The summer between my junior and senior years in high school, I went to a youth camp. This fact in itself is of little importance; however, while I was gone, a change occurred in our family that marked perhaps the most important event of my entire life.
First, I must give some background. I have a brother who is four years younger than me. As a baby, he was a quick learner. By the age of two he had a rather extensive vocabulary. The whole family was excited because of his rapid progress. Shortly after his second birthday, however, something happened to Ian. He began to associate with other children less and less. He seemed to spend lots of time by himself doing basically nothing. His vocabulary began to diminish rather than increase. Finally, my parents took Ian to a child psychologist. Our worst fears were confirmed. Ian had autism.
My parents were shocked and confused. I, being only six years old, did not fully understand the situation. All I knew was that there was something very wrong with my brother. My parents prayed for guidance and did the only thing they could do: love Ian unconditionally.
As Ian grew, nothing changed. He had not spoken a word since he was two years old. He was placed in classes for severely and profoundly handicapped children. Any time he learned a new task, such as putting a peg in a hole or a piece in a puzzle, it was considered a major breakthrough. Still, we always remembered the intelligent child he once was, and occasionally, it seemed that a flicker of intelligence appeared from behind an insurmountable wall to once again grace his features.
Ian's simple life continued until that summer when he was thirteen years old. When I returned from youth camp, there was a piece of paper on our dining room table. It had an alphabet, the numbers from 0 to 9, and some punctuation marks on it. Little did I know that this piece of paper would change my life dramatically.
While I was gone, my parents had learned of a new "cure" for autism. I say this somewhat mockingly because over the years, we had heard of countless numbers of "cures," none of which had amounted to anything except wasted money. This time, however, the technique did not cost any money, so my parents decided to try it. The idea is very simple. My brother points to the letters on the paper and spells out words. He can only do this, however, if someone is supporting (not directing!) his arm. Using this technique, Ian could finally communicate with us! At first, things went slowly. He could only answer yes or no questions. Eventually, Ian could write complete sentences and, despite many problems with grammar and sentence structure, he is still improving today. Ian had learned how to read and how to do simple arithmetic during the time that he was lost to us. His intelligence had never gone away; it had just been tragically hidden.
In the fall of that year, Ian entered the fifth grade. There, he soaked up knowledge like a sponge. He has a photographic memory and is a speed reader. Toward the end of the year, he began taking some classes at the junior high level. Now, this year, he is enrolled at the high school. He is only taking four classes, but that should be a full load for him.
As Ian tries to adjust to high school life, he is having some problems. Like any high school freshman, he wants to go to dances, basketball games, and other social events. Sadly, he is having to realize that he cannot participate in these kinds of activities like a normal student can.
Another problem Ian has faced is pressure to do well in school. He feels as if everyone is watching him and expecting him to breeze through his classes. Indeed, Ian is not totally wrong in this assumption. Some people seem to forget that Ian still has problems. He may be smart, but he is still autistic. He still has many of the struggles he has always had. However, my long lost brother was found again, and I praise God for this fact.
--Todd Wetherbee September, 1992