by Valerie Marchese, Board of Niños con Autismo

One chilly December morning when I returned home after an early morning Zumba class in Parque Juárez, two little boys were sitting quietly on the couch in the living room. They wore matching Christmas sweaters with huge Santa faces splayed across their chests and looked to be perhaps seven and nine years old.

The younger one smiled at me. He had thick, dark curly locks and giant brown eyes, and a few teeth missing. I asked his name. A word tumbled around in his mouth, but only a syllable escaped.

I turned to the older boy. His eyes darted away from me. He mumbled something slightly more intelligible than his younger brother, but he had a look about him that set him apart from other boys his age.

My housekeeper entered the room and explained that the boys were her grandchildren. She had brought them because their parents were both working, and there was no one to care for them. She hoped I wouldn't mind.

I decided to play with them. After that day, they showed up every Saturday morning, running to hug me. They asked their grandmother if they could call me abuela. We went to the Biblioteca to take out children's books, which I read to them as they cuddled up next to me. The Spanish edition of Clifford, the Big Red Dog was their favorite. We played Loteria, the Mexican version of Bingo, but with colorful images on cards and the word associated with each image at the bottom of the card. I gave them colored pencils and paper to draw images and write letters and numbers.

This was a different experience from playing with my own grandchildren. The brothers' speech was, for the most part, garbled. While they recognized images to match with those on the Loteria cards, they had not even the most basic understanding of the printed words. They could barely write their names, nothing more. Although they could count to ten, the simplest math eluded them. Her grandchildren, my housekeeper explained, suffer from autism.

Autism is a neuro diversity disorder with a broad spectrum of symptoms and different levels of severity. In clinical-speak, people with autism are called "autistas." It's a label I resist using, because, to me, it suggests they are defined by their disorder, rather than by any positive qualities they possess.

At school, my housekeeper's grandchildren sat in the back of a classroom of 35 children. They were unable to learn. There was no one to help them. At recess, they were bullied.

One day, I told the children my husband and I were taking a trip to Japan. I asked if they would like to see where Japan was on the map. They nodded. I pulled up the largest image I could find on my computer and pointed to Japan's location. The older boy, whose autism was clearly more severe than his younger brother's, began to point to all the other countries on the map, naming them in succession. I was stunned. Locked inside this boy was the potential to learn. But not by traditional methods. I began to look for resources in San Miguel that provide therapy to autistic children.

Only one organization surfaced in my research: Niños con Autismo. I learned that at their center in the La Luz neighborhood, they custom tailor therapeutic treatment to the needs of each child, following in-depth evaluation. The cost is high, most certainly unaffordable to the parents of "my" boys. However, many of the children are awarded scholarships, dependent on donations from people like us.

I proposed sending the children for evaluation. Their parents resisted. The therapy sessions would require taking them by bus to the center twice a week. The parents were too tired, they said. With help from my housekeeper, we convinced them to speak to the director, who encouraged them to move ahead with treatment. In truth, it was the boys' only chance at becoming independent adults.

The older boy had a difficult time at first. He was out of control in the early sessions but came to settle down soon after. The younger, it turned out, had verbal communication issues, treatable with speech and other therapies. Good news.

Following seven months of therapy, the boys were already making advances. I went on my own to the Biblioteca and filled a bag with picture books. When the children arrived at my house, the older one spotted the bag. He reached in and pulled out a book, then proceeded to read the title to me. His face beamed with pride; my eyes filled with tears.

From the time we moved to San Miguel a year ago, I had been searching for a purpose. The purpose found me. I now serve on the board of Niños con Autismo, where every day we witness miracles large and small.

At Niños con Autismo, our mission is to unlock the promise in every child and young adult with autism and prepare them to thrive in the world around them, by providing the therapeutic help they need.

www.ninosconautismosma.org

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Valerie Marchese, following an advertising career at Young & Rubicam and J. Walter Thompson in New York City, established her own strategic marketing communications consultancy – Marchese Communication. Valerie was a founder of the Breast Cancer Alliance in Greenwich, CT, which now contributes over $1.5 million annually to breast cancer research. Before moving to San Miguel, Valerie was an active volunteer at BEAM, a Jacksonville Beach, Florida non-profit, a community-based organization serving low-income residents.

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