By Jeff Stimpson

I tried to line stuff up for Alex this last Thanksgiving break. “The holidays book up well in advance – parents jump right on those school holidays,” said the lady who runs the overnight-respite program. I worked for months to get Alex into this program. I called her in early October about overnights through the end of the calendar year. By Saturday morning Alex was saying, “David’s coming? Rosa’s coming? David’s coming?” as he slipped on shoes, hoodie and backpack. “Take a walk,” he said. “Wanna walk!” David and Rosa are “companions,” I guess you’d call them, if like us your son was too old for a “babysitter.”

Autism doesn’t take a four-day weekend. By the morning of Black Friday, Alex was bored out of his mind. He didn’t want to do letters with me, didn’t want to pick up his room or put laundry away (jobs he usually throws himself into). He yelped  into his iPad. He wanted to go out, hour after hour. I took him out; he wanted to go out again immediately after we come home, preferably with somebody besides mom or dad.

The big hope for Thanksgiving Break was overnight respite, a terrific program in which guys like Alex are taken by their weary fathers to a nondescript apartment building on West 95th Street near the river, past the security guard who takes one look at Alex and says “Sixth floor,” and up to a three-bedroom where Alex could stay for days and nights, gaining his independence while his mom and I catch up on our sleep.

Alex crapped out of this program last spring by bolting. Then the supervisor worked with me to let him go there for daytimes during the last week of August. He did well. So well, I guess, that the second morning the supervisor called me and said they could take him for four days, until Labor Day eve. I was tempted but he wasn’t ready, I told her. From that offer I came away with the idea that holidays are clear for vacancies in overnight respite; I come away with the idea that most families with autistic children have better parents than Alex does.

Parents jump right on those school holidays. “What’s Alex’s schedule in February?” the supervisor asks. I see that adult programs take finagling, unlike the children’s programs that Alex often just slipped into. Programs for grown-ups – the kind of grown up Alex is becoming – requires thought, planning, more thought, and a frightening amount of plain old luck.

Jeff Stimpson is a native of Bangor, Maine, and lives in New York with his wife Jill and two sons. He is the author of Alex: The Fathering of a Preemie and Alex the Boy: Episodes From a Family’s Life With Autism(both available on Amazon). He maintains a blog about his family at, and is a frequent contributor to various sites and publications on special-needs parenting, such as Autism-Asperger’s Digest, Autism Spectrum News, the Lostandtired blog, The Autism Society news blog, and An Anthology of Disability Literature (available on Amazon). He is on LinkedIn under “Jeff Stimpson” and Twitter under “Jeffslife.”


About gbutch
My name is Garrett Butch and I am the father of a child with autism and the founder of Maximum Potential Group. My wife and I started our company to empower parents and schools to learn how to provide ABA therapy to their children and students. After spending $100,000 on therapy over the past 4 years, we wanted to share our knowledge and help those who do not have the financial resources and for those who do not live near qualified therapists.

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