Stand-up success for British 'Lost Voice Guy' comic with CP

To contact us Click HERE
From the BBC:

The 31-year-old from County Durham said he always wanted to be able to tell jokes and make people laugh
Born with cerebral palsy, Lee Ridley does not have a voice of his own. But that has not stopped him from braving the stage as a stand-up comedian.
The 31-year-old, from County Durham, dreamed of being able to make people laugh. Now, with the help of a voice synthesiser, he is doing just that.

Appearances at Newcastle comedy clubs have led to his debut at the Edinburgh Fringe.

Now, he has been offered a support spot with one of the UK's most successful comedians, Ross Noble.
The self-titled "Lost Voice Guy" has won over audiences with cutting observations about his own and other disabilities as well as more mainstream topics like politics and the media.

He has the support of his family and employer, Sunderland City Council, where he is part of the public relations department.

Lee uses a tablet computer to pre-programme his routine, which is then reproduced on stage and on cue through a voice synthesiser.

"I've always loved comedy, but I never thought about doing stand-up," he said. "Then last year some friends suggested it might work.

"I let the idea stay in the back of my mind until I eventually decided to give it a go."

He approached organisers of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, who offered the City Cafe as a venue. So far, two planned shows have turned into three after a surge in demand for tickets.

"I'm going to do some new stuff and some of my old stuff in Edinburgh, just to mix it up a bit.

"Most of it revolves around the funny side of my disability. I'll do a similar thing at Ross' gig.

"My family are coming up and we've had to add a third show due to demand."

He said he was "immensely pleased" to be offered a support spot with North East-born Ross Noble - one of the UK's most successful comedians.

Lee said: "He's doing a warm-up show for his tour at The Stand club in Newcastle in September and he asked me if I wanted to do the warm up spot for it.

"I could never turn down an opportunity like that. Ross has had such a big influence on me comedy-wise. I was over the moon when he asked. It means an awful lot.

"After Edinburgh, I've got more gigs around the UK. I'm just enjoying myself at the minute and not worrying about the future too much. But I intend to keep my job with Sunderland Council, who have been very supportive."

Author's childhood with dyslexia, stories on deaf community lead to book about children who have little in common with their parents

To contact us Click HERE
From The NY Times:

Andrew Solomon’s enormous new book, “Far From the Tree: Parents, Children, and the Search for Identity,” is about children who are born or who grow up in ways their parents never expected. It’s a subject Mr. Solomon knows from experience. He was dyslexic as a child and struggled to learn to read. As he described in “The Noonday Demon,” which won a National Book Award in 2001, he once suffered from crippling, suicidal depressions. And Mr. Solomon is gay, which made his parents so uncomfortable that as a teenager he visited sexual surrogates in the hopes of “curing” himself. 
Mr. Solomon, 49, is also different — different from most writers, anyway — in that he is independently wealthy and lives in baronial splendor in a West Village town house that once belonged to Emma Lazarus, who, though she wrote about those poor, huddled masses, was not herself among them. The book party for “Far From the Tree” was held not in some editor’s cramped Upper West Side apartment but at the Temple of Dendur at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where Mr. Solomon has recently been named a trustee. 
William Davis, the father of an autistic son and one of the hundreds of parents and offspring Mr. Solomon interviewed for the book, recalled recently that he was a little taken aback when Mr. Solomon arrived at his home in Pennsylvania in a chauffeur-driven car. “But Andrew has a way of eliciting your true feelings,” he said. “You just trust him. You immediately want to pour your heart out to him.” 
He added: “He’s living in a different world from the one I’m used to, but it’s not a problem, because he doesn’t try to hide it. He’s not trying to be one of the guys. But you can tell he cares. You just want to hug him.” 
Sitting in the kitchen of his town house, occasionally raising his voice over the strident chirping of a canary named Barack — who flew in the window one day, recognized a nice situation and never left — Mr. Solomon explained that “Far from the Tree” took 11 years. It stemmed from a 1994 article about deafness he wrote for The New York Times Magazine. In the course of reporting it, he said, he realized that many issues confronting the deaf are not unlike those he faced as someone who was gay. A few years later, watching a documentary about dwarfism, he saw the same pattern again. 
Eventually the book grew to also include chapters on Down syndrome, autism, schizophrenia, disability, prodigies, transgender identity, children who are conceived during a rape and those who become criminals. His file of transcribed interviews swelled to 40,000 pages, and the version of the book he originally turned in to his publisher, Scribner, was twice as long as it is now. 
He called in the services of Alice Truax, a freelance editor, and together with Nan Graham, editor in chief and vice president of Scribner, they whittled it down to 700 pages, not counting notes. In an e-mail Ms. Truax said that she rarely cut entire families but rather tried to compress their stories. 
“Andrew and I were keenly aware of the cost of being involved in the project for the families who had participated,” she explained. “Many of them had given enormous amounts of not only time but emotional energy to the book, and we both felt strongly about honoring that as much as possible.” 
Mr. Solomon said he included criminal children after deciding that society’s thinking on the subject hadn’t really advanced very much, even while it has on autism and schizophrenia. “We still think it’s the parents’ fault if a child becomes a criminal or that something creepy must have gone on in that household,” he said. He included the children of rape because he discovered that their mothers shared a lot with all the other mothers in the book. “They feel alienated, disaffected, angry — a lot of the things a mother feels about a child with a disability.” 
This kind of commonality, he went on, was something he discovered only while writing. “Each of the conditions I describe is very isolating,” he said. “There aren’t that many dwarfs, there aren’t that many schizophrenics. There aren’t that many families dealing with a criminal kid — not so few but not so many. But if you recognize that there is a lot in common in all these experiences, they imply a world in which not only is your condition not so isolating but the fact of your difference unites you with other people.” 
His other great discovery, he added, was joy. He had been prepared to encounter sadness in the families he visited; what surprised him was how much love there was. “This book’s conundrum,” he writes, “is that most of the families described here ended up grateful for experiences they would have done anything to avoid.” 
Reviewing “Far From the Tree” in The Times, Dwight Garner said, “This is a book that shoots arrow after arrow into your heart.” But it’s also a frightening and disturbing book. Its chapters are a vivid catalog of all the things that can go wrong in giving birth to and then bring up a child, and also raise difficult ethical questions: whether it’s proper to give cochlear implants to deaf children or to subject dwarfs to painful limb-lengthening surgery, for example. 
But Mr. Solomon said that working on the book had emboldened him and his husband, John Habich, to have a child, something he had been ambivalent about before. Their son, George, born to a surrogate mother, is now 3 ½. 
“Forewarned is forearmed,” he said. “Some things, on some scale, go wrong in everyone’s life. I think I have perfectionist tendencies, but I know you can’t go into parenthood thinking, ‘I’m going to love my child as long as he’s perfect.’ Rather, it should be, ‘I’m going to love my child whoever he is, and let’s see how he turns out.’ ” 
Mr. Solomon — the kind of parent who is apt to give dramatic readings of storybooks — added that being a father has also made him more forgiving of his own parents. “If you’re confronted with a child who’s different, you have to go through this long process of learning to accept and perhaps celebrate the differences in your child,” he said. “The acceptance piece is hard. Part of what I learned from this book is that even for parents who do really well with these issues it’s hard. It was hard for my parents, and that made it harder for me, but I no longer see this as an unacceptable and startling flaw. I just see it as being the way it is.”

At Toronto's York University, students on the autism spectrum thrive in mentorship program

To contact us Click HERE
From The Star in Toronto, Canada:

Maze-like campuses, 500-seat lecture halls and life in residence. Hormones and parties. Alcohol and drugs. Sex.

Going to college or university is a big step for any young adult, let alone someone with autism.

Last year, more than 800 students with autism spectrum disorder (ASD) registered for support at Ontario colleges and universities — a number expected to grow as more children are diagnosed and treated earlier.

Most campuses are ill-prepared to serve this new population of often bright, but socially impaired students.

York University has taken an innovative approach with its Asperger mentorship program, which is winning praise from both students and experts.

The program is the brainchild of psychology professor James Bebko, who came up with the idea five years ago while helping the university’s disability office set up peer support for students with Asperger syndrome, a relatively mild form of autism.

Bebko, who has worked with children, adolescents and families affected by autism for 25 years, knows these students need more than just academic support to be successful at university. He thought his graduate students could help.

The program, which pairs psychology students with “Aspie” undergrads, is a win-win proposition. It gives his students practical experience in their field, while helping students with Asperger’s successfully navigate university life.

The ultimate goal is to ensure the dropout rate for students with autism is no higher than average. On that score alone, the program is a success, says Bebko, former director of York’s clinical-developmental psychology program.

“The mentors work with the students on all areas of concern, but the focus tends to be on the social and personal aspects of university.”

In high school, most students with autism are in highly structured programs with very engaged parents monitoring their every move. But in university, there is an increased expectation of independence. This is where students with Asperger’s often get into trouble.

“We have women putting themselves in risky sexual situations without the skills to cope,” he says. “For some students, it’s a challenge just to go to a coffee shop on campus. The needs are so broad and varied.”
Participants usually meet weekly with their mentor one-on-one and once a month as a group for dinner, plays or other activities.

The program has been funded since 2009 by the Counselling Foundation of Canada, which is providing a $224,000 four-year grant. It has served about 50 students since its inception, with 18 to 20 students matched with mentors each year.

Three students have graduated, some have switched universities for other academic programs, but most are still at York, a sign that the program is making a difference.

Bebko hopes a new manual he has written will be a guide for other institutions to follow.

Evguenia Ignatova, 21, joined the program three years ago when she began a degree in psychology. The Russian immigrant, who came to Toronto with her family when she was 4, says her mentor has helped her navigate university bureaucracy, compose emails and handle telephone calls.

“I find sometimes I call places and they don’t give me the right answers,” she says.

When Ignatova was feeling misunderstood by her boyfriend’s mother, she asked her mentor for advice on how to set the record straight.

“My mentor has helped me with emotional difficulties and personal problems,” she says. “Just talking about it has helped. It means I don’t have to burden my friends and acquaintances.”

Ignatova says her biggest challenge at university is communicating with her professors and dealing with anxiety.

“Sometimes when I ask questions, I do not get answers that are clear enough to understand and I worry that if I ask too many questions, the professors will find me annoying,” she says.

“In the past, I struggled with anxiety and depression due to the workload and the isolation that I imposed on myself as a result of my perfectionism about school work,” she says. “Having a mentor has really helped.”
York psychology PhD student Stephanie Brown has been a mentor for three years and also serves as the program’s co-ordinator.

Students have asked her advice on how to talk to professors, disclose their disability to others, and navigate friendships and romantic relationships.

“Sometimes the mentor may be more aware of a problem than the student,” she says. “You might notice the student has four agendas — one for each class — and suggest they might want to consolidate that into one.

“A highly academic student might say they have no concerns, but you notice they have two papers and an exam coming up for which they aren’t studying. Or they may tell you they have spent 14 hours on one paper and you notice they have been ignoring their other subjects,” she says.

On the personal side, Brown has counselled students on how to talk to strangers and stay safe.

She has cautioned female students against getting into a car alone with a stranger. And she has advised male students not to tell women they don’t know that they think their clothing is “really sexy.”

Mentors often meet students in small groups to practise conversation techniques, including how to ask questions that are appropriate and not too personal.

“One of our goals is to create a peer network for the students,” says Brown, 26. “We are mentors and facilitators. But we are not their friends.”

Working with the students has made Brown passionate about them and the program.

“Many individuals with ASD have wonderful strengths and skills,” she says. “They have worked very hard to get here and we should be doing everything we can to help them succeed.”

"Homeland's" Carrie character based on writer's sister with bipolar disorder

To contact us Click HERE
From Entertainment Weekly:

What makes Homeland's CIA genius tick? In part, TV writer Meredith Stiehm, who spins material for Claire Danes' fascinating character from her family's experience with bipolar disorder.

If you're fascinated by CIA operative Carrie Mathison's mental illness on Homeland, thank writer Meredith Stiehm. She's responsible for many of the Emmy-winning drama's most emotionally fraught episodes — "The Weekend," "The Vest" (co-written with Chip Johannessen), "New Car Smell" — that delve into the bipolar disorder of Claire Danes' character.

Some of Stiehm's inspiration comes from personal experience: Her sister has bipolar disorder. But Homeland's exec producers Howard Gordon and Alex Gansa didn't know the writer's family history when they asked her to join the show. The 44-year-old Emmy winner's reputation in Hollywood was for writing women in male-dominated fields — see her work on NYPD Blue and Cold Case — and the Showtime drama needed more X chromosomes in its all-male writers' room.

Explains Stiehm, "I became the person who studied...that aspect of the character." Research led her to interview her sister, attend a symposium on the illness, and watch clips of people in manic states. Stiehm's sister was moved to tears by the resemblance between Carrie's experiences and her own. Some scenes are difficult for her to watch, especially in "The Vest," when Carrie spends hours obsessively mapping out terrorist Abu Nazir's plans. "Grandiose thoughts are typical of someone who's manic," says Stiehm. A high-stakes work environment like the CIA only compounds the uncertainty. "Is it real or is it happening in [her] head?" she asks. "That's the beauty of Carrie. You don't know."

CUNY School of Professional Studies launches new online B.A. in Disability Studies

To contact us Click HERE
From CUNY. You can attend a webinar about the degree on Tuesday Dec. 4, 12:30-1:30 p.m. EST.

The City University of New York (CUNY) has launched its new online bachelor's degree in Disability Studies. The program is the first of its kind in the country geared to the educational needs of front-line direct support professionals, para-professionals, service coordinators, advocates, and parents. The program offers a fully-accredited degree at a reasonable cost from one of the nations most recognized universities.

Students in the Disability Studies program can choose one of four concentrations:

• Intellectual/Developmental Disabilities
• Autism Spectrum Disorder
• Mental/Behavioral Health
• Interdisciplinary Disability Studies 

Graduates from the B.A. in Disability Studies are equipped with the knowledge, values, and skills sought by agencies providing services to individuals in community programs.  The students will be prepared for advanced study in disability studies, social work, rehabilitation counseling, physical and occupational therapy, education, sociology, psychology, anthropology, and liberal studies.

Mariette Bates, Ph.D., Distinguished Lecturer, is the Academic Directorfor the B.A. in Disability Studies. Dr. Bates was formerly director of One to One, the foundation created by Geraldo Rivera after his exposé of Willowbrook State School. From 1983 to 2008 she was vice president of the Maidstone Foundation, where she worked with over 600 parents’ groups and emerging community organizations, specializing in systems change advocacy for underserved populations and strategic planning, board development and fundraising.  Mariette is a graduate of Empire State College, the Columbia University Institute for Not-for-Profit Management, and the Union Institute, where she was awarded her doctorate in philanthropy and developmental disabilities. She has received the Sussman Dissertation Prize, Outstanding Alumna awards from Empire State College and the Union Institute, several leadership awards from parents’ groups and the Self-Advocacy Association of New York State.

Stand-up success for British 'Lost Voice Guy' comic with CP

To contact us Click HERE
From the BBC:

The 31-year-old from County Durham said he always wanted to be able to tell jokes and make people laugh
Born with cerebral palsy, Lee Ridley does not have a voice of his own. But that has not stopped him from braving the stage as a stand-up comedian.
The 31-year-old, from County Durham, dreamed of being able to make people laugh. Now, with the help of a voice synthesiser, he is doing just that.

Appearances at Newcastle comedy clubs have led to his debut at the Edinburgh Fringe.

Now, he has been offered a support spot with one of the UK's most successful comedians, Ross Noble.
The self-titled "Lost Voice Guy" has won over audiences with cutting observations about his own and other disabilities as well as more mainstream topics like politics and the media.

He has the support of his family and employer, Sunderland City Council, where he is part of the public relations department.

Lee uses a tablet computer to pre-programme his routine, which is then reproduced on stage and on cue through a voice synthesiser.

"I've always loved comedy, but I never thought about doing stand-up," he said. "Then last year some friends suggested it might work.

"I let the idea stay in the back of my mind until I eventually decided to give it a go."

He approached organisers of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, who offered the City Cafe as a venue. So far, two planned shows have turned into three after a surge in demand for tickets.

"I'm going to do some new stuff and some of my old stuff in Edinburgh, just to mix it up a bit.

"Most of it revolves around the funny side of my disability. I'll do a similar thing at Ross' gig.

"My family are coming up and we've had to add a third show due to demand."

He said he was "immensely pleased" to be offered a support spot with North East-born Ross Noble - one of the UK's most successful comedians.

Lee said: "He's doing a warm-up show for his tour at The Stand club in Newcastle in September and he asked me if I wanted to do the warm up spot for it.

"I could never turn down an opportunity like that. Ross has had such a big influence on me comedy-wise. I was over the moon when he asked. It means an awful lot.

"After Edinburgh, I've got more gigs around the UK. I'm just enjoying myself at the minute and not worrying about the future too much. But I intend to keep my job with Sunderland Council, who have been very supportive."

Author's childhood with dyslexia, stories on deaf community lead to book about children who have little in common with their parents

To contact us Click HERE
From The NY Times:

Andrew Solomon’s enormous new book, “Far From the Tree: Parents, Children, and the Search for Identity,” is about children who are born or who grow up in ways their parents never expected. It’s a subject Mr. Solomon knows from experience. He was dyslexic as a child and struggled to learn to read. As he described in “The Noonday Demon,” which won a National Book Award in 2001, he once suffered from crippling, suicidal depressions. And Mr. Solomon is gay, which made his parents so uncomfortable that as a teenager he visited sexual surrogates in the hopes of “curing” himself. 
Mr. Solomon, 49, is also different — different from most writers, anyway — in that he is independently wealthy and lives in baronial splendor in a West Village town house that once belonged to Emma Lazarus, who, though she wrote about those poor, huddled masses, was not herself among them. The book party for “Far From the Tree” was held not in some editor’s cramped Upper West Side apartment but at the Temple of Dendur at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where Mr. Solomon has recently been named a trustee. 
William Davis, the father of an autistic son and one of the hundreds of parents and offspring Mr. Solomon interviewed for the book, recalled recently that he was a little taken aback when Mr. Solomon arrived at his home in Pennsylvania in a chauffeur-driven car. “But Andrew has a way of eliciting your true feelings,” he said. “You just trust him. You immediately want to pour your heart out to him.” 
He added: “He’s living in a different world from the one I’m used to, but it’s not a problem, because he doesn’t try to hide it. He’s not trying to be one of the guys. But you can tell he cares. You just want to hug him.” 
Sitting in the kitchen of his town house, occasionally raising his voice over the strident chirping of a canary named Barack — who flew in the window one day, recognized a nice situation and never left — Mr. Solomon explained that “Far from the Tree” took 11 years. It stemmed from a 1994 article about deafness he wrote for The New York Times Magazine. In the course of reporting it, he said, he realized that many issues confronting the deaf are not unlike those he faced as someone who was gay. A few years later, watching a documentary about dwarfism, he saw the same pattern again. 
Eventually the book grew to also include chapters on Down syndrome, autism, schizophrenia, disability, prodigies, transgender identity, children who are conceived during a rape and those who become criminals. His file of transcribed interviews swelled to 40,000 pages, and the version of the book he originally turned in to his publisher, Scribner, was twice as long as it is now. 
He called in the services of Alice Truax, a freelance editor, and together with Nan Graham, editor in chief and vice president of Scribner, they whittled it down to 700 pages, not counting notes. In an e-mail Ms. Truax said that she rarely cut entire families but rather tried to compress their stories. 
“Andrew and I were keenly aware of the cost of being involved in the project for the families who had participated,” she explained. “Many of them had given enormous amounts of not only time but emotional energy to the book, and we both felt strongly about honoring that as much as possible.” 
Mr. Solomon said he included criminal children after deciding that society’s thinking on the subject hadn’t really advanced very much, even while it has on autism and schizophrenia. “We still think it’s the parents’ fault if a child becomes a criminal or that something creepy must have gone on in that household,” he said. He included the children of rape because he discovered that their mothers shared a lot with all the other mothers in the book. “They feel alienated, disaffected, angry — a lot of the things a mother feels about a child with a disability.” 
This kind of commonality, he went on, was something he discovered only while writing. “Each of the conditions I describe is very isolating,” he said. “There aren’t that many dwarfs, there aren’t that many schizophrenics. There aren’t that many families dealing with a criminal kid — not so few but not so many. But if you recognize that there is a lot in common in all these experiences, they imply a world in which not only is your condition not so isolating but the fact of your difference unites you with other people.” 
His other great discovery, he added, was joy. He had been prepared to encounter sadness in the families he visited; what surprised him was how much love there was. “This book’s conundrum,” he writes, “is that most of the families described here ended up grateful for experiences they would have done anything to avoid.” 
Reviewing “Far From the Tree” in The Times, Dwight Garner said, “This is a book that shoots arrow after arrow into your heart.” But it’s also a frightening and disturbing book. Its chapters are a vivid catalog of all the things that can go wrong in giving birth to and then bring up a child, and also raise difficult ethical questions: whether it’s proper to give cochlear implants to deaf children or to subject dwarfs to painful limb-lengthening surgery, for example. 
But Mr. Solomon said that working on the book had emboldened him and his husband, John Habich, to have a child, something he had been ambivalent about before. Their son, George, born to a surrogate mother, is now 3 ½. 
“Forewarned is forearmed,” he said. “Some things, on some scale, go wrong in everyone’s life. I think I have perfectionist tendencies, but I know you can’t go into parenthood thinking, ‘I’m going to love my child as long as he’s perfect.’ Rather, it should be, ‘I’m going to love my child whoever he is, and let’s see how he turns out.’ ” 
Mr. Solomon — the kind of parent who is apt to give dramatic readings of storybooks — added that being a father has also made him more forgiving of his own parents. “If you’re confronted with a child who’s different, you have to go through this long process of learning to accept and perhaps celebrate the differences in your child,” he said. “The acceptance piece is hard. Part of what I learned from this book is that even for parents who do really well with these issues it’s hard. It was hard for my parents, and that made it harder for me, but I no longer see this as an unacceptable and startling flaw. I just see it as being the way it is.”

At Toronto's York University, students on the autism spectrum thrive in mentorship program

To contact us Click HERE
From The Star in Toronto, Canada:

Maze-like campuses, 500-seat lecture halls and life in residence. Hormones and parties. Alcohol and drugs. Sex.

Going to college or university is a big step for any young adult, let alone someone with autism.

Last year, more than 800 students with autism spectrum disorder (ASD) registered for support at Ontario colleges and universities — a number expected to grow as more children are diagnosed and treated earlier.

Most campuses are ill-prepared to serve this new population of often bright, but socially impaired students.

York University has taken an innovative approach with its Asperger mentorship program, which is winning praise from both students and experts.

The program is the brainchild of psychology professor James Bebko, who came up with the idea five years ago while helping the university’s disability office set up peer support for students with Asperger syndrome, a relatively mild form of autism.

Bebko, who has worked with children, adolescents and families affected by autism for 25 years, knows these students need more than just academic support to be successful at university. He thought his graduate students could help.

The program, which pairs psychology students with “Aspie” undergrads, is a win-win proposition. It gives his students practical experience in their field, while helping students with Asperger’s successfully navigate university life.

The ultimate goal is to ensure the dropout rate for students with autism is no higher than average. On that score alone, the program is a success, says Bebko, former director of York’s clinical-developmental psychology program.

“The mentors work with the students on all areas of concern, but the focus tends to be on the social and personal aspects of university.”

In high school, most students with autism are in highly structured programs with very engaged parents monitoring their every move. But in university, there is an increased expectation of independence. This is where students with Asperger’s often get into trouble.

“We have women putting themselves in risky sexual situations without the skills to cope,” he says. “For some students, it’s a challenge just to go to a coffee shop on campus. The needs are so broad and varied.”
Participants usually meet weekly with their mentor one-on-one and once a month as a group for dinner, plays or other activities.

The program has been funded since 2009 by the Counselling Foundation of Canada, which is providing a $224,000 four-year grant. It has served about 50 students since its inception, with 18 to 20 students matched with mentors each year.

Three students have graduated, some have switched universities for other academic programs, but most are still at York, a sign that the program is making a difference.

Bebko hopes a new manual he has written will be a guide for other institutions to follow.

Evguenia Ignatova, 21, joined the program three years ago when she began a degree in psychology. The Russian immigrant, who came to Toronto with her family when she was 4, says her mentor has helped her navigate university bureaucracy, compose emails and handle telephone calls.

“I find sometimes I call places and they don’t give me the right answers,” she says.

When Ignatova was feeling misunderstood by her boyfriend’s mother, she asked her mentor for advice on how to set the record straight.

“My mentor has helped me with emotional difficulties and personal problems,” she says. “Just talking about it has helped. It means I don’t have to burden my friends and acquaintances.”

Ignatova says her biggest challenge at university is communicating with her professors and dealing with anxiety.

“Sometimes when I ask questions, I do not get answers that are clear enough to understand and I worry that if I ask too many questions, the professors will find me annoying,” she says.

“In the past, I struggled with anxiety and depression due to the workload and the isolation that I imposed on myself as a result of my perfectionism about school work,” she says. “Having a mentor has really helped.”
York psychology PhD student Stephanie Brown has been a mentor for three years and also serves as the program’s co-ordinator.

Students have asked her advice on how to talk to professors, disclose their disability to others, and navigate friendships and romantic relationships.

“Sometimes the mentor may be more aware of a problem than the student,” she says. “You might notice the student has four agendas — one for each class — and suggest they might want to consolidate that into one.

“A highly academic student might say they have no concerns, but you notice they have two papers and an exam coming up for which they aren’t studying. Or they may tell you they have spent 14 hours on one paper and you notice they have been ignoring their other subjects,” she says.

On the personal side, Brown has counselled students on how to talk to strangers and stay safe.

She has cautioned female students against getting into a car alone with a stranger. And she has advised male students not to tell women they don’t know that they think their clothing is “really sexy.”

Mentors often meet students in small groups to practise conversation techniques, including how to ask questions that are appropriate and not too personal.

“One of our goals is to create a peer network for the students,” says Brown, 26. “We are mentors and facilitators. But we are not their friends.”

Working with the students has made Brown passionate about them and the program.

“Many individuals with ASD have wonderful strengths and skills,” she says. “They have worked very hard to get here and we should be doing everything we can to help them succeed.”

"Homeland's" Carrie character based on writer's sister with bipolar disorder

To contact us Click HERE
From Entertainment Weekly:

What makes Homeland's CIA genius tick? In part, TV writer Meredith Stiehm, who spins material for Claire Danes' fascinating character from her family's experience with bipolar disorder.

If you're fascinated by CIA operative Carrie Mathison's mental illness on Homeland, thank writer Meredith Stiehm. She's responsible for many of the Emmy-winning drama's most emotionally fraught episodes — "The Weekend," "The Vest" (co-written with Chip Johannessen), "New Car Smell" — that delve into the bipolar disorder of Claire Danes' character.

Some of Stiehm's inspiration comes from personal experience: Her sister has bipolar disorder. But Homeland's exec producers Howard Gordon and Alex Gansa didn't know the writer's family history when they asked her to join the show. The 44-year-old Emmy winner's reputation in Hollywood was for writing women in male-dominated fields — see her work on NYPD Blue and Cold Case — and the Showtime drama needed more X chromosomes in its all-male writers' room.

Explains Stiehm, "I became the person who studied...that aspect of the character." Research led her to interview her sister, attend a symposium on the illness, and watch clips of people in manic states. Stiehm's sister was moved to tears by the resemblance between Carrie's experiences and her own. Some scenes are difficult for her to watch, especially in "The Vest," when Carrie spends hours obsessively mapping out terrorist Abu Nazir's plans. "Grandiose thoughts are typical of someone who's manic," says Stiehm. A high-stakes work environment like the CIA only compounds the uncertainty. "Is it real or is it happening in [her] head?" she asks. "That's the beauty of Carrie. You don't know."

Deaf women's volleyball team from Okinawa to play at National Sports Meet in Gifu Prefecture

To contact us Click HERE

The Deaf women's volleyball players
(photo: http://ryukyushimpo.jp/)

September 29, 2012

The 12th National Sports Meet for the Persons with Disabilities will be held for three days from October 13 in Gifu Prefecture. It is one of the greatest festivals for the disability sports in Japan.

From Okinawa Prefecture, 26 athletes in individual events and three groups of 34 athletes will participate in the national meet.

A team of ten players will participate in women's volleyball. It won a bronze medal both at the meet in Chiba two years ago, and the 2011 Sports meet in Yamaguchi.

The teammates have practiced hard aiming at the championship in the upcoming meet. The volleyball game is scheduled to be held in the Gifu Prefecture Gymnasium on October 13.

Head Coach Shimajiri Hirotoshi-san said in expectation, "if our teammates play calmly, the victory will be ours absolutely."


Japanese original article:
http://ryukyushimpo.jp/news/storyid-197516-storytopic-2.html

UK's Big Society..

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Doesn't want to include the deaf.   Thousands of deaf people are socially excluded because of a lack of adequate services for UK sign language users, campaigners say. (What is the Big Society ?).
Up to 70,000 people, many of whom cannot lip-read or have poor English skills, use British Sign Language (BSL) as their first language. But half of them leave doctors’ appointments feeling confused because of the poor quality, or absence, of interpreters, research suggests.  (Read Byddar Cymru to read the almost total exclusion of deaf people in Wales to Health checks and hospitals).

Action on Hearing Loss has called for improvements in healthcare access and standards for the hearing impaired. A survey by the charity, formerly the Royal National Institute for Deaf People, found that half of BSL users left medical appointments confused. “We are talking about vital information on medication or even traumatic diagnoses,” said Helen Arber, the charity’s head of capacity development.

It also wants the Government to set a minimum standard for communication for deaf people throughout society. Of the 10 million Britons who have some form of hearing loss, more than 800,000 are severely or profoundly deaf. “There is still a huge way to go to ensure any kind of level playing field for them,” Ms Arber added.
“We are proud citizens but we are treated as lesser citizens,” said Jeff McWhinney, a former head of the British Deaf Association, who campaigned for the formal recognition of BSL as a language.
SOURCE/MORE

Deaf Awareness: Undermined by the deaf community ?

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Reading online the 'explosion' of 'professional' deaf awareness areas, and then reading what they say to mainstream business, local authorities and other areas, I am frankly horrified at the flood of disinformation many of them are putting out.  The bias from both sides of the hearing loss fence is so obvious we would need both to attend same seminars to get any sense of balance OR awareness.  Who hasn't read "All deaf people sign..." or "All Hi need lip-reading and loop systems" ? (Or are old people !)
What is wrong with these two photos ?  Both are used to raise deaf awareness...  Both are opposed by either 'side' as misleading on identification.


You get cultural awareness that plays down and even ignores deafness itself, in complete denial of their own disablement and railing against hearing to blame them instead..  or HI awareness that emphasises how the loss is disabling them and this is being challenged all the time, by mainstream and by the deaf.  Two areas promoting awareness in direct contradiction to each other.   Awareness ?  With respect the 'proof' is in the pudding.  There is little evidence awareness is working at all.    Little wonder when the areas who sit there trying to take it in, do not understand where the bias is.  As non-cultural deaf person I do not expect to be told I am not deaf because I don't sign well by an awareness person in front of hearing people trying to raise awareness, that isn't awareness at all, it borders on exclusion and exclusivity of view which we don't want mainstream to embrace.   Not least, that is an entirely untrue statement.
Culture is not communication, sign language, speaking, writing,  lip-reading is..... no-one cares about Milan 200 years ago, we do care we can't follow NOW.  How is Milan awareness of need ?  As soon as these awareness people start on that I just want out it is not relevant to awareness of support, even signed support.  When they start the ramble about D/d I am bound to stand up and tell them that is irrelevant too and to stick to the need point.
I understand where the pro attitude comes from, but a lot is PC nonsense frankly, that is the 'hearing influence' in it, all the awareness THEY got, was from politically correct nonsense they either got online, or from the polarised deaf and HI sector extremes,  but the only awareness that works is that undertaken by deaf and HI themselves, sadly I find many leave it to others, and this is where the misconceptions arise.  Until we rid awareness of D/d we cannot move onwards at all.
Deaf people won't raise HI awareness, HI won't raise deaf awareness, so there is no unity of approach.  We have an entire charitable support set-up designed not around differences and needs, but differences of political dogma.  BSL awareness is not loss awareness, there is little emphasis on inclusion of others and the dismissal of deafness itself as an issue in pursuit of blaming others, and the relentless drive to prove deafness is no issue at all,  is not going to help anyone, since many are living proof it is.    Every support area divides into signers want this, HI want that, so if deaf awareness is to work then we need two people every time, one from each divided sector to state their case ? not cost effective either....
What we see is both sides taking pot-shots at each other for failing to capitalise a letter or something stupid like that.   A recent statement by one charity highlighting a campaign about the real need for more access for the BSL person, was attacked for using a small d, then attacked for excluding HI by emphasising sign language.    We don't want or need this input.  Raising awareness by deliberately adopting 'sides' to support, is making deaf awareness a lottery and laughing stock, and no wonder after 15 years we are still trying to raise it after hearing gave up trying to sort our problems out of not including each other.

Free speech wins in Ohio 'crippled girl' case

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From The Cincinnati Enquirer:

CINCINNATI — A Kentucky man committed no crime when he asked groups of people at an event in a public park here if they wanted "to laugh at the crippled girl," a Hamilton County jury decided Nov. 1.

The win for Forest Thomer II, 25, of suburban Cold Spring, Ky., also is a win for free-speech rights, he said.

"I think we've taken a negative situation and turned it into a positive situation," Thomer said after Thursday's verdict.

Thomer was doing what he called guerrilla marketing when he went to the May 23 Party in the Park event, hosted by the USA Regional Chamber of Commerce. To promote the comedy career of his friend, Ally Bruener, Thomer walked up to groups of people, pointed at Bruener — who has muscular dystrophy and uses a wheelchair — and asked, "Do you want to laugh at the crippled girl?"

As the people were trying to recover from the seemingly inappropriate question, Bruener wheeled up, told a joke and then announced when and where her next performance would be.

Lori Salzarulo of the USA Regional Chamber of Commerce complained to police about Thomer's comments. Police threatened to shock Thomer with a Taser then arrest him.

Cincinnati Police Officer Dan Kreider charged Thomer with disorderly conduct, accusing him of "grossly abusive language."

The charge is a crime that could have sent Thomer to jail for up to 30 days and, Thomer insisted, also violated his right to free speech.

After Thomer accused the police of censorship, the city twice changed the charges, finally deciding to try him on a charge of "turbulent behavior."

Thomer and his lawyer, Danielle Anderson, believe Salzarulo wanted Thomer thrown out because she feared his kind of humor would ruin the chamber's event.

But her displeasure doesn't trump free-speech rights, even for Thomer's shocking language, the jury decided.

"It might be tasteless and you might not agree with it, but it's legal," Anderson said. "No one else (other than Salzarulo) came forward to complain."

Bruener, also of Cold Spring, testified at the four-day trial. She said Thomer was arrested for something he didn't do.

"It was unnecessary from the beginning," she said. She has said she is on a crusade to destigmatize the word "crippled."

After his acquittal, Thomer wouldn't rule out a possible civil suit against the city.

"We'll have to see what happens," Thomer said.

Stand-up success for British 'Lost Voice Guy' comic with CP

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From the BBC:

The 31-year-old from County Durham said he always wanted to be able to tell jokes and make people laugh
Born with cerebral palsy, Lee Ridley does not have a voice of his own. But that has not stopped him from braving the stage as a stand-up comedian.
The 31-year-old, from County Durham, dreamed of being able to make people laugh. Now, with the help of a voice synthesiser, he is doing just that.

Appearances at Newcastle comedy clubs have led to his debut at the Edinburgh Fringe.

Now, he has been offered a support spot with one of the UK's most successful comedians, Ross Noble.
The self-titled "Lost Voice Guy" has won over audiences with cutting observations about his own and other disabilities as well as more mainstream topics like politics and the media.

He has the support of his family and employer, Sunderland City Council, where he is part of the public relations department.

Lee uses a tablet computer to pre-programme his routine, which is then reproduced on stage and on cue through a voice synthesiser.

"I've always loved comedy, but I never thought about doing stand-up," he said. "Then last year some friends suggested it might work.

"I let the idea stay in the back of my mind until I eventually decided to give it a go."

He approached organisers of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, who offered the City Cafe as a venue. So far, two planned shows have turned into three after a surge in demand for tickets.

"I'm going to do some new stuff and some of my old stuff in Edinburgh, just to mix it up a bit.

"Most of it revolves around the funny side of my disability. I'll do a similar thing at Ross' gig.

"My family are coming up and we've had to add a third show due to demand."

He said he was "immensely pleased" to be offered a support spot with North East-born Ross Noble - one of the UK's most successful comedians.

Lee said: "He's doing a warm-up show for his tour at The Stand club in Newcastle in September and he asked me if I wanted to do the warm up spot for it.

"I could never turn down an opportunity like that. Ross has had such a big influence on me comedy-wise. I was over the moon when he asked. It means an awful lot.

"After Edinburgh, I've got more gigs around the UK. I'm just enjoying myself at the minute and not worrying about the future too much. But I intend to keep my job with Sunderland Council, who have been very supportive."

At Toronto's York University, students on the autism spectrum thrive in mentorship program

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From The Star in Toronto, Canada:

Maze-like campuses, 500-seat lecture halls and life in residence. Hormones and parties. Alcohol and drugs. Sex.

Going to college or university is a big step for any young adult, let alone someone with autism.

Last year, more than 800 students with autism spectrum disorder (ASD) registered for support at Ontario colleges and universities — a number expected to grow as more children are diagnosed and treated earlier.

Most campuses are ill-prepared to serve this new population of often bright, but socially impaired students.

York University has taken an innovative approach with its Asperger mentorship program, which is winning praise from both students and experts.

The program is the brainchild of psychology professor James Bebko, who came up with the idea five years ago while helping the university’s disability office set up peer support for students with Asperger syndrome, a relatively mild form of autism.

Bebko, who has worked with children, adolescents and families affected by autism for 25 years, knows these students need more than just academic support to be successful at university. He thought his graduate students could help.

The program, which pairs psychology students with “Aspie” undergrads, is a win-win proposition. It gives his students practical experience in their field, while helping students with Asperger’s successfully navigate university life.

The ultimate goal is to ensure the dropout rate for students with autism is no higher than average. On that score alone, the program is a success, says Bebko, former director of York’s clinical-developmental psychology program.

“The mentors work with the students on all areas of concern, but the focus tends to be on the social and personal aspects of university.”

In high school, most students with autism are in highly structured programs with very engaged parents monitoring their every move. But in university, there is an increased expectation of independence. This is where students with Asperger’s often get into trouble.

“We have women putting themselves in risky sexual situations without the skills to cope,” he says. “For some students, it’s a challenge just to go to a coffee shop on campus. The needs are so broad and varied.”
Participants usually meet weekly with their mentor one-on-one and once a month as a group for dinner, plays or other activities.

The program has been funded since 2009 by the Counselling Foundation of Canada, which is providing a $224,000 four-year grant. It has served about 50 students since its inception, with 18 to 20 students matched with mentors each year.

Three students have graduated, some have switched universities for other academic programs, but most are still at York, a sign that the program is making a difference.

Bebko hopes a new manual he has written will be a guide for other institutions to follow.

Evguenia Ignatova, 21, joined the program three years ago when she began a degree in psychology. The Russian immigrant, who came to Toronto with her family when she was 4, says her mentor has helped her navigate university bureaucracy, compose emails and handle telephone calls.

“I find sometimes I call places and they don’t give me the right answers,” she says.

When Ignatova was feeling misunderstood by her boyfriend’s mother, she asked her mentor for advice on how to set the record straight.

“My mentor has helped me with emotional difficulties and personal problems,” she says. “Just talking about it has helped. It means I don’t have to burden my friends and acquaintances.”

Ignatova says her biggest challenge at university is communicating with her professors and dealing with anxiety.

“Sometimes when I ask questions, I do not get answers that are clear enough to understand and I worry that if I ask too many questions, the professors will find me annoying,” she says.

“In the past, I struggled with anxiety and depression due to the workload and the isolation that I imposed on myself as a result of my perfectionism about school work,” she says. “Having a mentor has really helped.”
York psychology PhD student Stephanie Brown has been a mentor for three years and also serves as the program’s co-ordinator.

Students have asked her advice on how to talk to professors, disclose their disability to others, and navigate friendships and romantic relationships.

“Sometimes the mentor may be more aware of a problem than the student,” she says. “You might notice the student has four agendas — one for each class — and suggest they might want to consolidate that into one.

“A highly academic student might say they have no concerns, but you notice they have two papers and an exam coming up for which they aren’t studying. Or they may tell you they have spent 14 hours on one paper and you notice they have been ignoring their other subjects,” she says.

On the personal side, Brown has counselled students on how to talk to strangers and stay safe.

She has cautioned female students against getting into a car alone with a stranger. And she has advised male students not to tell women they don’t know that they think their clothing is “really sexy.”

Mentors often meet students in small groups to practise conversation techniques, including how to ask questions that are appropriate and not too personal.

“One of our goals is to create a peer network for the students,” says Brown, 26. “We are mentors and facilitators. But we are not their friends.”

Working with the students has made Brown passionate about them and the program.

“Many individuals with ASD have wonderful strengths and skills,” she says. “They have worked very hard to get here and we should be doing everything we can to help them succeed.”

Stand-up success for British 'Lost Voice Guy' comic with CP

To contact us Click HERE
From the BBC:

The 31-year-old from County Durham said he always wanted to be able to tell jokes and make people laugh
Born with cerebral palsy, Lee Ridley does not have a voice of his own. But that has not stopped him from braving the stage as a stand-up comedian.
The 31-year-old, from County Durham, dreamed of being able to make people laugh. Now, with the help of a voice synthesiser, he is doing just that.

Appearances at Newcastle comedy clubs have led to his debut at the Edinburgh Fringe.

Now, he has been offered a support spot with one of the UK's most successful comedians, Ross Noble.
The self-titled "Lost Voice Guy" has won over audiences with cutting observations about his own and other disabilities as well as more mainstream topics like politics and the media.

He has the support of his family and employer, Sunderland City Council, where he is part of the public relations department.

Lee uses a tablet computer to pre-programme his routine, which is then reproduced on stage and on cue through a voice synthesiser.

"I've always loved comedy, but I never thought about doing stand-up," he said. "Then last year some friends suggested it might work.

"I let the idea stay in the back of my mind until I eventually decided to give it a go."

He approached organisers of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, who offered the City Cafe as a venue. So far, two planned shows have turned into three after a surge in demand for tickets.

"I'm going to do some new stuff and some of my old stuff in Edinburgh, just to mix it up a bit.

"Most of it revolves around the funny side of my disability. I'll do a similar thing at Ross' gig.

"My family are coming up and we've had to add a third show due to demand."

He said he was "immensely pleased" to be offered a support spot with North East-born Ross Noble - one of the UK's most successful comedians.

Lee said: "He's doing a warm-up show for his tour at The Stand club in Newcastle in September and he asked me if I wanted to do the warm up spot for it.

"I could never turn down an opportunity like that. Ross has had such a big influence on me comedy-wise. I was over the moon when he asked. It means an awful lot.

"After Edinburgh, I've got more gigs around the UK. I'm just enjoying myself at the minute and not worrying about the future too much. But I intend to keep my job with Sunderland Council, who have been very supportive."

Author's childhood with dyslexia, stories on deaf community lead to book about children who have little in common with their parents

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From The NY Times:

Andrew Solomon’s enormous new book, “Far From the Tree: Parents, Children, and the Search for Identity,” is about children who are born or who grow up in ways their parents never expected. It’s a subject Mr. Solomon knows from experience. He was dyslexic as a child and struggled to learn to read. As he described in “The Noonday Demon,” which won a National Book Award in 2001, he once suffered from crippling, suicidal depressions. And Mr. Solomon is gay, which made his parents so uncomfortable that as a teenager he visited sexual surrogates in the hopes of “curing” himself. 
Mr. Solomon, 49, is also different — different from most writers, anyway — in that he is independently wealthy and lives in baronial splendor in a West Village town house that once belonged to Emma Lazarus, who, though she wrote about those poor, huddled masses, was not herself among them. The book party for “Far From the Tree” was held not in some editor’s cramped Upper West Side apartment but at the Temple of Dendur at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where Mr. Solomon has recently been named a trustee. 
William Davis, the father of an autistic son and one of the hundreds of parents and offspring Mr. Solomon interviewed for the book, recalled recently that he was a little taken aback when Mr. Solomon arrived at his home in Pennsylvania in a chauffeur-driven car. “But Andrew has a way of eliciting your true feelings,” he said. “You just trust him. You immediately want to pour your heart out to him.” 
He added: “He’s living in a different world from the one I’m used to, but it’s not a problem, because he doesn’t try to hide it. He’s not trying to be one of the guys. But you can tell he cares. You just want to hug him.” 
Sitting in the kitchen of his town house, occasionally raising his voice over the strident chirping of a canary named Barack — who flew in the window one day, recognized a nice situation and never left — Mr. Solomon explained that “Far from the Tree” took 11 years. It stemmed from a 1994 article about deafness he wrote for The New York Times Magazine. In the course of reporting it, he said, he realized that many issues confronting the deaf are not unlike those he faced as someone who was gay. A few years later, watching a documentary about dwarfism, he saw the same pattern again. 
Eventually the book grew to also include chapters on Down syndrome, autism, schizophrenia, disability, prodigies, transgender identity, children who are conceived during a rape and those who become criminals. His file of transcribed interviews swelled to 40,000 pages, and the version of the book he originally turned in to his publisher, Scribner, was twice as long as it is now. 
He called in the services of Alice Truax, a freelance editor, and together with Nan Graham, editor in chief and vice president of Scribner, they whittled it down to 700 pages, not counting notes. In an e-mail Ms. Truax said that she rarely cut entire families but rather tried to compress their stories. 
“Andrew and I were keenly aware of the cost of being involved in the project for the families who had participated,” she explained. “Many of them had given enormous amounts of not only time but emotional energy to the book, and we both felt strongly about honoring that as much as possible.” 
Mr. Solomon said he included criminal children after deciding that society’s thinking on the subject hadn’t really advanced very much, even while it has on autism and schizophrenia. “We still think it’s the parents’ fault if a child becomes a criminal or that something creepy must have gone on in that household,” he said. He included the children of rape because he discovered that their mothers shared a lot with all the other mothers in the book. “They feel alienated, disaffected, angry — a lot of the things a mother feels about a child with a disability.” 
This kind of commonality, he went on, was something he discovered only while writing. “Each of the conditions I describe is very isolating,” he said. “There aren’t that many dwarfs, there aren’t that many schizophrenics. There aren’t that many families dealing with a criminal kid — not so few but not so many. But if you recognize that there is a lot in common in all these experiences, they imply a world in which not only is your condition not so isolating but the fact of your difference unites you with other people.” 
His other great discovery, he added, was joy. He had been prepared to encounter sadness in the families he visited; what surprised him was how much love there was. “This book’s conundrum,” he writes, “is that most of the families described here ended up grateful for experiences they would have done anything to avoid.” 
Reviewing “Far From the Tree” in The Times, Dwight Garner said, “This is a book that shoots arrow after arrow into your heart.” But it’s also a frightening and disturbing book. Its chapters are a vivid catalog of all the things that can go wrong in giving birth to and then bring up a child, and also raise difficult ethical questions: whether it’s proper to give cochlear implants to deaf children or to subject dwarfs to painful limb-lengthening surgery, for example. 
But Mr. Solomon said that working on the book had emboldened him and his husband, John Habich, to have a child, something he had been ambivalent about before. Their son, George, born to a surrogate mother, is now 3 ½. 
“Forewarned is forearmed,” he said. “Some things, on some scale, go wrong in everyone’s life. I think I have perfectionist tendencies, but I know you can’t go into parenthood thinking, ‘I’m going to love my child as long as he’s perfect.’ Rather, it should be, ‘I’m going to love my child whoever he is, and let’s see how he turns out.’ ” 
Mr. Solomon — the kind of parent who is apt to give dramatic readings of storybooks — added that being a father has also made him more forgiving of his own parents. “If you’re confronted with a child who’s different, you have to go through this long process of learning to accept and perhaps celebrate the differences in your child,” he said. “The acceptance piece is hard. Part of what I learned from this book is that even for parents who do really well with these issues it’s hard. It was hard for my parents, and that made it harder for me, but I no longer see this as an unacceptable and startling flaw. I just see it as being the way it is.”

At Toronto's York University, students on the autism spectrum thrive in mentorship program

To contact us Click HERE
From The Star in Toronto, Canada:

Maze-like campuses, 500-seat lecture halls and life in residence. Hormones and parties. Alcohol and drugs. Sex.

Going to college or university is a big step for any young adult, let alone someone with autism.

Last year, more than 800 students with autism spectrum disorder (ASD) registered for support at Ontario colleges and universities — a number expected to grow as more children are diagnosed and treated earlier.

Most campuses are ill-prepared to serve this new population of often bright, but socially impaired students.

York University has taken an innovative approach with its Asperger mentorship program, which is winning praise from both students and experts.

The program is the brainchild of psychology professor James Bebko, who came up with the idea five years ago while helping the university’s disability office set up peer support for students with Asperger syndrome, a relatively mild form of autism.

Bebko, who has worked with children, adolescents and families affected by autism for 25 years, knows these students need more than just academic support to be successful at university. He thought his graduate students could help.

The program, which pairs psychology students with “Aspie” undergrads, is a win-win proposition. It gives his students practical experience in their field, while helping students with Asperger’s successfully navigate university life.

The ultimate goal is to ensure the dropout rate for students with autism is no higher than average. On that score alone, the program is a success, says Bebko, former director of York’s clinical-developmental psychology program.

“The mentors work with the students on all areas of concern, but the focus tends to be on the social and personal aspects of university.”

In high school, most students with autism are in highly structured programs with very engaged parents monitoring their every move. But in university, there is an increased expectation of independence. This is where students with Asperger’s often get into trouble.

“We have women putting themselves in risky sexual situations without the skills to cope,” he says. “For some students, it’s a challenge just to go to a coffee shop on campus. The needs are so broad and varied.”
Participants usually meet weekly with their mentor one-on-one and once a month as a group for dinner, plays or other activities.

The program has been funded since 2009 by the Counselling Foundation of Canada, which is providing a $224,000 four-year grant. It has served about 50 students since its inception, with 18 to 20 students matched with mentors each year.

Three students have graduated, some have switched universities for other academic programs, but most are still at York, a sign that the program is making a difference.

Bebko hopes a new manual he has written will be a guide for other institutions to follow.

Evguenia Ignatova, 21, joined the program three years ago when she began a degree in psychology. The Russian immigrant, who came to Toronto with her family when she was 4, says her mentor has helped her navigate university bureaucracy, compose emails and handle telephone calls.

“I find sometimes I call places and they don’t give me the right answers,” she says.

When Ignatova was feeling misunderstood by her boyfriend’s mother, she asked her mentor for advice on how to set the record straight.

“My mentor has helped me with emotional difficulties and personal problems,” she says. “Just talking about it has helped. It means I don’t have to burden my friends and acquaintances.”

Ignatova says her biggest challenge at university is communicating with her professors and dealing with anxiety.

“Sometimes when I ask questions, I do not get answers that are clear enough to understand and I worry that if I ask too many questions, the professors will find me annoying,” she says.

“In the past, I struggled with anxiety and depression due to the workload and the isolation that I imposed on myself as a result of my perfectionism about school work,” she says. “Having a mentor has really helped.”
York psychology PhD student Stephanie Brown has been a mentor for three years and also serves as the program’s co-ordinator.

Students have asked her advice on how to talk to professors, disclose their disability to others, and navigate friendships and romantic relationships.

“Sometimes the mentor may be more aware of a problem than the student,” she says. “You might notice the student has four agendas — one for each class — and suggest they might want to consolidate that into one.

“A highly academic student might say they have no concerns, but you notice they have two papers and an exam coming up for which they aren’t studying. Or they may tell you they have spent 14 hours on one paper and you notice they have been ignoring their other subjects,” she says.

On the personal side, Brown has counselled students on how to talk to strangers and stay safe.

She has cautioned female students against getting into a car alone with a stranger. And she has advised male students not to tell women they don’t know that they think their clothing is “really sexy.”

Mentors often meet students in small groups to practise conversation techniques, including how to ask questions that are appropriate and not too personal.

“One of our goals is to create a peer network for the students,” says Brown, 26. “We are mentors and facilitators. But we are not their friends.”

Working with the students has made Brown passionate about them and the program.

“Many individuals with ASD have wonderful strengths and skills,” she says. “They have worked very hard to get here and we should be doing everything we can to help them succeed.”

"Homeland's" Carrie character based on writer's sister with bipolar disorder

To contact us Click HERE
From Entertainment Weekly:

What makes Homeland's CIA genius tick? In part, TV writer Meredith Stiehm, who spins material for Claire Danes' fascinating character from her family's experience with bipolar disorder.

If you're fascinated by CIA operative Carrie Mathison's mental illness on Homeland, thank writer Meredith Stiehm. She's responsible for many of the Emmy-winning drama's most emotionally fraught episodes — "The Weekend," "The Vest" (co-written with Chip Johannessen), "New Car Smell" — that delve into the bipolar disorder of Claire Danes' character.

Some of Stiehm's inspiration comes from personal experience: Her sister has bipolar disorder. But Homeland's exec producers Howard Gordon and Alex Gansa didn't know the writer's family history when they asked her to join the show. The 44-year-old Emmy winner's reputation in Hollywood was for writing women in male-dominated fields — see her work on NYPD Blue and Cold Case — and the Showtime drama needed more X chromosomes in its all-male writers' room.

Explains Stiehm, "I became the person who studied...that aspect of the character." Research led her to interview her sister, attend a symposium on the illness, and watch clips of people in manic states. Stiehm's sister was moved to tears by the resemblance between Carrie's experiences and her own. Some scenes are difficult for her to watch, especially in "The Vest," when Carrie spends hours obsessively mapping out terrorist Abu Nazir's plans. "Grandiose thoughts are typical of someone who's manic," says Stiehm. A high-stakes work environment like the CIA only compounds the uncertainty. "Is it real or is it happening in [her] head?" she asks. "That's the beauty of Carrie. You don't know."

Young actors with Down syndrome make a splash in new films

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From the Los Angeles Times:

While making the 1997 movie "Los Locos," Jean-Marc Vallée was befriended by a Down syndrome actor who was an extra in the production.

"I had a special relationship with him," the French-Canadian director ("The Young Victoria") recalled. "Every time on the set he was coming to me. I was like his hero. He was very welcoming every day. I had a very nice connection."

Actor-turned-filmmaker Travis Fine was a regular on the ABC 1989-92 western series "The Young Riders," when he met Chris Burke, the Down syndrome star of the acclaimed drama "Life Goes On," which was also on the network at the time.

"We met at an ABC party," Fine said. "He liked my character on 'Young Riders.' He was a hell of a nice guy."

And a few years later, Fine had a great experience working on the USA movie "My Antonia," which featured Down syndrome actor Blair Williamson.

Both these filmmakers' memorable encounters were the inspiration for crucial Down syndrome story lines in their new films. (Down syndrome is a physical and mental disorder caused by having 47 instead of the usual 46 chromosomes.)

Vallée's French-Canadian drama "Cafe de Flore," which opened Nov. 16, stars Vanessa Paradis as Jacqueline, a single mom working in a beauty salon in Paris in 1969, raising her young Down syndrome son, Laurent (Marin Gerrier), and striving to give him a "normal" life, including education at a private school.

But their relationship changes when a young girl with Down syndrome, Veronique (Alice Dubois), arrives at the school. Laurent and Veronique quickly develop such a tight bond that Jacqueline becomes jealous.

In Fine's "Any Day Now," which opens Dec. 14 after winning several awards on the festival circuit, Alan Cumming and Garret Dillahunt play a gay couple in Los Angeles in the late 1970s who take in Marco (Isaac Leyva), a teenager with Down syndrome, after he is abandoned by his drug-addled prostitute mother. But social conventions won't allow the couple to adopt Marco.

"I wanted to create a love story and talk about soul mates and pure love," Vallée said of "Cafe de Flore." "I thought of Down syndrome children because to me they represent pure love."

He began the casting process in Montreal, France and Belgium to find youngsters with Down syndrome who could act.

While in Paris, they met Dubois, who was 10 at the time. "She told us about her boyfriend at school," Vallée said. "They wanted to get married. They hugged. They kissed."

Her boyfriend just happened to be Gerrier, who is now 12. Because they were so attached in real life, Vallée said he "got some magical moments in their performances."

For Gerrier's scenes that didn't involve Dubois, Vallée made acting a game "with some rewards," he said. "For instance, I hired this kid close to his age that looked like Marin because I wasn't sure I was going to be able to do everything with him. I was going to use the kid as a double."

But Vallée realized that Gerrier could easily repeat every action Vallée showed him. So the young actor became part of the game playing, especially in a scene in which the boy is tied up to the bed and screaming for his mother.

"I did the scene first and then the other kid did it," said Vallée. Because Gerrier was extremely competitive, he stayed in bed the longest and earned a ride on a merry-go-round that night.

"Any Day Now" was inspired by a true story about the relationship between an eccentric named Rudy, who lived in Brooklyn in the 1970s, and his relationship with a young disabled boy.

George Arthur Bloom wrote the script some 20 years ago; Fine was introduced to it by Bloom's son. With Bloom's permission, Fine began reworking the script. He moved the action to Los Angeles in the 1970s; Rudy was turned into a gay singer working in a drag club who falls in love with an attorney, Paul, who has just come out of the closet.

"The original kid never spoke," Fine said. "He just kind of mumbled and muttered. I wanted to understand why Rudy fell in love with this kid so quickly. I know Down syndrome kids are often referred to as love children because they have a sweet, gentle nature to them."

Casting directors sent out calls to schools and Down syndrome organizations looking for boys with Down syndrome who could act.

"I saw Isaac's taped audition on my computer and instantly saw his ability to do what I think is the most essential thing for an actor to do: listen," Fine said. "At the end of his audition, he smiled and his smile literally lights up a room."

Fine was equally impressed when he auditioned Leyva in person. "The good news was he was wonderful and charming and sweet," said Fine. "In the audition process he broke down and started crying. Through his tears he said, 'The dream of my life has come true.'"

Leyva, now 22, has been a student at the Performing Arts Studio West for adults with disabilities in Inglewood for the last two years. He said he fell in love with acting when he saw the Disney Channel's "High School Musical."

Needless to say, his favorite scene in "Any Day Now" is when he gets a chance to dance.

"I want to do a musical on television," he said in a phone interview.