"iPod is disabled. Try again in 22,718,572 minutes."

"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.