You can lead a horse to the water, but you can’t make him drink. I can drag Goldi into a new adventure but I can’t make her excited about it. The first realization of this came when a friend invited us over for a horse ride. I read and heard that horses were therapeutic for kids like Goldi, so I readily agreed. It was going to be a sunny day. Goldi would sit tall on a beautiful shiny brown horse. They would glide across the open field. She would feel the wind caress her face and the warmth of the sun would make her hair glow. Little did she know, it would be a wonderful new experience.

When we met Dusty or Chestnut or China or …I’m sure of the horse’s name. If it were my horse, I would have named it Patience or Grace. For Goldi immediately protested at the sight of it.

“No, No! ” she shrieked as though I was about to make her pet a crocodile.
“I want to go home!” she screamed as she clawed my leg.
“I can’t do that!” she yelled.
“I will hold you. We can do this together.” I told her. “It is such a nice horse. See, look we can pet her. She is so soft.” I said.

I tried to say things to put her at ease. I tried to say it in a way that those beautiful gals on “Price is Right” would say with their hands when presenting a can of tuna. I tried to say it in a way to bring about some hopes for enjoyment and gladness that we went on this adventure even though we were deep in the unknown. My image of pleasantries was soon interrupted as quickly as an arm on the record player screetching the music to a hault. It is one of those noises I hear often in those “Not Knowing but still Going Moments.”

There have been many moments with Goldi like that. Moments of new experiences that we know and believe she will enjoy, but they come with protest. Moments of pure work for a simple pleasure. Moments of necessity to help her learn and grow and adapt to this world. She does not know what to expect and we go anyway. She does not like the sound of a pep talk to do something outside her realm of familiar. But forward we go.

I held her on that horse as we were led by her owner across an open grassy field. It was indeed warm and sunny, – a perfect summer day. Screams and shrieks surrounded me. My “It’s okays” were drowned out completely. If you could read a speech bubble above that dear horse, it would say “Do I get an extra carrot for this ride?”

Goldi didn’t know what a horse ride was all about. But I made her go anyway. When that horse received his “Whoa” command, (probably thinking to himself “Woes me” ) that hault put an end to the unknown. Goldi had ridden a horse and now she knew. She knew the smooth glide. She knew the soft silky feel of its back. She knew the view of the world from atop a horse. Well, at least a little bit- if her face wasn’t buried into my shoulders she might have seen more of it. She knew that it was a gentle, calm, journey across a wide open field. Slowly and surely she began to know.

“I rode a horse!” she told the owners as soon as she dismounted. “I did. I rode a horse!” she says again with a smile and a twinkle in her eye. She tells her dad at dinner, her grandparents, and even friends.
Looking back, I am glad we went. Maybe Goldi was glad too. And if “Grace” was that horse’s middle name, the horse was glad too.

Those “Not knowing but still Going moments” will be frequent with Goldi. But that is what life is all about.
Even though we know little about the journey and life ahead, we will still go forward. And in going forward, we take what we do know with us. And there is one thing we do know that we always take with us. It is our Guide. The One that knows all. And that is all that matters. With that- not knowing and going anyway will always be worth it.

Eileen Spinelli’s Someday is a delightful expression of a child’s dreams in the now of youth filled days. Like the child’s face looking up at the Someday Sky of Dreams, I’ve begun to think of dreams fulfilled someday for Goldi. As one would suspect, her Someday Story is different.

There are certain images of day to day dreams:

Someday, she’ll glide along the sidewalk like a swan on a clear glass pond. Now she bounces and paces, from one end of the house to another, between bites of food.

Someday, she’ll wear a silky dress with a hair in curls and ribbons for a Sunday Church Service. Now, she’s wearing only pink tagless ones, with the wind to comb and trim her hair.

Someday she’ll be taller than her Daddy and we’ll be asking her to reach for the vase on the high shelf. Now, Daddy bends over for a kiss on the cheek.

There are dreams more ambitious:
Someday she’ll bring the house down as the star of Goldilocks, Little Red Riding Hood, or Cinderella. Now she’s rehearsing them in her favorite “Once a Upon A Woods” stage.

Someday she’ll be a college student strutting her smarts gathered up all along her school aged years. Now, she’s getting her first taste of the long learning journey ahead.

There are Someday dreams that will seem more like battles won:

Someday, she’ll taste an artichoke, mahnti,(it’s one of my favorite Armenian dishes) or turkey with all the trimmings. ( had to throw in something all American and familiar) Now, she’s learning to trust the sights and smells of things as scary as a banana.

Someday, she’ll walk up to a new friend and say “Hello, pleased to meet you.”
Now,she’s often given the script and the reminder to look at them with a smile.

I look for evidence of her Someday Dreams. She’s never uttered a word about her grown up days. She lives in the day to day moment. She lives out dreams in her play. Now, she’s making forts for hiding from the giant. Now, she’s telephoning the princesses and inviting them to her party. Now, she’s waving her magic wand and casting spells of wonder to somehow make this world a better place. She isn’t seeking a blueprint to her future. Instead she’s allowing her imagination to represent things real and true to her.

In attempt to read her heart, I see revelations that sometimes are slightly seen and sometimes softly expressed. Perhaps one “A little more Grown Up Day” Goldi might share:

Someday I will go to Disney World and meet all the princesses. Now, I just watch them on YouTube and imagine that special little girl hugging Cinderella is me.

Someday I will have a real friend who knows who I am and enjoys who I am. Now, I am on the look out for that someone.

Someday, I will express my thoughts so eloquently. Now, I must clarify and accept correction.

Someday I will be brave and step through those open doors not knowing what is on the other side. Now, I may drag my feet but a held hand is encouraging.

Someday I will be a real princess living happily ever after. Now I am working hard to conquer the wicked witch named Autism.

Ultimately there are the Someday Dreams that are more than hope filled notions of day to day life, more than a list of ambitions, and more than battles won. The grandest dreams are prayers lifted up to the One who by His Spirit- put the thoughts there in the first place:

Someday she’ll meet her Creator all Grown up in His Glory. He will rejoice over her with singing because the good work He began in her will be complete. Now, she’s offering simple prayers and thus beginning to dream of that Great Someday.

I watched her one Fourth of July with her severly autistic son. He screetched and flung some spaghetti around. He ate off the ground. She slowly and carefully tried to wipe up his red sauce mouth. Then she calmly led him to a large tree swing where he turned from somewhat of a terror to a happy go lucky boy.

Though she was a few years younger than I, she looked tired and more aged. She had so much knowledge about autism, it surpassed any certified expert. “You have to keep at it.” she said. “I don’t have much time for fun. ”

Another was a teacher friend. With her energy and dedication, it was amazing that there was more left to attend to her oldest autistic son. Many a time during conversation she had some “If onlys, some “how am I ever going tos” and whys?. I just listened and nodded.

She had watery mascara at times. Her hands were marked up. She had more knowledge than any educator I knew. “Sometimes things get so kooky.” she’d say with a sigh. “But we’ll work it out.”

These moms are strong,wise, patient, hard working, and determined. They cope with life’s disappointments and still managed to say “Life is good.”

Examplary moms like those are an inspiration. You learn so much from those who battle life with such accomplishment. Moms like that help you to realize “Life is what you make it.”
“Chin up. You can do it. ” is there motto.

For them, every cloud has a silver lining. I remember hearing that the mom of the severly autistic son would never comprehend a story. Upon a reading of one, her son laughed out loud appropriately. It was a moment of pure joy.

For every bump in the road, there was a smooth spot. I remember my teacher friend mom telling me that her son didn’t know how to be social and was worried he would never have fun with friends. He was heard singing on a Kareeokee machine one New Years Eve hanging out with some friends.

For every “pull your hair out moment”, there was compassion. I remember one mom holding her son on her lap smiling for a family picture. I remember the other mom kissing her son goodbye and he beamed. Never do those boys doubt their mom loves them.

For every mistake, there was wisdom gained. I remember one telling me, “I found all the food in the house gone!” Her son had eaten everything in sight. But now her son is cooking his own meals.

These are such inspirational Moms. Moms that stand out among many. Moms who were moms before I ever became one. Moms, who now are more than providing inspiration. When Goldi was diagnosed autistic, those two moms became my mentors.

It was those Mentor Moms that I turned to for answers and support. It was they that showed me that Goldi’s austism had not erased all dreams. They showed me that life would move forward and I would learn to know what being mom to this child I had been given as a gift was all about.

These Mentor Moms, who are farther along on the journey, are still demonstrating perserverence, patience, and determination. These Mentor moms still experience more about setback, struggle, and a just plain “throw in the towel” life than I’ve ever known. And there is One True Mentor, the One who is able to turn their “hard beyond hard” life into more than something good. He makes everything into a greater glory. All I have to do is look at those Mentor Moms’ example. And with that kind of Mentorship, this Mom’s journey of raising Goldi is destined for nothing but amazing.

“Well, Mommy what spell do you want” Goldi says in her angel wings and magic wand.  Waving and twirling, she confidently grants my wish with her own magic spell. She talks and acts like a child.

“Will you please pile the pillows for the pea to go under.” Goldi says grabbing her favorite satin lined blanket.  “There! Now, I must pass the test.” she declares referring to the Princess and the Pea story. She imagines and dreams like a child.

“Mom, tell Santa not to come tonight. Mrs. Claus can come instead. ”  she states. She draws up her covers and will not close her eyes until her request is certainly granted. She reasons and thinks like a child.

Goldi is nearly seven years into her childhood.  Her thinking, speaking, and reasoning are childish.  Each and everyday, she is a walking, talking, pretending, child.

Lucky for me Goldi is delayed. Yes, I said lucky. Because of her delay, Goldi will have a childhood. She will have time to play, pretend, storytell, imagine, be silly,  be innocent, and dream. She will have time to be a child. We will see to that.

Without her childhood, there would be no play, no dreams, no laughter. Without her childhood, there would be no innocence and no memories of endearment. She  needs her childhood to equip herself for the complications of adulthood. She needs her childhood to shape her and mold her to the masterpiece God is molding even now. She needs her childhood to humble us, the adults, and realize we have so much to learn and are still growing as well.

Goldi’s delay is unlucky too. This Hurry up World  is attempting to erase the child in childhood.  Hurry has had a lot of influence. Hurry and get that child’s name on the list of hockey players because it’s the begining of an academic letter for college. Hurry and read a chapter book.  Preferrably at the end of kindergarten so that you could maybe just skip first grade. Hurry up and learn your times tables so that  you can take advanced calculus in 4th grade. Some children are so gifted. They can do all those things at such a young age. Hurry up helped them along. Go figure.

Hurry came from out of nowwhere. Perhaps since the launching of Sputnick. Perhaps because the empty nest syndrome has run havoc. Perhaps since the age of technology. But it’s there and it’s not for Goldi.

Hurry says there is no room for play.  Instead, it says get involved in soccer, dance, football, piano lessons, science class, hockey, running club, and anything that spells activities instead of play.  Play is Goldi’s prerequisite to work.  So Goldi is acting out fairy tales with different customes. She’s making birthday soup with food coloring. She’s playing hide and seek with her dad. She’s playing tree doctor in the woods.

Hurry says don’t wait. The time is now.  So give them an X box, or take them to a PG movie.   We’ve always been mindful of appropriate timing.  She’s learning Nursery Rhyme songs. She’s seen G movies at home. We’ve waited on video games. We’ve not taken her to exciting, whistle and bell places.

Hurry has a voice. It’s a lippy, mouthy, and way over the head.voice.  Did you ever hear Hurry’s microphone talk through the mouth of a child? It might sound something like:  “Don’t mess with my fingernails, I just had them painted and  they are ready for my trip to Florida. I want to look pretty.” We try to silence Hurry by watching  DVD’s chosen very carefully instead of TV. We watch what we discuss as adults in front of our kids.  We explain things like how it rains, or what happens to garbage  in easy to understand vocabulary.   We are not lippy towards her and she follows suit.

“Could we please make a swimming pool for me so I can practice being a mermaid?” She asks. She pretends and dreams.

“Let’s have a book picnic with lollypops!” She announces on Saturday. She creates and plays.

“Once upon a time, there was a girl named Lilly,” she starts. Goldi stories.

Goldi is a child. She thinks, reasons, and acts like a child. At the right time, she’ll give up her childish ways, strengthened and well equipped for adulthood.  Then again, Goldi is a child. A child of the Heavenly Father, who will ask her to come as a child and live with Him forever.

” I just don’t know what to do with this kid. I know how to help them if they can’t  read. I know how to help them if they can’t  add or subtract.  But I don’t know what to do with this autistic child.  They’re just exasperating!”

This is what the teacher told me me , another  long time teacher, who recently became a parent of an autistic child.  Those are the words that would have been minor way back when.  I would have actually echoed those words.  But when autism became one of my” life and breaths” of daily living,  those words  were piercing and painful , bringing me to tears.

“You are talking to a parent of an autistic child!” I declared. The teacher offered a blank stare and a shoulder shrug.  I was silent and numb. If only I had the choice words to reverse the spell.   With one deep breath, I  walked back to my classroom.

My silence was noised with thinking. I  thought of  bright eyed Roberta, whose world fell apart when something was not in its place. I thought of Sally Sue  who told me the ” ooooooo”  ghost  story all too often. I thought of Willie who flapped his hands and never looked at me.  Something was up with those kids. That something exasperated me. That something spelled autism.

When my Goldi was newly diagnosed, as teacher, I concluded that she would be like Roberta,  Sally Sue, or Willie. As a parent, I prayed for bigger hopes than what I offered those kids from my way back when teaching,   when autism was still  more of a “something is up” label.

Three years later I can tell that teacher and any teacher.  I have the words. I didn’t realize it but they’ve been with me for 23 years.  Let me tell you, teacher,– any teacher,  what to do with an autistic child.  It’s not rocket science. The most important thing to do is not something from special education experts.   It’s something that should come as natural as you as getting your morning coffee before the school day.

So you are Teacher to an autistic child?  Let me tell you. Plan your lessons and share with them your learning day. Be the conductor of your symphony. Practice the day’s pieces with everyone.   Make learning appropriate.  Make adjustments and take heed to implement different learning styles. Give crayons instead of pencils.  Guide them step by step.  Give praise. Make them laugh. Recognize their potential. Appreciate their uniqueness. Miss them when they are gone. Their unique contribution  will not be offered to that learning day.  Giving up is not the answer. A “Whew I am done with that child”at the end of the year is not acceptable. Let them know that you consider them a star that will always shine in the world’s sky and extra brightly in yours.  Let me tell you teacher, teach that autistic child- and every child. It’s what you’ve been doing and should be doing all along.

You must know that the autistic child will always be there. The gap of whose not autistic is narrowing. Look in your classroom and they will be there:  flapping with excitement, jumping for joy with anticipation, plugging their ears and straining to listen, pacing and needing direction, humming and needing a song,  stemming and needing comfort, expressing their amazing imagination and needing a smiley validation, watching the crowd and needing a friend.

What should you do with an autistic child? Let me tell you teacher, do what you have been called to do.  Teach. Do it well.

Another February session,

of high regard expression,

to all those she holds dear.

The words she’s written, names of friends soon to be smitten,

by their mailboxes full of cheer.

Some write ‘ Roses are red ‘and  some  ‘violets are blue’,  but for her this is challenge and chore,

To use rhyming  is dumbfound,

cause it’s sound all  turned around ,

it’s nonsense and a bore.

It’s another delay –  and surely a sign-

Sorry friends , Dr. Suess  she’s not!

For she can’t rhyme your valentine!

“Next one is Kate”  she eyes on the list .  She knows each friends’ name by sight.

I give her the beginning sound of each name,

For each one she’s accurately right!

Roses are red and violets are blue, – too hard to grasp for her brain.

To match sounds alike,

She responds “take a hike”

That way of  thinking — insane!

Sometimes she won’t  even write on one line,

and she can’t rhyme your valentine!

“My friend Mary looks like a princess,” she says, ” A sparkly one she will need.

She carefully pens out the letters, as I slowly give her the letter sound feed.

She embellishes each name,

treats each one the same,

with swirls and circles galore.

I won’t ask her to do anything else. That would be quite a chore!

Though cat rhymes with bat and cake rhymes with snake

This  headwork, she can’t even fake!

She proudly tells me “There, they all look just fine!”

But  she can’t rhyme your valentine!

To read well, you need phonemic  awareness,

a study of sounds, blending, and rhyming.

It’s early childhood reading- foundational.

Of great matter and appropriate timing.

To understand my early literate,  with a teacher and mom hat I wear,

I see writing  sometimes sloppy

and her left to right direction choppy,

Something I give a cold stare.

But what matters to her this season,

Does not give valid reason,

For me to feel worse for the wear.

She’s happy to bring, a smile that will sing

To her, each kid counts and she cares!

In this learning process,  I’ve discovered her way ,

to read, write, and show she’s a friend.

This Valentines Day she’s made a card, that some may simply not send.

So what! She can’t rhyme,

at least not at this time,

She’s not missed the important part:

For each Valentine card despite absence of rhyming,

I found she’s put forth her heart.

The street lamp shone down on the snow that did not gently twirl, swirl, or float gracefully down like a crystal ballerinas. Instead they literally pounded and howled– kind of like  tiny snow bombs from the sky. It was the start of the first long winter that I can remember as a child.

First thought was that our house had been buried in snow. I couldn’t see anything outside my bedroom window but a white blanket packed on the glass.  School was closed and time stood still for wondrous exploration. The sun had dazzled up the blizzard aftermath.  First sight of everything was pure shimmer and sparkle.  I had played outside many times and knew my way around blindfolded. Yet, the blizzard had quickly disguised our playground to unfamiliar territory.  Little did I know it, but my play would be like never before.

The ocean of snow had created depth up to my shoulders. ( Short Greek stubby people couldn’t walk wonders in this snow)  Muppet, our dog, sunk down with every step. She had to doggy paddle her way around. Being white furred wasn’t such a help either.   The roses, bushes, and other familiar territorial marks were buried.  The most amazing thrill was that there was a gigantic drift that had formed off the roof of our house.  We had ourselves a  rooftop sledding hill! With adult supervision and permission, we walked up the drift to the roof and pointed our sleds towards the street. It was the biggest zoom of our lives. (we weren’t into roller coasters and still aren’t)

School was closed day after day. Soon, we were running low on food. My  dad and a neighbor decided to brave the storm and head out to the grocery on foot. The streets weren’t plowed. The wind and snow were still in their prime. The nearest D and W was a few miles away. We watched them from the front window walk down the windy white blur with a sled trailing behind hoping for a safe return.

As a child, it was one of those first experiences of a long winter.  It was the first time we wondered if winter took over spring’s thunder.   The thrill of sledding off the roof soon wore off and we wanted our house back to normal. The winter wonderland playground was foiling plans of baseball, basketball, kite flying, and hide and seek. The extra pounds of clothes and Vaseline smears ( mom used that trick to keep our faces warm) felt itchy, greasy, and not fun when you had to use the bathroom all of the sudden. The no school freedom had erased our memories of our friends, the smell of a fresh sharpened pencils, and taking our turn at round robin reading.

The Long Winter had put to hault all of our days of being out and about in the world learning and growing up. It came and went. The time in between time was exciting, new, memorable, mysterious, and long all in one—much like childhood.