Read an Excerpt
Autism entered my life prior to my son Dashiell’s second birthday. We, like so many parents, told our pediatricians of what are now known to be the classic signs of autism. Our son lost his language, began spinning, flapping his hands, having tantrums, and withdrew into his own world, a world into which we were not invited. For almost a year, we went to his pediatrician’s office to discuss these behaviors, only to be told there was nothing to worry about; he was simply experiencing his terrible twos. However, his behaviors escalated, and we witnessed him becoming a danger to himself and others. We called the pediatrician and said, “This is not just the terrible twos. Something is wrong—something is horribly wrong.” We insisted that my son be tested, and within a few short hours of arriving at the hospital, we were told that our son was diagnosed with Pervasive Developmental Disorder (PDD). For many of us, being given a diagnosis of PDD is a gentle way of saying, “Your child, your beautiful baby with ten fingers and ten toes, has autism. He may never be able to read, write, talk, or hold down a job. He may never live alone, have friends, be welcomed into a community, marry, or have a family of his own.”
The next several months were equally brutal. Our school district had an early intervention pre-kindergarten program. They assured us that the teacher was well trained and that the school was well equipped to handle him. We enrolled him, and on the first day of school, they lost him—physically lost him. Upon closer examination, it turned out this so-called “well trained” teacher had never taught a child with autism—ever. Being two well-educated parents, we were confident that we could do a better job on our own. We set up a home-based program to be run by one of the most highly regarded behavioral therapists at the time. Unfortunately our timing was off, as our highly regarded behavioral therapist was in the midst of a nervous breakdown and as a result, her “therapy” methods more so resembled child abuse than teaching. We couldn’t have felt more lost, more alone, and more inadequate when one day, a package from my mother arrived in the mail. It was a book called Thinking in Pictures by Temple Grandin. The following day, an envelope from my grandmother arrived, and in it a New Yorker article written by Oliver Sacks about none other than Temple Grandin.
Temple’s story is remarkable. She is a gifted animal scientist, the most successful designer of humane livestock handling facilities in the United States, and she has autism. She began life nonverbal and with a variety of inappropriate behaviors. In spite of her autism, today she can read, she can write, she can talk (boy can she talk), she lives on her own, she can hold down a job (in fact she has many of them), she is a consultant for a number of Fortune 500 companies, she is a best-selling author, she is a lecturer (on livestock and autism), she is a professor of Animal Science at Colorado State University, and perhaps most importantly, she is a friend—a dear friend. She is fiercely loyal, always available, and willing to take action. Once upon a time, all of this seemed like a pipedream even for Temple, but with the support and encouragement of her mother, Eustacia Cutler, and other mentors in her life, Temple went from being a nonverbal four-year old to being all she is today. For parents of children with autism, Temple Grandin is our hero. She has given us a window into our children’s minds and a reclaimed dream for a future filled with possibilities. Thirteen years ago, I realized that Temple’s story needed to be shared with a wider audience. As I transitioned from being an agent at the William Morris Agency into owning my own management company, I realized it was possible for me to lead that charge and produce a film about her extraordinary life. I called Temple, reached out to HBO, and we were on our way. It took us ten years to get it right, but I couldn’t be more proud of our film, Temple Grandin, which celebrates the life of someone I respect and admire so much. Whether I was sharing a meal with her in New York, reviewing dailies with her in my hotel room in Austin, sitting beside her at the Golden Globes, being hugged by her on stage at the Emmys, or listening to her encourage the Chairman of Time Warner to examine the McDonald’s distribution system, my days with Temple have been amongst the best and most interesting of my life.
After settling back into my normal life, I picked up a copy of Temple’s book The Way I See It. Just when I thought I had learned everything Temple could teach me, I was astonished to learn there was more—a lot more. Often parents of children with autism are encouraged to adhere to a routine with their child.
Temple devotes an entire chapter to encouraging flexibility in a routine and provides examples on how to accomplish that. She identifies strategies for encouraging interests that can later become vocations, as children with autism become adults with autism. Additionally, Temple reminds us that learning is a continuum. Human beings have the ability to learn well into their senior years, and the exposure to new things is essential in expanding a person’s mind, even, and perhaps especially, if they have autism. This book is insightful, helpful, and hopeful—just like the woman who wrote it! It is a “how-to” guide that I am confident will leave any reader feeling both informed and inspired.
— Emily Gerson Saines
