"iPod is disabled. Try again in 22,718,572 minutes."
by Susan Oscilowski
published in Youth Advocate Program Autism Spectrum Disorders Newsletter May/June 2013
copyright 2013
Color me clueless when
it comes to technology, so if this message appeared on my device, I'd
shriek and then calmly hand it over to one of my sons. As my personal
tech-support team, Robert and John Paul know what to do, just as I know
which articles of clothing should never go in a washer or dryer. I have
learned to delegate any task involving gadgets, knowing that I'd sooner
put defective items into electronic recycling than even consider
repairing them.
But the ominous-sounding
warning struck my friend Anne's device, and we laughed about the
message as we both took a rare afternoon together for coffee. When I
mentioned it to Robert, he explained something I couldn't repeat here if
I tried-and John Paul chimed in, attempting to translate the solution
into a language he thought I might understand...at 15, he's still too
naïve to know it's hopeless to expect I'll ever get it. But I think they
were confident the iPod could be reset electronically-I was able to
comprehend at least that much.
Anne's teen son Billy, wanting to use his younger brother's iPod,
apparently entered every mathematical algorithm he knows to find the
password to allow him access. It's in their genes to unlock hidden code,
and our sons share a similar knack for knowing how to operate machinery
equipped with a motherboard, chip, or other magical widget. Tommy
thought his cleverness would prevent Billy from using his iPod, but
although Billy didn't get in, he made it nearly impossible for either of
them to be able to use it.
Just how long will it
take before Anne's boys will be able to try to get back in? Using an app
that converts minutes to years, she discovered that 22.7 million
minutes is about 43 years. The brothers will be in their 50's, and the
device would have been obsolete for nearly 42 years, based on my
observations. Anne will be quite elderly by then, and if I'm alive, I'll
be approaching the century mark.
My intention for this
article was to share some advice, hope, ideas, or stories with others
who like Anne and me, are blessed to raise children on the autism
spectrum. The topic wasn't supposed to be about devices, but there's a
reason I am redirecting my thoughts into that realm. As a student in a
Communication Mentor course, one of my assignments was to assist
individuals with verbal challenges--- and their parents or
supporters---in experimenting with a variety of devices designed to
overcome deficits in spoken language. I brought an iPad to Billy, and
because of his amazing capacity to operate computers, it was a
near-perfect fit. (They just had to figure how to lock him out of Angry
Birds.)
Youth Advocate Programs'
philosophy of presuming intellect applies here: even though we can't
understand what Billy tries to communicate to us on a daily basis, he is
always trying. For more than a year, he has been using Proloquo on his
iPad, and has made great advances in speech and expressive language.
Three of my sons have a diagnosis of ASD, and like Billy and Tommy, they
have genius oozing out of their pores. Although my boys have not had
impairment in expressive language, it's easy to see why outsiders might
not view them as intellectually gifted. And artistically gifted. If I
didn't have a space limit on my writing, I'd happily go into more
details about them.
We are living in an age unlike any other because we have tools at our
disposal to break silences and dispel stereotypes which have left so
many people with harmful and downright wrong labels and assessments. We
had the fortune to meet many people in the Communication Mentor course
who have much to teach the rest of us about their hidden gifts.
At a conference on the
West Coast, 6 of my kids and I met one great example of this. Peyton
Goddard of San Diego sheds powerful light on breaking silence. As
someone trapped without capacity for speech for two decades, she
harbored deep insights and profound comprehension about the world around
and inside of her. At the conference, her mother read Peyton's poetry;
her presentation knocked my socks off. Our presentation of Irish dance
that evening had a similar effect on her, as she needed strong
persuasion by her father to leave us after we finished our show and took
time to meet her and her family.
Until the bonds were
broken as a young adult, she was thought to be severely intellectually
disabled, and faced a life I wouldn't wish on my worse enemies. In her
book, I am Intelligent, co-authored by her mother Dianne Goddard, Peyton
chronicles an interior life and incredible journey filled with despair
and hope. Her breakthrough came, when at age 22, she typed "i am
intlgnt" on an electronic device offered by Dr. Robert Friedman-who,
like her parents, knew that Peyton had much to share with the world
after being dismissed. She is the first person in the US to graduate as
valedictorian from college using facilitated communication. Her book is
not for the faint of heart, but I couldn't put it down as I laughed,
cried, and gasped through the contents.
Billy won't have to wait
22.7 million minutes to try to gain access to his brother's disabled
iPod. Someone will figure out how to fix it. This energetic teen is
already proving what Anne and other family members knew all along: that
he possesses gifts which need to be unwrapped and enjoyed. We all do.
