Hi there, this is Stacie Sherman, Communications Director for Autism New Jersey. Since I joined this organization in October, I’ve been writing and sharing inspiring stories about children and adults with autism across New Jersey. To kick off 2026, I am sharing one of my own.
This is the story of my son, Cameron. Some readers may not even know I have a son, and that’s on me. I tend to write more about my daughter, Brielle. In truth, Cam has always seemed like the “easy” one, while Brielle’s journey has been more challenging. Both are on the autism spectrum. Brielle is on the profound end; Cam is on the mild end. He’s 25 now. He works full-time, drives, has friends and sometimes girlfriends. He plays guitar and loves heavy metal, hard rock and punk music and concerts.
Cam is 18 months older than Brielle. He was the first of my kids to be diagnosed. Back then, he was classified as having Pervasive Developmental Disorder-Not Otherwise Specified (PDD-NOS). That stands for: I know your kid has some issues consistent with autism. I’m not exactly sure why or how to treat it, so let’s call it this.
Cam spoke but struggled to put words together. His first little sentences came from his favorite TV show, The Wiggles. Soon he was talking nonstop, so much that it concerned me. He didn’t seem to understand social cues. It was unclear to him when one was supposed to talk and how to hold a proper conversation. He frustrated some of his teachers. I was urged to try medication with him because of what was seen as hyperactivity. But the medication had several side effects, including heart issues. I stopped it and urged the school to figure out the best way to help Cam learn.
Cam was in a special class with a smaller group of kids. He was a love with his white-blonde hair, big blue eyes, and even bigger smile. Teachers who understood him adored him; others had no patience for him. He thrived with the former. He struggled with tests and long-form writing and reading. He needed extra help every step along the way, and I made sure he got it.
For many years, I didn’t tell Cam about his diagnosis. For one reason, I wasn’t even sure exactly what he had. PDD-NOS had been replaced by other terms: high-functioning autism or Asperger’s. Cam seemed closest to Asperger’s, which used to be a stand-alone diagnosis but is now part of the spectrum. He was socially awkward, but sweet as could be. Overly polite. Distracted easily. He had a crazy memory and an unbelievable ear for music. Mostly, I didn’t tell Cam about his diagnosis because he was happy and never asked.
Then came high school, the age when kids can be mean and ugly. It’s a time when bullies and cliques often emerge, and kids like mine are noticed for their differences, and not in a good way. Cam and all his innocence and naivety were taken advantage of. One day, a kid at school talked Cam into doing a stupid dance and then shared it all over social media. Cam came home upset, asking why he had been singled out. That was the day I had to explain to my boy why others made him feel that being different was bad.
Convincing any teenager that “different is awesome” is tough. Why fit in when you were born to stand out, I think Dr. Seuss said that. But the incident at school had made Cam doubt himself.
Cam’s biggest challenge was social awkwardness, so we started there. I found an amazing social skills group that taught kids how to make friends, how to start and have conversations, how to understand when it was their turn to talk, and what were acceptable discussion topics. It was intense, it was expensive, and it was worth every penny. Those lessons gave Cam confidence and helped him embrace who he was.
“It was never easy having Asperger’s,” Cam said. “It was a disadvantage because it made me different, but it’s an advantage because it helped me be myself and I’m proud of that.”
After high school, Cam wanted to go to college like other kids. He didn’t realize how hard he’d had to work just to graduate. I worried about him going to a four-year college. I was worried about him being able to keep himself on task, about him asking for help when he needed it, about him being distracted by other stuff at college. So, I convinced him to start with a two-year program. It took extra time and effort from both him and me, but Cam earned his associate’s degree, and I’ve never seen him prouder.
After graduation, Cam decided to move in with his dad. We had split up when Cam was just 5 years old, and his dad lived more than an hour away. Despite the distance and the days between visits, Cam was super-close with his dad. They’ve grown even closer, bonding over sports and life. Today, Cam is thriving. He works full-time at a major home improvement store, making friends, dating, and plays lead and bass guitar in addition to drums and the piano. I see him every couple of weeks, and he fills our dinners with stories about work and upcoming concerts.
From the outside, it might seem I worry less about Cam than Brielle. But sometimes, I worry more. Brielle’s severe needs qualify her for extensive support. She lives in a group home with round-the-clock care. Cam, on the other hand, lives on the edge of independence. He never qualified for much help because he wasn’t “disabled enough.” Technically, he could live on his own, but does he truly understand what that means? Is he ready? I hope so. But what if he isn’t? How do I prepare him for a future I can’t predict? Am I worrying too much or not enough?
Here’s what I do know: Cam has already proven that he can rise to challenges. He’s kind, smart, friendly, and determined. Cam reminds me every day that different isn’t just acceptable. It’s incredible.
Are you or your kid like Cameron?
Here are some Autism New Jersey resources that may help.
Preparing Adults With Autism for Employment Success
Transition Planning
Social Emotional Learning
Online Referral Database
Adult Service System
Supported Decision-Making
We want to hear your story.
Are you on the autism spectrum, or do you have a family member with autism? We’d love to hear from you. Your experiences matter, and your journey could inspire others. Your stories of resilience, growth, and hope can build understanding and connection. Please email us at stories@autismnj.org. If we choose to feature your story, we will be in touch.
Do you have questions or comments about our stories? You can reach me (Stacie) at ssherman@autismnj.org.