Nebraska teens with autism show brotherly love as they run toward cross-country success

From the Omaha World-Herald:

Asked to spell their last name, Jerome Hopkins IV and younger brother Jerome “BJ” Hopkins V take turns, each saying every other letter.

They do that sort of thing a lot, said John Kaup, a teacher and coach at their school, Nathan Hale Middle School.

The boys, both autistic, like to dress alike and always call each other “bro.” When they were young, they often communicated in a language no one else could understand. Now, when they play video games, it’s two against the computer or game console.

Their father, Jerome Hopkins III, recalled that when his sons were diagnosed with autism, “We were told all of this stuff they can’t do.”

That’s what makes what happened at the city cross-country finals so amazing to him — an inspiration, he says, not only for the new year but for the rest of his life. He saw his sons’ commitment pay off for themselves and also inspire others to apply that same tenacity to their own lives.

Even now, midway between the cross country season the boys finished and the track season they’re looking forward to, people still talk about that day. Hale Principal Sue Colvin said the adults who were there were touched because Jerome’s action on behalf of his brother “was just out of love.”

The brothers, now 13 and 14, were born 15 months apart.

By the time the boys were 3 and 4, Hopkins and his wife, Tina, were told to expect their sons to struggle academically, have a hard time making friends and often to seem disengaged.

“It was like they were telling us this is the worst possible situation you could have,” Hopkins recalled. “Your child isn’t going to have a shot to fulfill that potential.”

Autism describes an array of developmental disorders that affect brain development, and social and communication skills. Symptoms range from mild to severe, and the diagnosis is much more common today than it was when the Hopkins boys were diagnosed.

Jerome and Tina Hopkins have worked diligently with doctors and educators to support their sons, but they took the arguably unconventional approach of not telling their boys they had autism until earlier this school year.

“We didn’t want them to have in their minds: ‘I’m different and I can’t do this,’” Hopkins said. Instead, the parents always have encouraged the boys to “just take it step by step and see what they can do.”

The boys are doing well in school. They’re described as “nice to everybody.” They both speak thoughtfully and very literally, usually Jerome first with BJ piping in.

They have their own small groups of friends in their respective seventh- and eighth-grade classes, but they often prefer to stick together.

So, when BJ wanted to try cross-country this fall, Jerome was there, too.

Sometimes during practice, Coach Kaup recalled, the boys seemed like they were daydreaming. But they showed up to practice every day — committed, as their parents had taught — and never complained.

Coach Kaup spent more than four weeks of practice during the short Omaha Public Schools middle school season convincing the boys that it was OK to run separately.

To help, he shared something from his college running days. During practice, his coach would have all runners who finished the race run back to the teammate who still had the farthest to go. They all then would finish together.

“Jerome would say it didn’t feel right to run without his brother,” Kaup recalled.

All year, the team focused on personal victories — learning that finishing is winning, and how positive support for teammates can make a big difference.

As the season went on, training became a family affair. On Saturdays, the boys would come to Hale, near 61st Street and Sorensen Parkway, to stretch and run with their dad.

Every day at practice, without hesitation, Jerome and Coach Kaup would run back for BJ. But it never happened in a race.

City finals finally arrived. The last 1.75-mile race of the season, at northwest Omaha’s Tranquility Park.

It was a hot day. Mom and Dad were there to watch and cheer on their boys, as they were for every race. Grasshoppers were jumping all around the course as the 125 or so middle schoolers took off.

The path was dusty, the other runners were packed in close.

Jerome started near the front of the pack and ran his best race, more than a minute faster than his previous best. The colors of people’s shirts seemed to encourage him to run fast, Jerome recalled. He finished in the top half of the throng of runners for the first time all year.

Crossing the finish line, Jerome felt like he’d won. Really won. But after a few steps, he thought about his brother.

BJ gets exhausted sometimes. When running makes his side hurt he slows down.

Jerome didn’t want his brother to be last, didn’t want him to be alone. So, he backtracked the course, looking for BJ.

In the clamor of runners that day, Kaup said, he didn’t notice that Jerome wasn’t in the pack of Hale students watching the finish.

As the stream of finishers became a trickle, there still was no sign of BJ.

“It was a million miles,” BJ said of that race. He remembers being about halfway through the course in a flat area with trees.

“Then I saw my bro come. He said we could both win the race together.”

So they did. They kept running, together, encouraging each other. For another eight minutes.

As the boys came into view, the crowd began to cheer. Those who knew them both got even louder as they saw the brothers running side by side. Kaup, other Hale staff and the Hopkinses were shocked at what was happening.

“I yelled louder for those two coming to the finish line than I ever have for two runners in any race,” Kaup said.

BJ still remembers the look on his father’s face as he crossed the finish. “I could tell he was proud.”

“They finished it together,” Hopkins said of that late September day, a bit choked up all these months later. “It was — it was almost unreal. I can’t tell you how proud I was. ... Those are my boys. They’re winners. A race will come and go, but the impact that that race is going to have is going to live on.

“It’s an inspiration. It tells you what is possible if you only believe” in yourself.

No matter what anyone else says you cannot do.

Kaup said the students realized they were seeing in action what they had talked about all year: that personal victories matter and encouragement of each other makes a difference.

Jerome put it this way: “I had a choice. I could take the credit (for finishing the race) or I could help someone in need.”

He chose to help his “bro.”