Just being a father enough for these local coaches
Sid Edwards extends his arms toward his son, Jack Ryan, and asks, “Can Daddy get a hug?”
The 11-year-old puts down his iPad, gets out of the car, takes a quick step and buries his head into Edwards’ chest and says, “daddy’s boy.”
This greeting in the Central High parking lot was poignant, especially just two days before Father’s Day.
It also provides a glimpse of what daily life is like for Edwards, Central’s head football coach and athletic director, as the father of two sons with autism. Edwards and his wife, Beanie, have four children, three boys and one girl. Chase, now 20, also is autistic.
“They really don’t know or understand what I do,” Edwards said. “To them, I’m just Dad.
“A coach should probably be one of the last people out there to have an autistic child. I’m fortunate to have a wife who’s an angel and we have the support of our family and friends. That support allows me to do what I love.
“I’ve gotten my greatest education from these two boys. It’s given me a lot of compassion for people and a different perspective that I can share.”
St. Amant High assistant football and baseball coach Marshall Crooks also knows the life-changing impact of autism. His adopted son, Allen, was diagnosed with autism between the ages of one and two. He is now 8.
“Allen, that’s enough,” Crooks says to his son, who is kicking his legs while seated on a nearby sofa. “What’s he’s doing they call stemming. It’s common and it’s his way of getting himself together.
“It would be like us chewing gum or twirling a piece of hair. But especially in public you try to tone it down.”
Crooks and his wife, Christie, have three children, including an adopted daughter and a foster son.
Both coaches have become advocates for autism awareness and are part of a growing population of fathers who have seen their roles evolve in ways they never imagined.
The Edwards family was a big part of the “Autism Speaks” walk that attracted thousands of people to Independence Park on March 31. Each April, three Ascension Parish baseball teams, St. Amant, Dutchtown and East Ascension, commemorate Autism Awareness Month by wearing arm bands that have the symbol of autism, different colored puzzle pieces linked together.
“Before you have children, you have certain thoughts and dreams for them which go out the windows,” Crooks said.
“A lot of people don’t understand that these kids are extremely intelligent. They’re tapped into something we don’t understand.
“The key to that is finding ways to crack that code. It’s tough. Once I got over the shock, my first thought was, what can I do to get into his world? That’s how I approach each day.”
Edwards remembers when Chase was diagnosed with autism at age four by a neurologist in New Orleans.
“I didn’t know what it (autism) was,” Edwards said. “They did brain scans and all kinds of tests. Then the doctor led us into a room and he said, ‘Let me give you some advice, this child needs to be institutionalized. He’ll never have any sort of normal life. The doctor said he’d never be able to speak or function.
“We got to the car, and Beanie was crying. And I said ‘Beanie, I heard what he said, but we’re not doing
that.’ ”
Edwards then proudly stated that his older son has a full vocabulary, loves to read, is a talented artist and a computer wizard. But he also notes that the degree of Chase’s autism will prevent him from driving a car, getting married or holding down a full-time job.
When the Edwardses were expecting Jack Ryan, doctors told them the odds of having a second child with autism were, “One in a million.” And in 2000, Jack Ryan was Edwards’ good luck charm.
Edwards was building Redemptorist into a football power and the Wolves advanced to the Class 3A final for the first time, losing to Notre Dame-Crowley. He remembers holding his six-day-old son on the floor of what is now called the Mercedes-Benz Superdome.
“As he became six months old, a year old and then two years old we could see it,” Edwards said.
“I remember going to the doctor, and my heart was in my feet. I wanted him to say
anything but autism. But we knew.”
While Chase works on the computer in Edwards’ office, Jack Ryan asks for and receives a protein drink.
Edwards looks at both sons and says, “Two different children.” While Chase is more reserved and low key, Jack Ryan is active. He likes singing and can repeat phrases in song. His vocabulary and other skills are growing, aided by the iPad and other educational tools.
“Since he’s been born, Beanie and I have averaged about three and half hours of sleep a night. You have to be on your guard. He has no concept of the road and dangers there. To him, the Mississippi River is no different than a mud puddle.
“The priorities are always safety and love first. We know he gets plenty of that.”
However, it takes more than love and safety to raise a child with autism. The Legislature has required health insurance to cover some costs. Others must be paid out-of-pocket or through a government program
While exploring early treatment options for Jack Ryan, the costs were so expensive that at one point the Edwardses lost their home and sold vehicles.
“I know there’s an average cost for raising a child,” Edwards said. “And for a child with autism it might be times 50.”
Crooks adds, “When I looked at it, I thought I was going to have to go out and get another job. There’s speech therapy and occupational therapy. Skills that develop naturally with most children they have to learn, like learning how to eat and being able to chew.”
When Allen’s autism was diagnosed, Crooks was coaching at Ascension Catholic. He had coached with Edwards at
Redemptorist. He called Edwards and later that day he and his wife were at the Edwardses’ home watching Jack Ryan
go through treatment and therapy.
Allen Crooks started out in a walker and didn’t walk on his own until he was two. Doctors and therapists stressed the importance of language in his treatment regimen.
Crooks said the approach paid off. His son is on the “high functioning” end of the autism spectrum and is an honor
student in the third grade. He tried tee ball and still runs the bases at St. Amant after practices.
Swimming is the sport Crooks said his son is passionate about. He is part of the Pelican Point swim team.
“He doesn’t understand that it’s a race when he’s out there, but that’s OK,” Crooks said. “He enjoys it.
“We’re up front with people and tell them he’s autistic and the parents and other people work with us.”
Noting the increasing rate of autism, Crooks said there’s another message.
“When we do our autism awareness, I tell the baseball players that it is all around you,” Crooks said. “You see families on the street affected by it. There are kids at your school who are diagnosed with it.
“Don’t be afraid to talk to them or learn about autism. It’s part of our society.”