Fortune on the Spectrum

FORTUNE ON THE $PECTRUM

________________________

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Mark Ferdinand

FORTUNE ON THE SPECTRUM

By

Mark Ferdinand

Copyright © 2015 by Mark Ferdinand

markferdinandbooks@gmail.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior

permission of the copyright owner.

ISBN-13: 978-1503177543

Having an atypical mind made him the youngest self-made millionaire in Texas history. Some, including Mother Nature, didn't care.

"Who’s the best boy in the

whole world? ...Say I am."

Say I am!

Part I

Colors of Life

Colors of life. If I could catch them I could keep them in my hand. I could keep them in my crib. Having them would make me laugh and I could play with them. Someone could share with me, maybe my sister, but not until I’ve finished playing with them.

These were my thoughts as a baby. I have heard that those not on the spectrum have no memory of their time as a baby. I remember everything. I remember all the colors and how I loved them. I didn’t understand that they came from the television or what a television was. But I loved them.

Babies get bigger. They get stronger and eventually acquire mobility. New sounds captivated me and I longed to be near them. Colorful things sometimes made colorful sounds. I could travel to things I wanted to touch and hold. I could change their shape and change their sounds. I remember growing bigger and I remember getting better at catching my prizes.

These prizes, these things I desired, were not just objects and colors, but also sound. I could discover and enjoy any number of sounds, but my favorites were always commercial jingles.

Before I acquired the ability to ask for food, before expressing the responses of yes or no to a question, I was reciting commercial catchphrases and jingles. My first and most memorable was the jingle tones for Intel commercials. The combined chimes of Bom...bom, Bom, bom BOM! were enough to make me jump up and down and squeal with pleasure.

This was my first experience with repetition. Repeating something wonderful made me feel good. A sound was not just something that I could hear and enjoy, if I could repeat the sound I loved enough times, I could own it and keep it forever.

The world has always had me entranced; the shapes, the colors, the sounds and the textures. Even the people have my interest. It is sometimes said that those on the spectrum are not interested in people, but for me this has not been so. I do not yearn for the same type of interaction with people that most take for granted, but they most certainly fascinate me. I enjoy seeing them do what they do.

It would be some time before I coveted material objects and took an interest in keeping them. My interest in them was in observation and manipulation more than in possession. But eventually I began to seek out certain toys and other things that I took an attraction to.

Coins were not more significant than any other object at this early age. I did like looking at them when I could find a stray on the floor. My parents, however, were extremely careful about leaving small objects around the house for fear that I may swallow them.

I suppose in comparison to other children this was the right thing to do. The oral phase of the typically developing child was minor compared to mine. If an object appealed to me I had to enjoy it in every way possible, and this certainly included mouthing and tasting. If I was interested in it I would want to taste it and coins were one of my favorites.

As I came across coins more and more through luck and trickery, I began to look at coins in a different way. I noticed the writing on them and wondered about it. I noticed that there were different sizes and different colors to them. Different sizes of coins had their own unique designs on them. I began to notice other people holding onto them or keeping them in their pockets or in a drawer. They were handled in a different manner than any other object in the household. I became curious about what it all meant.

At around three and a half years of age my parents realized that I was different and that my mind would be working in different ways than the typical child. It was decided that I'd meet with a therapist that specialized in working with children on the autism spectrum. Any car ride or new experience was interesting to me so it was not something I had any objection to. I did not expect it to be something that launched me toward my future as it did.

Sheri the therapist had encountered children like me before. In fact, her sister was one of the few people officially diagnosed with autism way back in the 1960's. Sheri has devoted her life to providing therapy to children on the spectrum and runs a successful practice.

Sheri introduced me to certain understandings of the typical mind. I still kept my determination to acquire what I desired, but now she was helping me with understanding ways to acquire things more effectively through words. This was all quite minor excitement, however, in comparison to a certain toy I was introduced to.

During sessions with Sheri, toys were introduced as motivators to help me use words and ask for things I wanted. She had a room full of different toys. I suppose different toys appealed to certain kids for their own reasons. For a while I was very interested in one that made electronic jungle noises. Being allowed to play with this toy was my reward for completing certain activities such as stacking blocks, identifying photos and saying certain words.

Eventually activities progressed from simple identification to more academic tasks. Among these tasks was the recognition and categorization of coins. This activity had me riveted. I could feel so much curiosity about the meaning behind these shiny objects.

Even Sheri was taken aback by my enthusiasm for this task. Normally the activities were something to be completed somewhat reluctantly. It was the reward at the end of the activity that the average child desired. In my case it didn’t take long for the activity to be the reward.

I no longer cared about the jungle toy. I craved the coin exercise. I wanted to touch them. I wanted to look at them. I listened to Sheri more attentively as she prescribed words and numbers to each type. I would giggle with excitement at the word penny and repeat the word. I wanted to put the coins in my mouth but Sheri wouldn’t let me. I would get frustrated by that, but I tried not to let her know it. I didn’t want her to take the coins away. I wanted to experience everything about them for as long as possible.

Coins kept me occupied for a fair amount of time. At first I thought I had learned all there was to know, and then I found out about coins from other countries. I was astounded that there were more. I learned everything I could about any coin I encountered. I memorized the color, texture, engraving and value not only of each denomination of coin, but of each individual coin in my collection.

My activities eventually gave me more than a thorough understanding of coins and their value - at least the ones that I had access to at the time. What I eventually found out, however, was that there was more - so much more. My parents, at certain times, made use of rectangular pieces of paper. This paper was like the coins in that there were different types. They were all the same size but they had different writing on them. They sported detailed designs that were fascinating to me.

Each type of bill had a different man on it. I was told that they were presidents, so this inspired me to memorize all the US presidents. The designs were intricate and represented buildings and monuments. The trivia behind the symbols became an additional sidebar of interest along with my ongoing obsession with currency.

My parents and sister were great at helping me identify and memorize currency. They enjoyed quizzing me and seemed pleased by my interest. Quizzing me also helped with my verbal skills. While I was not communicating in a traditional way, I was pronouncing words and interacting with others, at least at some level.

The meaning behind money was still a bit mystifying to me, and would be for some time. My initial interest was simply in enjoying the appearance and in memorizing its unique identifiers. It would be years before I could appreciate how money was used and for what purpose.

Having patience has always been very difficult for me when it comes to not getting my way. This was particularly evident when it came to toys that required batteries. To me it was not clear why a toy that I had become fond of would normally work and generate noises and then suddenly, without warning, stop working. This would bring instant grief to me and in turn to my loved ones around me.

I would go from content to upset in an instant when having a toy not respond to my expectations. Most often I would begin hitting the toy to make it respond. After that failed to fix the problem, I would throw the toy up in the air and have it crash to the tile floor.

This would all try the patience of my father to no end. He felt that I was making the problem worse by being destructive. He was right of course, but at the time I had no inclination of understanding that toys cost money and need to be purchased from a store.

My parents started educating me on the reasons why toys stop working. If I began to hit or throw an unresponsive toy my parents would ask, Does it need batteries? I’d watch carefully as my father would get a screwdriver, open up the toy, remove the old batteries and replace them with new ones.

Eventually I recognized the connection between a toy not working and the magical shiny cylinders called batteries. I would still get angry over unresponsive toys, but instead of hitting or throwing them I would yell, Need batteries! Need batteries! Everyone, myself included, considered this a step forward.

Many turning points in my early life originated from my parents growing tired of something I had a habit of doing, and then trying new approaches to making me stop. Over time my father became tired of Need batteries! and therefore decided to try something different.

We went to the local drug store. Usually my father would leave me in the car with my sister or leave me at home since I added unwanted obstacles to an already unwanted store visit. I had a tendency to make noise, touch things, or touch strangers. This time my father brought me in with him.

Walking with purpose, we went directly to the battery shelf. He took 2 boxes of AA batteries off of the shelf and handed them to me and told me to hold them. We then proceeded to the counter.

There was no line and very few people in the store. A woman was working at the counter and greeted us with a smile. Give them to her my father instructed. I complied and repeated Give them to her as I usually did in those days. He then gave me several bills. In fact he gave me one five-dollar bill and three one-dollar bills. He said, Give her the money. Give her the money, I repeated excitedly. She took the batteries, placed them in a familiar plastic shopping bag, took the money and placed it in the cash register, pulled out some coins and gave the coins to me. Say thank you my father instructed. Say thank you I said.

As we left the store I carried the plastic bag containing the batteries in one hand and the change from the transaction in the other. It was at that moment that I had put it all together. I had my epiphany. I now understood and I was in awe. Money can be used to buy things. Money can get me what I want!

That ride home was one of my most significant memories. I thought the world could see me smile. I could sense that my father knew that I was happy. He may not have understood how much I came to realize at that moment, but he was aware that I had a moment of understanding.

This event would put me on a path of determination that would rule my entire life from then on. I wanted to know all that there was to know about acquiring money. I had an understanding of spending money at this point, but my new interest would mostly be focused on how to get more.

I had so many questions. How does one get money? Was there more money in my mom's purse, in my father's pockets?

I started to look for money everywhere I could possibly find it - in drawers, in the car, under the couch. Any time I found a coin I put it on the shelf in my room. I would later lay in bed with my coins and rub them with my shirt to make them shiny.

I wanted so badly to go back to the store, any store, and watch people put money in the cash register. I learned that there was reluctance on my parents’ part to do this. I would come along to the store and stand in line with my mother as she waited to pay for groceries. I would giggle and jump as I watched people in line ahead of us pay for their food.

After we would finish paying for our items I wanted to stay. I would try to watch the people behind me paying for items. Lots of people looked at me as I enjoyed the spectacle. My mother would make me leave for the car and I would get agitated at having to miss all the fun.

I wanted so much more information about money. It started to become obvious to my parents that I was interested in it, so they tried to help in little ways. These ways were not nearly as satisfying or as fast as I thirsted for the knowledge, but they did help.

My father bought me a piggy bank and showed me how to put money in it. I didn't really want my money in there because I couldn't see it. I did start to use it for a few coins though. Mostly I placed my money in a shoe box or lined them up on my shelves. My father did his best to explain that the money is safer hidden away.

Over time I would collect a large amount of coins simply by foraging around the house and our vehicles. A penny here, a dime there and I would be constantly on the lookout for new places to search. Quarters were always a tremendous score that I would celebrate and congratulate myself over.