In a Different Key: The Story of Autism by John Donvan, Caren Zucker Page B
Authors: John Donvan, Caren Zucker
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through a phase when he was obsessed with death and brought every dead bird or bug he found back to the house. The Lewises could be tough with Donald, and they did take a switch to him when he misbehaved. But with the birds and the bugs, they understood that Donald was trying to figure out something important. Instead of punishing him for dirtying the house, they pointed to a little parcel of open ground near the house and told him he could lay all the creatures to rest there. Donald built his little graveyard enthusiastically, not only burying every deceased thing he found, but doing so with an air of formality.
When Kanner strolled into Donald’s little cemetery, he saw that he had given names to all the creatures buried there, erecting smallwooden markers over each grave and making them all members of the Lewis family. The one that stuck in Kanner’s mind was inscribed “John Snail Lewis. Born, date unknown . ” For the date of departure from this life, Donald listed the date on which he’d found the snail’s remains.
Donald flourished under the regimen of farm life. In Kanner’s estimation, living there for a period of time was one of the best things that ever happened to Donald. The farm offered an ideal balance of restrictions and freedoms. Donald became more verbal, more creative, and more accomplished at completing complex tasks. He also basked in a kind of freedom he never had in town: the freedom to explore, to go over to the next field to find birds and bugs, without giving anyone cause to worry that cars might run him down.
After a while, the Lewises began bringing him to a nearby country school every day to resume his education. It was a better fit for Donald than the school in town for one simple reason: it was a one-room schoolhouse. By its very nature, it had to tailor itself to children learning different material on different schedules. As for Donald’s social peculiarities, they were accommodated without too much fuss—another benefit of being in an environment that was less caught up with appearances.
In this setting, Donald began writing letters home, using complete sentences and correct spelling—mostly—and sharing concrete details about his days with the Lewises. A few days before Mother’s Day in 1944, he picked up a pencil and wrote to Mary that he had been to the town of Salem to make a purchase. “Mr. Ernest told me that I have to have a rose for Mother’s Day,” he wrote. “He told me that a red rose was to show that the mother was still living. A white rose is to show that the mother is dead.” He also mentioned that he had been playing ball and that “the score I made was…5/74.” He signed it “Donald G. T. Lewis.” Mary preserved this letter for the rest of her life.
Donald would always remember those years as happy ones, when he belonged to two families. It was an arrangement in which he was doubly loved and doubly protected, and was spared the awful things happening to so many other children like him—children who were stuck in large institutions, often neglected and sometimes abused,because, unlike the Tripletts, their parents lacked the resources to create something better.
Kanner was thrilled to see Donald growing and learning so much. While the boy’s overall improvement could be labeled “moderate,” moderate in the context of Donald’s development was like a leap across an abyss. Donald was proof that at least some children could leave the most debilitating aspects of autism behind, and that it was worth trying to encourage that process.
6
SOME KIND OF GENIUS
W hen Donald was fourteen years old, he suddenly became very ill. He was with the Lewises when the symptoms began. It was chills at first. Then fever. Then chills again. It was so bad that the Lewises let him off from his chores and had him stay in bed. Then his joints began acting up too. It hurt to bend his arms and legs. The pain became excruciating. The Lewises, alarmed, packed Donald into
When Kanner strolled into Donald’s little cemetery, he saw that he had given names to all the creatures buried there, erecting smallwooden markers over each grave and making them all members of the Lewis family. The one that stuck in Kanner’s mind was inscribed “John Snail Lewis. Born, date unknown . ” For the date of departure from this life, Donald listed the date on which he’d found the snail’s remains.
Donald flourished under the regimen of farm life. In Kanner’s estimation, living there for a period of time was one of the best things that ever happened to Donald. The farm offered an ideal balance of restrictions and freedoms. Donald became more verbal, more creative, and more accomplished at completing complex tasks. He also basked in a kind of freedom he never had in town: the freedom to explore, to go over to the next field to find birds and bugs, without giving anyone cause to worry that cars might run him down.
After a while, the Lewises began bringing him to a nearby country school every day to resume his education. It was a better fit for Donald than the school in town for one simple reason: it was a one-room schoolhouse. By its very nature, it had to tailor itself to children learning different material on different schedules. As for Donald’s social peculiarities, they were accommodated without too much fuss—another benefit of being in an environment that was less caught up with appearances.
In this setting, Donald began writing letters home, using complete sentences and correct spelling—mostly—and sharing concrete details about his days with the Lewises. A few days before Mother’s Day in 1944, he picked up a pencil and wrote to Mary that he had been to the town of Salem to make a purchase. “Mr. Ernest told me that I have to have a rose for Mother’s Day,” he wrote. “He told me that a red rose was to show that the mother was still living. A white rose is to show that the mother is dead.” He also mentioned that he had been playing ball and that “the score I made was…5/74.” He signed it “Donald G. T. Lewis.” Mary preserved this letter for the rest of her life.
Donald would always remember those years as happy ones, when he belonged to two families. It was an arrangement in which he was doubly loved and doubly protected, and was spared the awful things happening to so many other children like him—children who were stuck in large institutions, often neglected and sometimes abused,because, unlike the Tripletts, their parents lacked the resources to create something better.
Kanner was thrilled to see Donald growing and learning so much. While the boy’s overall improvement could be labeled “moderate,” moderate in the context of Donald’s development was like a leap across an abyss. Donald was proof that at least some children could leave the most debilitating aspects of autism behind, and that it was worth trying to encourage that process.
6
SOME KIND OF GENIUS
W hen Donald was fourteen years old, he suddenly became very ill. He was with the Lewises when the symptoms began. It was chills at first. Then fever. Then chills again. It was so bad that the Lewises let him off from his chores and had him stay in bed. Then his joints began acting up too. It hurt to bend his arms and legs. The pain became excruciating. The Lewises, alarmed, packed Donald into
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