08-14-2007, 05:40 AM
http://www.whig.com/309940605918768.php
Just like a dingy dusty rag. My life is definitely a real drag.
The first two lines of a poem Jake Hammerquist wrote for a high school English class give just a glimpse of the anguish he faces daily.
Jake, 16, has Asperger's syndrome, one of five autism spectrum disorders.
Autism spectrum disorders are neurologically based developmental disabilities that can affect how a child communicates, interacts, behaves and learns. The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimates that one child in 150 has an autism spectrum disorder.
New York-based Autism Speaks, which calls itself the world's largest autism advocacy organization, says on its Web site that children with Asperger's syndrome often are described as "high functioning" or as having a "mild" form of autism, at least compared with others on the spectrum.
"To many, they may seem just like other children but not quite — socially awkward in a manner that's not easily understood," the site says.
Jake, a junior-to-be at Quincy High School, is acutely aware that he is different from his peers and doesn't have many friends. He wishes other students would understand that he's smart and funny.
"I'm not weird, OK," he said during an interview.
"Come on ... I'm just a little off."
'What's that?'
Carolyn Hammerquist remembers watching her son as a toddler, worrying what was wrong. Jake, the third of four boys, was quiet and showed no emotion. He crawled later than her other children, and he didn't start walking until he was almost 2.
"By the time he was 3 or 4, when it was Christmas or his birthday, he wouldn't open a present. He would just look, not uttering a sound," Carolyn said. "He didn't want to touch anything. He hated clothes, and he didn't like noises."
Jake's pediatrician referred him to a neurologist at age 4. That's when Carolyn first heard about autism.
"Oh my gosh, what's that?" she recalled thinking.
Living in Lockport at the time, Carolyn was unfamiliar with autism or Asperger's syndrome. She felt overwhelmed, and she was on her own because her husband walked out on the family when Jake was just 2. She was confronted with new challenges daily.
"He was very wild, like a little jungle boy," Carolyn said. "He was there one minute, and he was gone. At night, he would be asleep for two hours, and then he would get up, go in the living room and turn the TV on like it was the beginning of a normal day. He loved cartoons. He could act it out, take on the character. He wasn't talking, but he did the actions."
Jake was sensitive to certain tastes and textures, so finding foods he would eat was a chore.
If his routine was disrupted, he would have "intense moments," Carolyn said. The meltdowns often would involve Jake hitting his forehead, which would leave bruises.
The boy had no fear. Once Jake managed to unlock the multiple locks on their front door, walked into a neighbor's apartment, sat in front of the TV and started playing video games.
When Jake started kindergarten, teachers put weights on his legs to keep him in his seat. He needed one-on-one attention to keep him focused. During school assemblies, he would hold his ears because of the noise.
At a doctor's suggestion, Carolyn tried putting Jake on Ritalin, a central nervous system stimulant used to treat attention deficit disorder. However, she stopped after she noticed no improvements and felt he was more uncontrollable at home once the medication wore off.
He started to improve at school, but in fourth grade, Jake still didn't have enough coordination to throw a ball or ride a bike. His teachers said he also needed more work on his social skills.
Jake was in fifth grade when the family moved to Quincy. He entered Baldwin School. Carolyn said the Quincy School District was "very aware of autism," adding that his previous school district was not.
"They found he didn't need confinement, and they streamlined him with an aide," she said. "He needed that focus. He had to stay on task."
She insisted the teachers discipline Jake for bad behaviors. At home she worked on teaching him how to control outbursts. With the positive streamlining he experienced in the Quincy schools, Jake started getting good grades.
"He's come a long way since fifth grade," said Brenda Bent, Jake's paraeducator since he moved here. "Jacob's very, very good at math. He's very organized. And he's pretty independent."
When Jake starts school this month, Bent won't be at his side anymore. She moved to another town, which means he'll be on his own during classes, although another paraeducator will check in with him.
Carolyn says she's not worried about Jake's schoolwork, and she's proud of how far her son has come.
His social skills, his loneliness and his entry into adulthood, however, are cause for concern.
A solo person
When he was in Betty Anders' English class at Quincy High School last spring during an afternoon in May, Jake looked like any other kid. He sat quietly in his seat and didn't chit-chat with the other students as Bent sat nearby.
"I mainly stay back alone," Jake says. "I'm more of a solo person. I've seen how people gossip about things. I can do my own thing without being judged by people."
Jake is willing to answer questions because he wants other people to understand what life with an autism spectrum disorder is like. He knows some of the things he does seem strange to others.
For example, "in gym class, at first I'm not interested, but then if I'm enjoying myself, I scream at the top of my lungs like a hyperactive monkey," he said.
In a writing assignment from February, Jake's isolation and desire for acceptance is clear.
"I would be happier if people would just learn to accept my autistic behavior," he wrote. "Sure some things that I do is kinda weird but they can't just accept the fact that it's not my fault. By thinking I am weird I am pretty sure that means they hate me. Well I say if that's what they are gonna hate me for then that's their problem. People judge people too much about their current actions and that is just wrong. I just have this feeling that almost every person in this school (mainly the kids) hate me just because of the very thing that makes me who I am and it wouldn't kill those snobby jerks to show me some signs of acceptance."
The teen years are a thicket of emotions that becomes unnavigable for Jake and others with Asperger's syndrome, according to Autism Speaks.
"Unable to relate to other teenagers and their befuddling social rules, not to mention their emotions that yo-yo up and down, they may wind up isolated and overwhelmed and most certainly misunderstood," the Web site says.
Bent says it's always been difficult for Jake to fit in with other kids his age. She acknowledges that some students can be cruel and make fun of Jake's behavior, but she thinks most students are more accepting than he thinks.
"Jacob has a very low self-esteem," she said. "If kids are laughing in class, he thinks they're laughing at him. I would like for him to go up and talk to people more. He's very funny."
Still, none of the students has befriended Jake.
Life outside of school is equally frustrating. Jake's mom spends all the time she can with him, but she works full time. He has the company of his three brothers — Joe, 18, Ron, 17, and Frank, 14 — but the two older boys spend less time with family because they have their own activities and interests. Jake bonds best with Frank, Carolyn says.
"This summer, I'm going to get Frank to help me lose some weight," Jake said before school was out. He also planned to swim with his brother at their apartment complex.
"They've been out at the pool every day," Carolyn says. "It used to be Jake would just play video games and watch TV. Now this summer, he is around more kids his age. They go to the pool and go out and shoot hoops."
Jake sometimes feels trapped, though.
"I'd like to go walking in my neighborhood by myself," he said. "Because of my condition, I can't do that. If there was no one in this town, I would want to run around all the neighborhoods."
Most 16-year-olds enjoy the freedom a drivers license provides. Jake isn't sure he'll ever drive.
As teens with Asperger's syndrome grow into adulthood, they are likely to encounter challenges romantically, though they might be able to relay their expertise and intellectual abilities into success in the workplace.
"These kids are able to go far with the right opportunities," Bent said. "You've got to find that niche and go for it."
Jake, a Herald-Whig paper carrier, says he's ready to give up his route for a new part-time job.
"I want to make good money, something simple that has good pay," he said. "The only problem is ... my shortcomings."
He talks about going to college and shows an interest in law enforcement. He's aware that being a police officer isn't likely because of his disorder.
Bent says he has a talent for drawing that could lead him to a fulfilling career.
"I want to make something of myself," Jake says emphatically. "There's more to me than this unstable mind."
Ray of light
Tears flow when Carolyn talks about Jake's isolation.
"It's heartbreaking," she said. "He started to recognize he had something different in junior high. But I tell him, 'You're a special person, and God saw that.' "
Carolyn says that in the past year, Jake's been talking about his future. He wants to go to college, get married and have children.
"But he says, 'It'll probably never happen because of the way I am,' " she said. "I tell him, 'It might just take you longer to get to that point.' I have to fight the negativity. I direct it right back to the positive."
While adults with Asperger's syndrome likely will be able to live independently, earn a living and take care of their needs, social relationships might always be a minefield for them, and as such, will continue to be a source of frustration, and for some, despair.
Carolyn wishes more people could see Jake the way she sees him — an innocent, lovable and funny boy.
"He's got a good sense of humor and brings entertainment to the conversation. He's so lovable," she says, wiping a tear away. "I worry about what's going to happen to him when I'm dead and gone. I want him to flourish and experience things. ... I pray a lot."
In his poem, Jake calls his life "miserable ... dreary ... depressing."
Yet even in this dark portrayal of his life, Jake offers a ray of light.
At least when I go to college I will be aware.
What I'm looking for I will find there.
My reason for living, my purpose in life, what my future holds.
And when I do I will handle those responsibilities with care.
Just like a dingy dusty rag. My life is definitely a real drag.
The first two lines of a poem Jake Hammerquist wrote for a high school English class give just a glimpse of the anguish he faces daily.
Jake, 16, has Asperger's syndrome, one of five autism spectrum disorders.
Autism spectrum disorders are neurologically based developmental disabilities that can affect how a child communicates, interacts, behaves and learns. The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimates that one child in 150 has an autism spectrum disorder.
New York-based Autism Speaks, which calls itself the world's largest autism advocacy organization, says on its Web site that children with Asperger's syndrome often are described as "high functioning" or as having a "mild" form of autism, at least compared with others on the spectrum.
"To many, they may seem just like other children but not quite — socially awkward in a manner that's not easily understood," the site says.
Jake, a junior-to-be at Quincy High School, is acutely aware that he is different from his peers and doesn't have many friends. He wishes other students would understand that he's smart and funny.
"I'm not weird, OK," he said during an interview.
"Come on ... I'm just a little off."
'What's that?'
Carolyn Hammerquist remembers watching her son as a toddler, worrying what was wrong. Jake, the third of four boys, was quiet and showed no emotion. He crawled later than her other children, and he didn't start walking until he was almost 2.
"By the time he was 3 or 4, when it was Christmas or his birthday, he wouldn't open a present. He would just look, not uttering a sound," Carolyn said. "He didn't want to touch anything. He hated clothes, and he didn't like noises."
Jake's pediatrician referred him to a neurologist at age 4. That's when Carolyn first heard about autism.
"Oh my gosh, what's that?" she recalled thinking.
Living in Lockport at the time, Carolyn was unfamiliar with autism or Asperger's syndrome. She felt overwhelmed, and she was on her own because her husband walked out on the family when Jake was just 2. She was confronted with new challenges daily.
"He was very wild, like a little jungle boy," Carolyn said. "He was there one minute, and he was gone. At night, he would be asleep for two hours, and then he would get up, go in the living room and turn the TV on like it was the beginning of a normal day. He loved cartoons. He could act it out, take on the character. He wasn't talking, but he did the actions."
Jake was sensitive to certain tastes and textures, so finding foods he would eat was a chore.
If his routine was disrupted, he would have "intense moments," Carolyn said. The meltdowns often would involve Jake hitting his forehead, which would leave bruises.
The boy had no fear. Once Jake managed to unlock the multiple locks on their front door, walked into a neighbor's apartment, sat in front of the TV and started playing video games.
When Jake started kindergarten, teachers put weights on his legs to keep him in his seat. He needed one-on-one attention to keep him focused. During school assemblies, he would hold his ears because of the noise.
At a doctor's suggestion, Carolyn tried putting Jake on Ritalin, a central nervous system stimulant used to treat attention deficit disorder. However, she stopped after she noticed no improvements and felt he was more uncontrollable at home once the medication wore off.
He started to improve at school, but in fourth grade, Jake still didn't have enough coordination to throw a ball or ride a bike. His teachers said he also needed more work on his social skills.
Jake was in fifth grade when the family moved to Quincy. He entered Baldwin School. Carolyn said the Quincy School District was "very aware of autism," adding that his previous school district was not.
"They found he didn't need confinement, and they streamlined him with an aide," she said. "He needed that focus. He had to stay on task."
She insisted the teachers discipline Jake for bad behaviors. At home she worked on teaching him how to control outbursts. With the positive streamlining he experienced in the Quincy schools, Jake started getting good grades.
"He's come a long way since fifth grade," said Brenda Bent, Jake's paraeducator since he moved here. "Jacob's very, very good at math. He's very organized. And he's pretty independent."
When Jake starts school this month, Bent won't be at his side anymore. She moved to another town, which means he'll be on his own during classes, although another paraeducator will check in with him.
Carolyn says she's not worried about Jake's schoolwork, and she's proud of how far her son has come.
His social skills, his loneliness and his entry into adulthood, however, are cause for concern.
A solo person
When he was in Betty Anders' English class at Quincy High School last spring during an afternoon in May, Jake looked like any other kid. He sat quietly in his seat and didn't chit-chat with the other students as Bent sat nearby.
"I mainly stay back alone," Jake says. "I'm more of a solo person. I've seen how people gossip about things. I can do my own thing without being judged by people."
Jake is willing to answer questions because he wants other people to understand what life with an autism spectrum disorder is like. He knows some of the things he does seem strange to others.
For example, "in gym class, at first I'm not interested, but then if I'm enjoying myself, I scream at the top of my lungs like a hyperactive monkey," he said.
In a writing assignment from February, Jake's isolation and desire for acceptance is clear.
"I would be happier if people would just learn to accept my autistic behavior," he wrote. "Sure some things that I do is kinda weird but they can't just accept the fact that it's not my fault. By thinking I am weird I am pretty sure that means they hate me. Well I say if that's what they are gonna hate me for then that's their problem. People judge people too much about their current actions and that is just wrong. I just have this feeling that almost every person in this school (mainly the kids) hate me just because of the very thing that makes me who I am and it wouldn't kill those snobby jerks to show me some signs of acceptance."
The teen years are a thicket of emotions that becomes unnavigable for Jake and others with Asperger's syndrome, according to Autism Speaks.
"Unable to relate to other teenagers and their befuddling social rules, not to mention their emotions that yo-yo up and down, they may wind up isolated and overwhelmed and most certainly misunderstood," the Web site says.
Bent says it's always been difficult for Jake to fit in with other kids his age. She acknowledges that some students can be cruel and make fun of Jake's behavior, but she thinks most students are more accepting than he thinks.
"Jacob has a very low self-esteem," she said. "If kids are laughing in class, he thinks they're laughing at him. I would like for him to go up and talk to people more. He's very funny."
Still, none of the students has befriended Jake.
Life outside of school is equally frustrating. Jake's mom spends all the time she can with him, but she works full time. He has the company of his three brothers — Joe, 18, Ron, 17, and Frank, 14 — but the two older boys spend less time with family because they have their own activities and interests. Jake bonds best with Frank, Carolyn says.
"This summer, I'm going to get Frank to help me lose some weight," Jake said before school was out. He also planned to swim with his brother at their apartment complex.
"They've been out at the pool every day," Carolyn says. "It used to be Jake would just play video games and watch TV. Now this summer, he is around more kids his age. They go to the pool and go out and shoot hoops."
Jake sometimes feels trapped, though.
"I'd like to go walking in my neighborhood by myself," he said. "Because of my condition, I can't do that. If there was no one in this town, I would want to run around all the neighborhoods."
Most 16-year-olds enjoy the freedom a drivers license provides. Jake isn't sure he'll ever drive.
As teens with Asperger's syndrome grow into adulthood, they are likely to encounter challenges romantically, though they might be able to relay their expertise and intellectual abilities into success in the workplace.
"These kids are able to go far with the right opportunities," Bent said. "You've got to find that niche and go for it."
Jake, a Herald-Whig paper carrier, says he's ready to give up his route for a new part-time job.
"I want to make good money, something simple that has good pay," he said. "The only problem is ... my shortcomings."
He talks about going to college and shows an interest in law enforcement. He's aware that being a police officer isn't likely because of his disorder.
Bent says he has a talent for drawing that could lead him to a fulfilling career.
"I want to make something of myself," Jake says emphatically. "There's more to me than this unstable mind."
Ray of light
Tears flow when Carolyn talks about Jake's isolation.
"It's heartbreaking," she said. "He started to recognize he had something different in junior high. But I tell him, 'You're a special person, and God saw that.' "
Carolyn says that in the past year, Jake's been talking about his future. He wants to go to college, get married and have children.
"But he says, 'It'll probably never happen because of the way I am,' " she said. "I tell him, 'It might just take you longer to get to that point.' I have to fight the negativity. I direct it right back to the positive."
While adults with Asperger's syndrome likely will be able to live independently, earn a living and take care of their needs, social relationships might always be a minefield for them, and as such, will continue to be a source of frustration, and for some, despair.
Carolyn wishes more people could see Jake the way she sees him — an innocent, lovable and funny boy.
"He's got a good sense of humor and brings entertainment to the conversation. He's so lovable," she says, wiping a tear away. "I worry about what's going to happen to him when I'm dead and gone. I want him to flourish and experience things. ... I pray a lot."
In his poem, Jake calls his life "miserable ... dreary ... depressing."
Yet even in this dark portrayal of his life, Jake offers a ray of light.
At least when I go to college I will be aware.
What I'm looking for I will find there.
My reason for living, my purpose in life, what my future holds.
And when I do I will handle those responsibilities with care.