That Moment? That Was True Acceptance.

John won the final Bingo game of the night—with a little help from the young man next to him who read his numbers aloud. Everyone clapped.

Autism acceptance to me means equal inclusion in all areas of life. 

My 24-year-old son, John, is the face of profound autism. He has very limited language. He can’t read or write. He doesn’t text his friends, make phone calls, or understand danger. He can’t tell me if he’s in pain, or if someone is being unkind or hurting him. John requires 24/7 supervision and lifelong care. 

John is also the face of Medicaid. Thanks to these supports, he attends a full-day adult program where he shops for and prepares his own lunch, volunteers at the carousel in Pier Village, and helps out at a food pantry in Asbury Park. He swims 400 meters in the Special Olympics (earning gold medals at the state level!), plays top soccer in town, and shoots baskets with friends at a special needs clinic at St. Joe’s Church in Maplewood. 

He loves eating out, going to the movies, and traveling with our family. Even with all his challenges, John thrives in social and community-based settings—more than many typical young adults his age. 

“Sorry, we don’t have the staff to support him.

We recently moved from North Jersey to Central Jersey, and many of John’s familiar activities are now over an hour away. As I searched for local opportunities, I found a special needs Bingo night just five minutes from our new home. Excited, I called to register him—only to be told, “Sorry, we don’t have the staff to support him. He cannot attend.” 

After several conversations and explaining that John would be accompanied by his own support person, they allowed him to join on a trial basis, alongside the neurodiverse participants. 

I was anxious. But when John arrived, he was met with a booming “Hello, John!” from the other young adults. He smiled, shook hands, and joined in with help from his DSP. He won the final Bingo game of the night—with a little help from the young man next to him who read his numbers aloud. Everyone clapped. John was beaming as he received his prize: a reusable water bottle filled with his favorite mini-Oreos and snacks. 

That moment? That was true acceptance. 

Too often, the autism community becomes divided—we forget that there’s space for all of us. The spectrum is wide enough to support one another, to be friends, and to share resources so every individual gets what they need to live a meaningful, fulfilling life. 

As a mother of someone with profound autism, my job is to be John’s voice, to educate others, especially lawmakers and the community at large—about what profound autism really looks like. I strive to open doors that often appear closed, and to help others build real connections with John. 

Because only then can the world begin to see how truly amazing individuals like John are.