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Awareness Is Not Enough
by Kathryn Bjornstad-Kelly I knew autism awareness before I knew I was Autistic. I didn’t know what autism was, but I heard the word all…
by Kathryn Bjornstad-Kelly I knew autism awareness before I knew I was Autistic. I didn’t know what autism was, but I heard the word all…
by Paula C. Durbin-Westby Early intervention and treatment is important! If caught early enough, negative attitudes toward autism and other disabilities can be minimized…
by Kate Gladstone As I was heading homeward on the bus at 6:03, I overheard two people, and they were discussing me: My workplace…
by Ari Ne’eman As you’ve most likely noticed by now, ASAN has recently unveiled a new website with a new look. We’re excited to…
by Meg Evans The United Nations designated April 2, 2008, as World Autism Day to raise awareness of the need to improve education, career…
by Melody Latimer Over the past few weeks, we’ve received an extraordinary response to our upcoming Autism Campus Inclusion Summer Leadership program. We’ve heard…
Alicia Lile says: I want to be loved and accepted. I wish others to tell me that it’s wonderful that I was born. I feel guilty of existing, tell me I am wrong.
An essay by Stephanie Allen Crist. Today is Memorial Day in the United States. It’s a time to look back, and remember those who have sacrificed to make this country a place to be free. Instead, I look ahead and ask myself if it is freedom that I see. There’s something on the edge of thought—a feeling to be written of that isn’t quite ready to come out, not quite ready to be exposed. Frustration is there, and so is disappointment. All swirled together with a steady, flat kind of hope.
An essay by Mark Stairwalt. Years ago, before the coming of the cell phone, I was the driver of a Freightliner FLD 120, an imposing, long-nosed boat of a semi tractor that crisscrossed the United States and parts of Canada with a 53-foot trailer in tow. Never mind that as a driver of a commercial vehicle one ends up memorizing the locations of countless truckstops, customers, scale houses, steep grades, and unlikely parking spots; what was truly impressive back then was that drivers would end up cataloging the locations of every accessible payphone along every route in every state we frequented.
By mid-October, I found myself going to the local food pantry. The last time I’d been there was between the endless succession of jobs won and lost, when I couldn’t pinch another penny and the food money ran low. This time I was there because I wanted to volunteer. I’d always meant to do so, because I don’t like taking handouts; but the food pantry is open during the day and I usually had classes then, so I was limited to the church library and the cat shelter.
An essay by Melanie Yergeau. The map is new, and I know it all. I hop from one painted state to the next, reciting each capital, each state bird, each state nickname, each state flower, each state population as of 1989, the year imprinted on the spines of my World Book Encyclopedia set.
An essay by Maddy McEwen… if you’re very lucky, with a fair wind behind you, you may, and I repeat may, receive reimbursement… the insurance company writes to inform you that they wish to ensure that the therapy is working. To ensure that the therapy is working you must now have an additional evaluation done by each therapist for each child, which will not be reimbursed, to prove that they are indeed still autistic and still in need of services.