The following was written by Seton’s big sister for her freshman English honors class.
As we sat on the floor of Ayla’s bedroom wearing our last day of second grade t-shirts, crowns, sashes, and whatever else our parents could find on Amazon, Ayla’s little sister barged in demanding to play with the four of us. As Ayla pushed her out of the room and shut the door everyone began to share stories about their younger siblings, I kept silent. I couldn’t relate to anything they were saying. If I said something none of them would relate or understand. On October 12th, 2011 my younger brother, Seton was born. I loved him, I was so excited to be a big sister and play with him, but as Seton grew he struggled. At age two he still hardly spoke at all. Once six months had passed by with no advancement my parents decided to take him to the doctor and that’s where he was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder.
Although my parents tried to explain why Seton was different from other kids, I didn’t understand. Seton was still the same brother I loved and wanted to spend all my time with. The first time I remember my parents explaining Autism to me and actually understanding was when I was six or seven. However, my brother running around the house with a ball and having a babysitter while my mom took Seton to, speech therapy, occupational therapy and more was completely normal in my mind. I was used to the loud, echoing sound of his bright red ball bouncing throughout the house. I could understand his “words” that anyone outside of my family could not understand.
In my fourth grade in my class my teacher, Mrs. Jackson, started a class discussion about our siblings which I did not enjoy even hearing others funny stories about their siblings. So, again, I stayed quiet- just like I had at Ayla’s house. Until I was called on by my teacher and then the words flew out of my mouth in an attempt to not seem like I had a weird brother, I shouted “My brother’s autistic!”. The whole class just stared at me like I was an alien who just waltzed into class and sat down next to them. “Can you explain what that means, Riley?” Mrs. Jackson asked with a big smile on her face revealing her perfectly white teeth. “Um, it means he learns differently than other people and his brain works differently.” I could feel my cheeks getting red. I just stared at the multiplication table poster on the wall, trying to avoid eye contact with any of my classmates. “Thank you, Riley ”, my teacher said so softly compared to her usual, projecting voice.
About halfway through my fourth grade year we began learning about different types of essays and then were asked to write an example. The first one was a persuasive essay, the topic was if students with low grades should be allowed to play sports. One reason I said they should be allowed to was because it would be harder for students with learning disabilities which I felt very strongly about because of my brother. Class discussions were also a part of this lesson and once again I felt singled out. I was called on to share my opinion and I mentioned one of the reasons being kids with disabilities may have a harder time getting good grades. When I tried to start my next sentence I was interrupted by someone across the room saying “Riley has a brother who has a learning disability so she knows a lot about it. That’s a good argument, Riley”. My face turned pink just like it had earlier in the year. Although I sat in the back of the class every student in the class had turned around to look at me. I love my brother and he wasn’t trying to make me feel this way but at moments like this I couldn’t help but wish he was just “normal”. I hated myself for thinking that but at the same time the feeling of being singled out was so horrible with everyone looking at me.
As I got older I felt more and more worried about being judged for what I said about Seton and if he would be made fun of by other kids. At the same time I didn’t have anyone I could talk to about how I was feeling. None of my friends had autistic siblings and neither of my parents knew what it was like and I felt alone. Until I did talk to my mom. She instantly researched books written from the perspective of kids with disabled siblings and found a group for me to try an hour away. The group wasn’t helpful but the books and knowing I actually could talk to my mom changed how I felt entirely.
Through talking about how I felt I learned to not care as much. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if someone thought I was weird for my brother because I knew how amazing he was. Now, in ninth grade, I like to go to Unified Club and make sure everyone can be included in after-school activities. I tell as many people as I can to join the club and I love discussing how kids with disabilities are being included more with my mom even though I am not allowed in the room where these meetings happen. Once my whole family began talking about Seton more, all of us got support we didn’t know we needed. For instance now my mom is involved in communities within the Peninsula School District to promote more kids getting chances to do more activities.
Though I still worry about Seton being made fun of, I’ve realized that he’s going to be okay. Seton is the funniest person I know and he has the quickest multiplication and division skills I have ever seen. Seton is one of my favorite people in the whole world and he has taught me to never judge someone based on what you can physically see.