At this time, I rode a school bus across town to attend a preschool a few miles away. This bus parked at the end of my driveway and my mom walked me out to the bus to make sure I got on. This particular morning, I had received some stickers that I was very excited about. I held them and played with them and had a good old time. When I was walking out to the bus, I dropped the stickers and they started to blow away. I remember pulling at my mom’s hands, trying to tell her that I wanted to pick up the stickers. She didn't understand me and carried me to the bus. At that point, I got really upset, crying and screaming. It was plain to me what I was trying to say. I wanted the stickers. It wasn't like it would take a lot of time. Why wouldn't she let me pick up the stickers?
At that time, I didn't understand that my mom couldn't tell that I was saying; that my garbled words did not have any meaning to her. It was at that point when I realized I was different. That memory has stayed with me at age twenty three, more than twenty years later. It was painful to experience at the time, and now I want to use it to help others who are dealing with the negative aspects of autism.