I Am in Here (9 page)

Despite the efforts of her teachers and classmates, Elizabeth's inability to participate in the constant chatter of the classroom magnified the social isolation inherent in autism.

  
I Am Happy
  

Can't they see what it's like to be me?

I am fine in this body of mine.

I just can't say what I would like to each day.

I wrote this poem because I am very aware of how some people stare at me. Some people also talk over me, about me, and sometimes like I am not there. I am, even if I cannot say so
.

Because Elizabeth excelled in math, Jennifer suggested she try fourth-grade math while she was still in third grade. To me, these are the bold moves that make great teachers. None of us knew how it would work out for Elizabeth, but we were willing to take a chance and be honest about assessing how our experiment was working. To our great delight, Elizabeth loved her new math teacher, Tim, and excelled, doing much of the work in her head.

At the end of third grade Jennifer suggested giving Elizabeth a reading test. Once again I was nervous about how Elizabeth would perform. She still had good days and not-so-good days. Terri and I again went over the testing environment to make it less likely that some catalyst, invisible to typical children, would set her off.

The test was administered on a computer, and the questions got harder with every right answer and easier with every wrong one. Elizabeth selected her answers on the computer keyboard completely independently until there were no more questions left. At the end of the test, she was analyzing passages from
Silas
Marner
and Shakespeare. Her reading level tested equivalent to a senior in high school. We had been reading high school texts to her during the summer, and it was a joy to see that they had made an impact on her.

With these capabilities going into fourth grade, we knew that Elizabeth needed a teacher who would challenge her as well as nurture her. Annie was just such a teacher. She could see Elizabeth's intelligence underneath the unusual behaviors. She didn't mind that Elizabeth was flapping her hands as long as she was learning.

One of the most touching things ever said about Elizabeth came from Annie shortly into our relationship. She said, “I
could
constantly be trying to determine what Elizabeth doesn't know. Instead, I
choose
to explore what she does know.” Great teachers believe in their students.

Naturally, Elizabeth wanted to continue her advanced math studies, but in fifth grade it seemed like her luck had run out. Unlike the previous year, she could no longer just go down the hall to take math with kids who were a year older. Fifth-grade math was in another building across the street in our town's middle school. Aligning the schedules just wouldn't work.

Then another solution was sent from heaven. Kerri, Elizabeth's SEEK teacher, volunteered to learn the fifth-grade math curriculum and give up her coveted prep time to teach her. With one-on-one attention, Elizabeth learned at her own pace and developed a deep, trusting relationship with Kerri. Together they completed the entire fifth-grade math curriculum and had time to spare.

These teachers are How People who never stop asking, “How can I make this work for this child?” They exist in every school system, and you can find them by asking around. They stand
out because they see each child as a gift. They are creative and send emails with new ideas. They are nurturing and create an atmosphere of acceptance. We have been blessed to have worked with many of these teaching marvels shoulder-to-shoulder on a daily basis to make mainstream elementary school work for Elizabeth.

A Little Help from My Friends

With dear friends at my birthday party

  
Compassion
  

There are people everywhere.

They could use a prayer.

Today.

Everyone has a need.

Take it to God with speed.

(age 9)

There are many things people have to deal with. I deal with autism. Some people are sick, lonely, depressed, homeless, and hungry. Everyone could use prayer
.

W
hen I worked on Wall Street, I commuted through the World Trade Center and often passed a severely disabled man in a wheelchair sitting in front of the South Tower, running his business. He had a large, wooden tray perched in front of him filled with gum, candy, and umbrellas. A white cardboard sign that hung off the front of the tray read, “Don't feel sorry for me. Buy something!”

Rain, shine, and biting cold, Al would be sitting there, often accompanied by his longtime friend and business partner, Junior. I got to know Al and Junior over the years as I bought many Hershey bars and packs of Juicy Fruit gum. On some occasions, if the sun was shining and I wasn't late, I tried to talk a bit with Al, although he had great difficulty speaking. But we kept at it, having ever-longer conversations.

I learned that Al had cerebral palsy and although his body was a gnarled mess, his mind was sharp as a tack. He and Junior had met thirty years earlier on the mean streets of Newark, New Jersey, when fifteen-year-old Junior had tried to steal a candy bar off Al's cart. They now lived together at a local YWCA, where Junior took care of Al's extensive physical needs and Al helped Junior, who was mentally disabled. They were How People for each other.

Here was an elderly, Jewish, ninety-pounds-soaking-wet, handicapped man who somehow found a simple but strong,
young, black man, and they had been taking care of each other for almost three decades. God works in mysterious ways.

Like his sign indicated, Al never felt sorry for himself. He liked to take the bus to Atlantic City and play blackjack. He claimed to have won a lot of money counting cards, and I don't doubt it.

As Al and I became friends, I started to store umbrellas for him in my office. On rainy days, Junior would show up in the forty-second floor lobby of one of Wall Street's storied investment banks, and any of the secretaries would happily bring him a box of his umbrellas if I was unavailable to do it myself.

Al belonged to Jews for Jesus, and his prayer group was often found in front of the New York Stock Exchange. On sunny days I sometimes joined him, eating my lunch as the prayer group sang gospel songs. Sometimes we talked, but many times we just sat together, because speaking took a lot of effort for Al. Sometimes he would have to repeat a sentence two or three times, spelling out difficult words, before I would get it. Then he would laugh uncontrollably when I finally did. Just like Elizabeth, he was in there.

Those days with Al eerily remind me of my struggles to understand Elizabeth. She will try to say something, and I just can't understand it. I will bring out the letterboard, and she will start banging her head out of frustration. That's why we usually just sit together, listening to music, just like with Al.

  
Shine Bright
  

If I were a star

I would burn bright

In the night sky

I would be far

That way I could have my own place

In space

Away from other stars

So that I would stand out

And be noticed for who I am

And not what people expect me to be

I sometimes get overlooked or lost in the crowd. I want people to see and hear me.

During the years that I held umbrellas for Al, another fellow would sometimes stop and chat with him as well. On the mornings when Al was struggling through a conversation with this dapper gent using Junior as an interpreter, I would pass by and get on to my office. One sunny day, I decided to introduce myself.

The fellow, Chuck, had been with a large investment bank and now ran his own fund with a couple of colleagues a few blocks away. Al had also gotten Chuck to store his umbrellas. In fact, Chuck had been warehousing umbrellas longer than I had and threw Al a birthday party every year. Chuck stood out in the Wall Street crowd.

In time, Chuck and I were grabbing lunch together to talk about our friends Al and Junior. Was there anywhere else they could live
other than that spartan YWCA? Did they get the right medical care? Was Al losing all their money on those trips to Atlantic City?

We would scheme about how to bring these topics up with Al, because he was a proud, headstrong man who didn't want anyone telling him what to do.

One of our big victories was getting Al to change his will. In Al's old will, he left all his worldly possessions to Social Security because he said that he had received benefits all those years and if there was any money left after he died, they should have it back. After many talks with him, Chuck and I were able to convince him that Junior needed the money more than the federal government did.

When I was deciding what to do next in my own career, it was natural for me to ask Chuck's advice over one of our lunches. I was deciding between starting my own venture fund and joining a nonprofit firm.

Seven years earlier, I fell into venture capital as a stroke of luck, not realizing how well it fit with my entrepreneurial roots. My parents owned and operated eleven different “mom and pop” businesses over forty years. When I was five years old, I bagged rabbit pellets for five cents a bag in their pet shop, and when I was ten years old I graduated to punching out lottery tickets in their deli.

To my delight, venture capitalists get to invest other people's money in promising companies and work with spirited entrepreneurs to help those companies grow. None of my parents' businesses would have been ambitious enough to take venture capital, but living in an entrepreneurial family gave me the itch to raise my own venture fund.

As we contemplated my next move, Chuck took a bite of his sandwich and said, “It seems obvious to me. People need jobs. Give them a fishing pole, not a basket of fish.” And with
a twinkle in his eye, he added, “I would be delighted to be your first investor.” I was floored.

That is how it began, and I have been on my own ever since. To this day I credit Al, by way of his linking me with Chuck, with giving me the gift of my own business. This blessing of being an entrepreneur has given me flexibility I never thought I would need. In between all of the conference calls and board meetings, I can take the children to their doctors' appointments and have meetings at school. I have been blessed by my communion and community with others.

For me, community isn't simply a series of quid pro quo transactions in which we receive good things for ourselves in equal measure as a reward for doing good things for others. Rather, when we take the risk of investing in the lives of others, we are engaging in the fundamental act of community building. We sow the seeds of compassion in the soil of our neighbors' lives. When that soil bears fruit, it sustains us all. It is a life-giving cycle of mutual support. Our relationships are like a garden: the more we tend them, the more they grow.

  
A Bloom
  

Plant a garden,

Watch it grow.

The more you tend it,

The more you will sow.

People are like that as well.

You have to remember

To treat them well,

And they too will grow

And bloom for you.

Growth is a part of life: from the tiniest thing to the highest mountain.

With my flexible work schedule, I have been able to take Elizabeth to Austin for weeklong camps with Soma to improve her facility with the letterboard. These camps focus on academic lessons, but I always bring a list of questions because I yearn to hear Elizabeth's thoughts. Elizabeth will type out short answers for me, longer ones with Terri, but she saves her deepest thoughts for Soma.