsin Conference.  She talked about her experience traveling to New York City.  She showed PowerPoint slides with tall buildings contorting and swaying, noting this animation was similar to the experience she had.  She needed help to get onto and off of public transportation.  And by the time she got to her hotel room, she was exhausted.

So many of us take our senses of balance and proprioception ("the sense of the orientation of one's limbs in space") for granted.  We know when we're upright and when we're seated.  We understand, without having to think too hard, that our feet are connected to our legs, which are firmly attached at our hips.  And yet, a touch of vertigo can flip all those senses.

And what of our children, students, or friends with autism?  These connections to the exquisitely sensitive inner ear in individuals with different brain wiring could certainly mean that feedback regarding parts of their bodies and steadiness is unreliable.  And if that feedback were a sense of disconnection, dizziness, and/or nausea, isn't it reasonable to think that associated "behavior" could be holding onto walls, lack of awareness of personal space, or avoidance of certain motion-related activities?

When I think of all the things people with autism must feel without being able to successfully communicate those sensations to us neuro-typicals, I am urged to do better to understand and make accommodations for their differences.  I encourage you to do the same.