So today I went to see Bridget Taylor* talk at C.W. Post. I was actually way excited about this. Kind of the way I used to be about Springsteen concerts. My nervy friend approached her at break and we talked to her a bit. She was diplomatic and clearly used to dealing with assertive parents. The Powerpoint presentation was kickass, I thought: many many good video clips, a sufficient number of funny and self-deprecating anecdotes.

*Note to my reader, who's not reading tonight anyway b/c it's the sabbath: Bridget Taylor is the therapist who worked with Catherine Maurice's kids. And who is Catherine Maurice, you ask? The pseudonymous author of Let Me Hear Your Voice, which is the account of recovering Maurice's children from autism through intensive therapy: Applied Behavior Analysis. It's the book that launched a thousand therapy sessions, lawsuits, etc. So anyway, in the autism community Bridget Taylor is a celebrity.

I wasn't the only one: she kept asking us if we wanted breaks, and the roomful of parents and therapists kept shaking their heads no. More, Bridget! Do "Fourth of July, Asbury Park!"

There was a stupid person in the back who interrupted the lecture a couple of times to blather about her child and some pediatrician she'd taken her to, and being the tolerant person I am, I was muttering "Shut up! Give it a rest!" not at all softly. Just the way I used to do in high school and college.**

It was energizing, though: it kept reminding me of all the things that I know already but keep forgetting (break up difficult tasks! Let her be successful! Reinforce her for good behavior!), sort of the way as an adult I should know that if someone doesn't like me, it's about their issues, not mine, but I keep forgetting.

**As a teacher, of course, I loved students who interrupted and blathered: I thought of it as participation and was grateful to them.