A common thread I notice amongst worried parents of ADS children has to do with their ability to communicate. We're not all the same but this idea might be helpful to some, speech therapy can also increase confidence. Here's my experience, this is from the early 70s when no one had heard of autism.
My grade 1 teacher told Mum that I had severe learning difficulties and would probably need to go to a special school. Mum thought my grade 1 teacher must have been the one with difficulties, I passed the exams with straight "A"s all the way down the page.
My grade 2 teacher told Mum that I was dyslexic and that I would probably never learn to read and write, Mum burst out laughing and the teacher got really cross and told Mum that she wasn't taking her child's education seriously. Mum laughed so hard she nearly wet herself. Once again I passed the exams with straight "A"s all the way down the page.
My grade 3 teacher was one of those truly brilliant teachers that stand out from the crowd, Mrs McFetridge. She was a very strict and stern old lady with her hair done up in a bun but she was also scrupulously fair and very intelligent. I loved her and was terrified of her at the same time. She arranged a meeting with Mum early in the year to discuss my problems. She told Mum that my last two teachers had just been silly young girls that didn't know one end of a baby from the other, she said I had no learning difficulty, in fact quite the opposite, I was bored because I learned too quickly and easily.
She said the problem I had was with reading out loud and she thought I might be "tongue-tied", a situation caused by too short an amount of loose skin under the tongue restricting movement and therefore speech. She told Mum that this could be easily corrected by deliberate exercise and recommended that Mum take me to visit an old friend of hers, a Catholic Priest.
No, that's not headed where you think, my Mum was very good at pretending to be a lot more naive than she was but she wasn't going to leave her little boy alone with a priest. The priest was a very old and very large man and seemed very happy all the time, I liked him. He gave me lessons in public speaking, or more accurately, how to deliver a sermon without the benefit of a microphone, how to make your voice very loud without yelling and how to read at that volume with perfect diction so that even people at the back of the church can hear every word clearly.
Mrs McFetridge also encouraged me by getting me to read stories to the rest of the class. My parents soon regretted my taking those lessons. So did many other people over the years and there's been quite a few girlfriends that will tell you I'm very good at delivering a sermon.
Cheers,
Andrew.
My grade 1 teacher told Mum that I had severe learning difficulties and would probably need to go to a special school. Mum thought my grade 1 teacher must have been the one with difficulties, I passed the exams with straight "A"s all the way down the page.
My grade 2 teacher told Mum that I was dyslexic and that I would probably never learn to read and write, Mum burst out laughing and the teacher got really cross and told Mum that she wasn't taking her child's education seriously. Mum laughed so hard she nearly wet herself. Once again I passed the exams with straight "A"s all the way down the page.
My grade 3 teacher was one of those truly brilliant teachers that stand out from the crowd, Mrs McFetridge. She was a very strict and stern old lady with her hair done up in a bun but she was also scrupulously fair and very intelligent. I loved her and was terrified of her at the same time. She arranged a meeting with Mum early in the year to discuss my problems. She told Mum that my last two teachers had just been silly young girls that didn't know one end of a baby from the other, she said I had no learning difficulty, in fact quite the opposite, I was bored because I learned too quickly and easily.
She said the problem I had was with reading out loud and she thought I might be "tongue-tied", a situation caused by too short an amount of loose skin under the tongue restricting movement and therefore speech. She told Mum that this could be easily corrected by deliberate exercise and recommended that Mum take me to visit an old friend of hers, a Catholic Priest.
No, that's not headed where you think, my Mum was very good at pretending to be a lot more naive than she was but she wasn't going to leave her little boy alone with a priest. The priest was a very old and very large man and seemed very happy all the time, I liked him. He gave me lessons in public speaking, or more accurately, how to deliver a sermon without the benefit of a microphone, how to make your voice very loud without yelling and how to read at that volume with perfect diction so that even people at the back of the church can hear every word clearly.
Mrs McFetridge also encouraged me by getting me to read stories to the rest of the class. My parents soon regretted my taking those lessons. So did many other people over the years and there's been quite a few girlfriends that will tell you I'm very good at delivering a sermon.
Cheers,
Andrew.
