Olivia

Liv is about to move for college. That makes me sad. It will be so quiet. I will definitely miss her. I think she will do great. Break a leg, Liv. 

A beautiful family story and a poignant look at history, The Things We Cannot Say by Kelly Rimmer is a book worth reading. It deals with the invasion of Poland by the Nazis and a woman's quest to uncover her family history. One of the characters is a boy with autism. 

I give this book a NINE on a scale of ten. 

The Lost Boys of Sudan

 

For me, typing is still difficult, but I want to get back to blogging. 

They Poured Fire on Us From the Sky tells the story of the Lost Boys, who were refugees from South Sudan. For me, this book is inspiring. Their story shows how strong people can be when they have a will to survive. They decided to survive so that they would know a better life.

Like walking through the desert, I have traveled a long journey. I have never faced war or famine, but I can appreciate hopelessness and desperation. People should read this book.

Rainman and "Rain Reign"

I recently watched a movie and read a book that deal with people on the autism spectrum. 

I most thoroughly enjoyed the movie Rainman. I liked how the movie showed that someone with autism can be smart and gifted. It also was a good representation of how people with autism need a lot of patience. It can occasionally be overwhelming just trying to follow all the rules of society. A scene that I really identify with is when the fire alarm went off, and Raymond needed to get far away from the noise. Loud noises can make my head feel like it is exploding. 

I recently finished the book Rain Reign by Ann M. Martin, and I enjoyed it. The protagonist is a fifth-grade girl named Rose who is on the spectrum and also has OCD. The book describes her difficult time fitting in, her special relationship with her dog, and the conflict that occurs when her dog is missing. Rose wants to have friends so much but nobody understands her. I recommend this book, especially for older kids and teenagers.

Summer Reading

I finished my junior year of high school. I made all As. I love math and history. My favorite class last year was physics, and I am grateful that I had a teacher who gave clear, interesting lessons. In history, I enjoyed learning about World War I and II.  I am sad to think about kids who are not learning because they cannot speak so people underestimate them.

This summer, I will write about the books I am reading. Books are very important to me and so meaningful.  

I just finished reading the novel Once by Morris Gleitzman. It is a work of historical fiction that takes place during World War II.  It is a somber story about the Holocaust and a boy with an amazing imagination. It was so captivating that I read it in just two days, and I recommend it.

I write to you

In Anger

Angry at you for everything you have stolen



I write to you

With Unyielding rage

Like a bull penned in the dark, waiting to explode



I write to you

Knowing all too well the Terrible consequences of your reality

I live with them, battle them, every day



I write to you

With questions that are Impossible to answer

Because some injustices cannot be explained



I write to you

Thankful for my Sanity

Which survived your most brutal attacks



I write to you

You menacing Monster

                Offensive offender

                                Terrorizing thief

You leave the words clattering in my head but silent from my mouth

You have trespassed against me

And I do not forgive you

Breaking Free of a Voiceless Cell

I am sixteen years old and look the part, but I cannot talk to you about football, or video games or even what I want to eat for dinner.  I am a boy without a voice.

As a chubby faced toddler, I peered into the eyes of my mother, who stood before me, cookie in hand. The cookie stood between us like a silent invader. “Cookie,” my mother implored, “Just say it, Daniel. Just try.”  Her face spoke the words deep within her heart.  Her eyes gave voice to the despair that resonates every minute of the day when a child goes from angelic baby to struggling toddler.

But the word would not be spoken.  Not by me.  Nor did I speak the numerous words my parents begged me to utter. Swim, swing, pizza, ice cream, cupcake, pancake.  The favorite things of my childhood days were all there for the taking, if I only could say the word, but my mouth was my enemy.

The silent thoughts in my mind became the puzzle of my family’s existence.  Life became a battle between acceptance and perseverance.  Classrooms became a dreary part of my routine, as teachers presented lessons meant for a preschool child.  “Find the cat,” they would command, as the pictures lay before me like some mocking imposter of a friend who fills your life with seemingly positive intentions.

Just as my mouth served as a mysterious culprit, my fingers foiled every semblance of thought. I found pencils right before my eyes, but they were useless in my hands.  Like the broken wings of a bird, my fingers failed me.  Even pointing was a task too demanding.  The silly pictures all lined up in their precise rows became a chaotic swirl of colors as I willed my finger to follow the instructions in my mind.    

Years passed, and my faith began to faulter.  Life was monotonous.  I gradually came to believe that I never would be able to share even the most basic needs, much less the true passionate feelings of love for my family.  Help finally came in the form of a speech therapist named Erin. She sat across from me in her clinic with its brightly painted walls, her short hair styled like she just left a salon, stylish glasses propped on the rim of her nose, and she spoke to me, as if she could peer into my mind and see that it was brimming with knowledge. “Did you know he can spell and read lots of words?” she asked my mother. It was my life preserver in an ocean of abandoned hope.

            The moment was a turning point, though it would take many months before the optimism in Erin’s words was realized. My mother and I began a push and pull struggle, a war with my uncooperative body, made more complicated by the presence of uncertainty. “Spell, spell, spell,” she commanded, and the letters came in a variety of colors, sizes and materials. I began to believe I could overcome the monster within, the force that left me trapped somewhere in a world not one with my family’s. Gradually I found myself commanding the fingers that had never served me, and my mother began to urge me to type.  “Type it and you will get it,” she would say.  So I focused on the keys of an I-pad, and typed with the intensity of a surgeon.  Popsicle, popcorn, macaroni.  Her word was golden.  I got it all. 

            Books became the central focus of our days.  Listening to my mother read was a gift.  Her voice can convey such depth of emotion that stories come to life in my imagination.  She would pause as she read and asked a question about the story.  With each typed answer, my confidence grew, as did my mother’s faith. 

I believe that if not for my mother’s persistence I would continue to be imprisoned in a voiceless world.  For the entirety of my life, I would have been trying to be heard. Knowing that my family can now appreciate that I understand their every word fills me with renewed hope. Going to online school has changed my life. I no longer dread the future. The joy of being able to communicate cannot be expressed in words. It is immeasurable, but the moments when I finally shared words of love with the people who matter most will be the most memorable of my life. I  even have told my story on a blog with the hope of helping families like mine.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  I wrote this for my English class last year. I have not blogged in a while because I have been busy with school.