Autism: Lessons from Noah

By Leora Schachter

Before I became a mother, I tried to prepare myself for the awesome responsibility of molding and teaching another human being. But I was totally unprepared for how much I would learn from my children, and the way they would mold me.

At 3 months, my son Noah wasn't staring at me like other babies stared at their moms. He was late to smile and, it seemed to me, reluctant.

"He's a serious baby," I said. "He's like an old soul."

Later, he didn't point. He didn't walk until about 16 months. And, as a toddler, he had a curious habit of using a grown-up's hand to touch things. He didn't speak until about 19 months, and used words in unusual ways.

These issues nagged me, but I preferred to be soothed by my husband's reassuring words. "Lee, don't worry," he said, downplaying my concerns about our son's development. "Noah is fine. He's perfect. Stop beating yourself up."

Then one day, the special needs teacher at Noah's preschool cornered me, and my heart dropped to the floor. At age 2-1/2, Noah wasn't talking in class, except to repeat what others said to him. This teacher told me she often found herself drawn to his needs in the classroom. She suggested testing.

I knew she was right, but I had been unable to act until I heard it from a professional. In retrospect, Noah was teaching me my first lesson: Trust myself and listen to that little voice deep within; it doesn't know how to lie.

The "A Word"

When the early intervention professionals who tested Noah arrived at my home, one of them asked, "Are you familiar with the term 'autism'?" - as casually as asking where the bathroom was.

Suddenly, everything in the room became small and seemed to be moving away from me. Sure, I had heard of autism. It meant a life spent in institutions, weekend visits, strange, repetitive movements, no emotional feedback, and if you were lucky, savant qualities in what we would otherwise call an "idiot." That's what I knew of autism. Rainman.

All of this flashed through my mind as these professionals sat in my den, calmly talking to me about it while the floor beneath my feet opened up and I slid quietly into shock.

They couldn't be talking about my son, I thought. Noah talks. Noah plays. Noah loves. This can't be autism. I can't be having this conversation. I wanted the world to disappear so that none of this would matter. And yet, I knew. I understood.

Navigating with Noah

Noah is now 7 years old and in second grade. He rides a bike and has a green belt in Tae Kwon Do. At school, he gets speech therapy, occupational therapy, adapted physical education, and he's part of a social pragmatics group.