Can You Hear Me Now?
By Patrick Fasano
Editor's note: The opinions expressed herein are those of the author exclusively.
By Patrick Fasano
Editor's note: The opinions expressed herein are those of the author exclusively.
Patrick, who started the “Can You Hear Me Now” sibling support group, is the 16 year old brother of a child with autism. He is planning a baseball clinic for both the siblings and children with autism and is creating a pamphlet to be distributed to new families of Helping Hands Behavioral Outreach Program.
Anyone familiar with the cell phone understands the frustration and annoyance of a dropped call. Usually it occurs when you are recounting a juicy piece of gossip or a vital piece of information. While watching the famous “Can you hear me now?” Verizon dropped call commercial, I realized that this simple question summed up my childhood perfectly. Being the older brother of a brother with autism, I had to vie for my parent's attention all the time. Their lives were devoted to my brother who had been diagnosed with a form of autism at the age of two. After the diagnosis, my parents were consumed with trying to rescue their little son, my baby brother, from this dreaded monster. They were told that there might be a small window of opportunity to pull him out from the ugly grips of the world of autism. If there was a mere chance, my parents were going to try to help him. They devoted countless hours, days, months and years doing Applied Behavior Analysis therapy, play therapy, speech therapy and keeping Thomas on a very rigid schedule. Daily, a parade of ABA therapists, speech therapists and special education teachers filled in when my parents had to work. My brother received constant attention, never a moment left on his own so that the world of autism could lure him further into its grips. But I was jealous of all the attention that he got. “What about me? Can you hear me now?” I felt like shouting out loud. I was unaware how essential all this attention was for him. While I tried to understand that my brother needed my parents more, I found myself to be angry, mystified and dumbfounded when I wanted their attention too. I would feel guilty for not understanding the importance of the immediate praise and acknowledgement that my brother received when he initiated or engaged in an interaction appropriately.
When I went to elementary school, I soon realized that other families did not have all these teachers in their home and that their siblings did not act like my brother. For many years, I pretended that I was the only child, not telling anyone that I had a little brother. Thomas' behavior was erratic and inappropriate. He embarrassed me when he would act out in public and I just did not want him around.
Today, I am a junior in high school and am a “big brother” to an incoming freshman who is the same age as my brother. I am astounded at how delayed my brother is when I compare him to this freshman. Despite the fact that I enjoy being a “big brother” to this student and showing him ways to navigate through high school, I am saddened by the fact that I can never do this with my own brother. I will never be able share and to discuss sports, school, friends, our parents and even girls with him. My job as a big brother to Thomas is very different than that of other brothers. When I come home from school, I engage him in conversation, encouraging him to talk. When he gets all his points on his behavior sheet, we celebrate with a high five. I know that for him, achieving all his points is like me getting a 100 on my calculus test. It is extremely hard and something he has to work hard at to achieve. I explain to him the necessity of showering daily and using deodorant. I show him how to use his cell phone, send text messages and I challenge him to a game on his Nintendo Wii. I was overjoyed when he graduated from middle school and marched down the aisle to get his diploma. Thomas worked very hard the last fourteen years battling this autistic monster. He seems to be winning. There are still many things that Thomas cannot do, but I hope that with continual hard work and dedication my brother will do okay.
Over the years, I was fortunate to meet siblings of children with autism and we bonded instantly. For once, we don't have to explain away the actions of our siblings or be embarrassed when they act inappropriately. We don't have to feel guilty about our feelings towards our siblings. We understand, just because we have been there. My reason for starting the newsletter and support group is to have a forum for siblings of people with autism to talk, laugh and cry without being judged. I don't have an alphabet soup of letters following my name, professing various academic degrees. I am only the brother of an individual with autism who can share my experiences, trials and tribulations with you. We are part of an elite club and our experience of living with an sibling with autism is a bond that exists forever even if a single word is never spoken about it. Can you hear me now? Yes, I can.
If you have a story you wish to share about your personal experience with autism, please send it to editors@autismspeaks.org. Autism Speaks reserves the right to edit contributions for space, style and content. Because of the volume of submissions, not all can be published on the site.
Anyone familiar with the cell phone understands the frustration and annoyance of a dropped call. Usually it occurs when you are recounting a juicy piece of gossip or a vital piece of information. While watching the famous “Can you hear me now?” Verizon dropped call commercial, I realized that this simple question summed up my childhood perfectly. Being the older brother of a brother with autism, I had to vie for my parent's attention all the time. Their lives were devoted to my brother who had been diagnosed with a form of autism at the age of two. After the diagnosis, my parents were consumed with trying to rescue their little son, my baby brother, from this dreaded monster. They were told that there might be a small window of opportunity to pull him out from the ugly grips of the world of autism. If there was a mere chance, my parents were going to try to help him. They devoted countless hours, days, months and years doing Applied Behavior Analysis therapy, play therapy, speech therapy and keeping Thomas on a very rigid schedule. Daily, a parade of ABA therapists, speech therapists and special education teachers filled in when my parents had to work. My brother received constant attention, never a moment left on his own so that the world of autism could lure him further into its grips. But I was jealous of all the attention that he got. “What about me? Can you hear me now?” I felt like shouting out loud. I was unaware how essential all this attention was for him. While I tried to understand that my brother needed my parents more, I found myself to be angry, mystified and dumbfounded when I wanted their attention too. I would feel guilty for not understanding the importance of the immediate praise and acknowledgement that my brother received when he initiated or engaged in an interaction appropriately.
When I went to elementary school, I soon realized that other families did not have all these teachers in their home and that their siblings did not act like my brother. For many years, I pretended that I was the only child, not telling anyone that I had a little brother. Thomas' behavior was erratic and inappropriate. He embarrassed me when he would act out in public and I just did not want him around.
Today, I am a junior in high school and am a “big brother” to an incoming freshman who is the same age as my brother. I am astounded at how delayed my brother is when I compare him to this freshman. Despite the fact that I enjoy being a “big brother” to this student and showing him ways to navigate through high school, I am saddened by the fact that I can never do this with my own brother. I will never be able share and to discuss sports, school, friends, our parents and even girls with him. My job as a big brother to Thomas is very different than that of other brothers. When I come home from school, I engage him in conversation, encouraging him to talk. When he gets all his points on his behavior sheet, we celebrate with a high five. I know that for him, achieving all his points is like me getting a 100 on my calculus test. It is extremely hard and something he has to work hard at to achieve. I explain to him the necessity of showering daily and using deodorant. I show him how to use his cell phone, send text messages and I challenge him to a game on his Nintendo Wii. I was overjoyed when he graduated from middle school and marched down the aisle to get his diploma. Thomas worked very hard the last fourteen years battling this autistic monster. He seems to be winning. There are still many things that Thomas cannot do, but I hope that with continual hard work and dedication my brother will do okay.
Over the years, I was fortunate to meet siblings of children with autism and we bonded instantly. For once, we don't have to explain away the actions of our siblings or be embarrassed when they act inappropriately. We don't have to feel guilty about our feelings towards our siblings. We understand, just because we have been there. My reason for starting the newsletter and support group is to have a forum for siblings of people with autism to talk, laugh and cry without being judged. I don't have an alphabet soup of letters following my name, professing various academic degrees. I am only the brother of an individual with autism who can share my experiences, trials and tribulations with you. We are part of an elite club and our experience of living with an sibling with autism is a bond that exists forever even if a single word is never spoken about it. Can you hear me now? Yes, I can.
If you have a story you wish to share about your personal experience with autism, please send it to editors@autismspeaks.org. Autism Speaks reserves the right to edit contributions for space, style and content. Because of the volume of submissions, not all can be published on the site.
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