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Jewish Community News
JCN: June 2006
Boy with Autism wins essay contest
By Jacob Artson
Jacob Artson is the son of Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson, Dean of the
Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies
You have probably never met anyone like me. For most of my life, I was
treated as a retarded person. I can’t speak or write, and therefore
people assumed for the first seven years of my life that my cognitive
abilities must be coextensive with my motor abilities – that is,
virtually nonexistent. When I was seven years old, a speech therapist
introduced me to typing and my life began anew. At first, I wondered often
why I had to struggle so intensely to produce a simple communication that
others take for granted, without even being aware of all the intricate
interactions going on in their brains but not in mine. Later I began to
wonder whether I had committed some awful sin for which I was being punished
by not being able to speak or move my body like all the kids around me.
There have been many supporters in my life, and some detractors as well.
In fifth grade, my teacher taught me one of the most important lessons
I’ve ever learned. I had finally been allowed back on a general
education campus after two years at a nonpublic school where I had been
banished after biting the assistant principal at my home school. My teacher,
fortunately, didn’t know anything about my background, and so she
treated me as a person capable of accomplishing anything she trusted me
to do. I had never been trusted to achieve anything before and I didn’t
want to betray her trust. At the end of that year, I won an award for
most improved behavior.
Every person alive is encumbered by challenges and blessed with gifts.
Perhaps my ratio of challenges to gifts is higher than most, but I also
know that I have so many people who believe in me and share my dream of
being a productive member of society. It is tempting to spend life wondering
about why we have been saddled with illness or poverty or dysfunctional
family members or some other perceived or real curse, but in the end our
lives are measured by what we do with the cards we have been dealt. So
I no longer wonder why I have been forced to deal with autism rather than
some other challenge. Instead, I think of all the opportunities I have
missed while wasting energy wondering why I was given lemons instead of
lemonade. I realize that I just have to find a new recipe for lemonade.
Maybe it will even taste just as good as the store -bought lemonade, but
it will probably be even better because it is homemade, not from concentrate.
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