From the intro to a story in the Dallas Morning News:The twiggy boy who greets strangers at his Cedar Hill home with a handshake and an impish grin bears no resemblance to the toddler who shied away from contact, screamed when he had to walk down the stairs and spent hours staring at the ceiling fan.
Roman Scott's cheerfully innocuous disposition belies the whirlwind he's stirring in autism circles. He's the subject of his mother's book, which claims he overcame the disorder after her intensive 2 ½ -year training program. Raindrops on Roman was released this month in conjunction with Autism Awareness Month.
On one level, Elizabeth Scott's account has stoked existing controversy among autism experts who question whether situations like Roman's are a promising development or a case of false hope. But it also reveals how the state's limited services have forced parents into the unwitting role of therapist, caretaker and healer. (Roman and Elizabeth Scott are pictured.)
Texas is "on the bottom of the totem pole in terms of resources," said Michelle Guppy, who runs Texas Autism Advocacy, an online network intended to help parents navigate the state's bureaucracy.
Her 15-year-old autistic son waited eight years before he received services from the state. By that time, the family had gone $60,000 into debt and had yanked him out of therapy.
"I could help one son now and that takes away college for the other and I couldn't do that," said Guppy, who applauds the book's inspirational tone and instructive suggestions. "Who knows – he could have been one of those recovered kids.""If there is a story of recovery and this is it, then parents need to know about it," Elizabeth Scott said, as 7-year-old Roman alternated between building his Lego city and watching Tom and Jerry in the living room.
Scott, who has a master's in elementary education, said she had to try something as she watched Roman choke on his food, churn his hands in circles, throw tantrums at the sight of a camera, smack the television every morning or fight the sensation of a toothbrush.
"I needed to work all day to keep him from retreating into his own world," she said. "I ran the Boston Marathon, and that was cake compared to this."
Frustrated with only two hours a week of ECI therapy, she stopped working and dedicated herself to re-training her son. Her husband continued to work nights as a computer analyst for J.C. Penney.
She turned her sitting room into a work space with shoe-lacing activities and puzzles for fine motor skills, word charts for language development, and a spot for timeout. The "skills and drills" took at least 10 hours a day, from songs at breakfast to spelling in the bathtub at night.
Three months into the regime, Roman started talking. Then the recurring laps around the house stopped. Slowly, he started responding to the reading drills. By 4, he tested out of special education.
