Translator: Cristian Tivarus Reviewer: Denise RQ
My little brother Kendrick
is a veracious reader, an accidental comedian, and my biggest cheerleader.
He reads at the collegiate level, has a passion for nature
I will never truly be able to understand, and is obsessed.
I do mean obsessed with Pokemon Go.
(Laughter)
I can make a list of ways to describe my brother,
but tonight, I am here to focus on the one identifier
that has been emblazoned across my brother’s chest since a very young age.
My brother has autism.
Autism spectrum disorder, more commonly refer to as autism,
is a group of complex disorders in brain development.
The autism spectrum ranges from ADHD to nonverbal autism.
My brother has something called high functioning autism,
more commonly referred to as Asperger syndrome.
So, what exactly does this mean?
Last year, my brother took several assessments
in an attempt to place his abilities on the autism spectrum.
On one of these tests, he scored in the 99th percentile
for both broad mathematics and broad reading.
On another test however,
which evaluated your response to social situations,
my brother scored in the 0.3rd percentile.
Not 3rd percentile! 0.3rd percentile!
You can imagine the shock I had, his social butterfly of an older sister.
In fact, we are almost nothing alike.
For example, I love organizing and packing for trips,
whether a sleepover a couple of miles away
or an excursion halfway across the world.
My brother will wait until the very last minute to pack for anything.
One of my favorite stories was last October break,
when he flew across the country for the first time, by himself,
to visit our grandfather in Florida.
I helped him pack the night before and on our way to the airport,
he asked me, “Hey Teagan, where are we going?”
I rolled my eyes and explained that we were going to the airport,
where he would catch the flight that took him to Florida.
He nods, looks down at my feet, “So, where is your bag then?”
I rolled my eyes and explained, for what it felt like the millionth time,
that he’d be flying fine alone.
His face turned as pale as a bed sheet, and he leaned back in his seat.
“I didn’t know that,” he murmured terrified.
My frustrated parents then gave him the same old speech
about how he never pays enough attention.
I carefully reworded their frustration into something a bit more manageable
as Kendrick tends to shut down whenever people yell at him.
Although my parents try to speak in a calm, understanding way to my brother,
all hell breaks loose around homework time.
My dad lacks the patience to deal with my brother idiosyncrasies around homework,
and my mom lacks the stamina to keep up
with my brother’s constant changes of topic and natural defiance.
So, since before I can remember, the task has always been delegated to me.
It’s always been natural for me
to put aside my own homework and help my brother,
memorize vocabulary words, or write an essay.
It wasn’t until I hit York
I realized this ‘special characteristic’ was considered special.
When most high-school students, especially York students,
won’t put aside their own grades to help their younger siblings.
Some people call it a sacrifice, but I call it being an older sister.
I want more than anything to see my brother succeed
in as many things as possible.
Although my parents and I jump to his defense very, very often,
my brother often does not receive the same praise I get constantly.
Not only have I helped my brother
but my brother has helped me see the world with a new perspective.
When he was younger, Kendrick was infatuated with chickens.
This infatuation has faded into a manageable enjoyment,
but when he was about eight, he knew more breeds of chickens
than he did names of students in his third grade class.
(Laughter)
Honestly, who cares about chickens?
(Laughter)
I mean, I am a big fan of fried chicken and fluffy chicks during Easter,
but I learned that chickens will throw themselves
in between offspring and danger.
Chickens like to be cuddled and can form bonds with their owners.
My brother would sit in our backyard
and watch our ten-feathered bantam scurry across our homemade coop.
Kendrick has often been teased for his various infatuations,
whether be chickens or catching lizards or dragons.
You can tease me, degrade me,
but the second you say anything about my little brother,
prepare for a fight you have never seen before.
I slapped my best friends for teasing him,
I’ve gotten in fights with his classmates, and I’ve taught him ways to stand up
for himself which don’t include bringing pocketknives to school.
(Laughter)
Over the course of my maturing, I have been insisting
that Kendrick knocks on my door before he enters.
I am a 17-year-old girl!
I don’t want him walking in as I am changing.
(Laughter)
Yet, no matter how hard I beg, plead, or cry,
he always manages to walk through that door whenever I am half naked.
Over the past couple of years, he has gotten better, but still.
Freshman year – I started doing terrible things to myself,
and it slowly escalated, until last year,
when I can officially say, I hit rock bottom.
I won’t get into the details, but I wanted to and succeeded in
hurting myself multiple ways and multiple times.
My brother, sweet loving Kendrick, walked up to the door, knocked, and said,
“Hey Teagan, can you help ME with my homework?”
How could I continue hurting myself
when my little brother needed me on the opposite side of the door?
A few month ago, my brother sat me down and wanted to know:
one – why I took medication like he did?
and two – why all the medicine was locked up in our house?
I patiently, although carefully, explained to him
that the chemicals in my brain can’t sustain themselves, mainly serotonin,
and I take medicine to fix that.
All the medication in my house is locked up so I don’t take it all at once.
My brother immediately understood, and with tears in his eyes,
gave me the biggest hug I have ever had in my life,
“Please don’t do it! Please don’t leave me!”, he said.
And those words still haunt me today.
“Kendrik, I won’t leave you! I promise!”
I will never give up on my brother.
He is my biggest fan at sports events, my lizard catching hero,
and the reason why I am still here.
Sure he is a little weird.
But before you pass judgment
on his failing grades or unique way of thinking,
watch his eyes light up
whenever you mention a magical gathering or fantasy novels,
Watch the way my parents and I immediately jump to his defense
whenever anyone questions his loving nature or intelligence
(Laughter)
and watch him change the world one person at a time.
Thank you.
(Applause)
My little brother Kendrick
is a veracious reader, an accidental comedian, and my biggest cheerleader.
He reads at the collegiate level, has a passion for nature
I will never truly be able to understand, and is obsessed.
I do mean obsessed with Pokemon Go.
(Laughter)
I can make a list of ways to describe my brother,
but tonight, I am here to focus on the one identifier
that has been emblazoned across my brother’s chest since a very young age.
My brother has autism.
Autism spectrum disorder, more commonly refer to as autism,
is a group of complex disorders in brain development.
The autism spectrum ranges from ADHD to nonverbal autism.
My brother has something called high functioning autism,
more commonly referred to as Asperger syndrome.
So, what exactly does this mean?
Last year, my brother took several assessments
in an attempt to place his abilities on the autism spectrum.
On one of these tests, he scored in the 99th percentile
for both broad mathematics and broad reading.
On another test however,
which evaluated your response to social situations,
my brother scored in the 0.3rd percentile.
Not 3rd percentile! 0.3rd percentile!
You can imagine the shock I had, his social butterfly of an older sister.
In fact, we are almost nothing alike.
For example, I love organizing and packing for trips,
whether a sleepover a couple of miles away
or an excursion halfway across the world.
My brother will wait until the very last minute to pack for anything.
One of my favorite stories was last October break,
when he flew across the country for the first time, by himself,
to visit our grandfather in Florida.
I helped him pack the night before and on our way to the airport,
he asked me, “Hey Teagan, where are we going?”
I rolled my eyes and explained that we were going to the airport,
where he would catch the flight that took him to Florida.
He nods, looks down at my feet, “So, where is your bag then?”
I rolled my eyes and explained, for what it felt like the millionth time,
that he’d be flying fine alone.
His face turned as pale as a bed sheet, and he leaned back in his seat.
“I didn’t know that,” he murmured terrified.
My frustrated parents then gave him the same old speech
about how he never pays enough attention.
I carefully reworded their frustration into something a bit more manageable
as Kendrick tends to shut down whenever people yell at him.
Although my parents try to speak in a calm, understanding way to my brother,
all hell breaks loose around homework time.
My dad lacks the patience to deal with my brother idiosyncrasies around homework,
and my mom lacks the stamina to keep up
with my brother’s constant changes of topic and natural defiance.
So, since before I can remember, the task has always been delegated to me.
It’s always been natural for me
to put aside my own homework and help my brother,
memorize vocabulary words, or write an essay.
It wasn’t until I hit York
I realized this ‘special characteristic’ was considered special.
When most high-school students, especially York students,
won’t put aside their own grades to help their younger siblings.
Some people call it a sacrifice, but I call it being an older sister.
I want more than anything to see my brother succeed
in as many things as possible.
Although my parents and I jump to his defense very, very often,
my brother often does not receive the same praise I get constantly.
Not only have I helped my brother
but my brother has helped me see the world with a new perspective.
When he was younger, Kendrick was infatuated with chickens.
This infatuation has faded into a manageable enjoyment,
but when he was about eight, he knew more breeds of chickens
than he did names of students in his third grade class.
(Laughter)
Honestly, who cares about chickens?
(Laughter)
I mean, I am a big fan of fried chicken and fluffy chicks during Easter,
but I learned that chickens will throw themselves
in between offspring and danger.
Chickens like to be cuddled and can form bonds with their owners.
My brother would sit in our backyard
and watch our ten-feathered bantam scurry across our homemade coop.
Kendrick has often been teased for his various infatuations,
whether be chickens or catching lizards or dragons.
You can tease me, degrade me,
but the second you say anything about my little brother,
prepare for a fight you have never seen before.
I slapped my best friends for teasing him,
I’ve gotten in fights with his classmates, and I’ve taught him ways to stand up
for himself which don’t include bringing pocketknives to school.
(Laughter)
Over the course of my maturing, I have been insisting
that Kendrick knocks on my door before he enters.
I am a 17-year-old girl!
I don’t want him walking in as I am changing.
(Laughter)
Yet, no matter how hard I beg, plead, or cry,
he always manages to walk through that door whenever I am half naked.
Over the past couple of years, he has gotten better, but still.
Freshman year – I started doing terrible things to myself,
and it slowly escalated, until last year,
when I can officially say, I hit rock bottom.
I won’t get into the details, but I wanted to and succeeded in
hurting myself multiple ways and multiple times.
My brother, sweet loving Kendrick, walked up to the door, knocked, and said,
“Hey Teagan, can you help ME with my homework?”
How could I continue hurting myself
when my little brother needed me on the opposite side of the door?
A few month ago, my brother sat me down and wanted to know:
one – why I took medication like he did?
and two – why all the medicine was locked up in our house?
I patiently, although carefully, explained to him
that the chemicals in my brain can’t sustain themselves, mainly serotonin,
and I take medicine to fix that.
All the medication in my house is locked up so I don’t take it all at once.
My brother immediately understood, and with tears in his eyes,
gave me the biggest hug I have ever had in my life,
“Please don’t do it! Please don’t leave me!”, he said.
And those words still haunt me today.
“Kendrik, I won’t leave you! I promise!”
I will never give up on my brother.
He is my biggest fan at sports events, my lizard catching hero,
and the reason why I am still here.
Sure he is a little weird.
But before you pass judgment
on his failing grades or unique way of thinking,
watch his eyes light up
whenever you mention a magical gathering or fantasy novels,
Watch the way my parents and I immediately jump to his defense
whenever anyone questions his loving nature or intelligence
(Laughter)
and watch him change the world one person at a time.
Thank you.
(Applause)
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