People with physical, developmental and emotional disabilities turn to Pegasus Riding Academy for a balanced lifestyle.

This is the first in a two-part series that examines the Pegasus Riding Academy and the individuals who make it work.

It’s been awhile since 27-year-old Kristy Spressark was here.

She remembers the various skills she obtained when she started as a child. Although, the realization has set in that once seemingly easy tasks now require more effort than she recalls.

Spressark has a cavernoma, a cluster of abnormal blood vessels mainly found in the brain and spinal chord that causes her to have weakness in her limbs and balance problems. Spressark, who walks with a cane, participates in a unique form of therapy to help her condition: horse riding. continue reading »

The yellow bus arrives at 8:30 a.m. I am not ashamed to admit that I am glad to welcome its arrival. My children greet the bus with very different reactions. My daughter is always happy when it pulls up to the curb, while my son looks upon the vehicle as a convict must when the dingy prison bus arrives, carrying him to his incarceration. continue reading »

As I’ve said to my son on far too many occasions, I am not that far removed from my high school years to have forgotten what it was like to be 16 years old. I remember the awkwardness and the boredom in school. I can still recall getting angry with my parents over chores or behavior.

But I always made it a point to draw the line at outward disdain. I also never made the mistake of comparing my father to, say, one of the most hated men on the planet. Sadly, a play on that monster’s name has become my son’s favorite moniker for me in his most stressful of times.

Yes, in my home, I am sometimes referred to as “Dadolf Hitler.” Or, on his nicer days, it is toned down to “Dad Jong-il.” These names don’t pop up all the time. If I ask him to feed the cat or make his bed, I might simply be greeted by the anonymous grunting that is part of the teenager’s code. But when something heinous like homework or cleaning is brought into the mix, grunting often turns to comparing me to men who’ve brought death and misery to millions. continue reading »

The comment was the result of a quarrel, which is not uncommon between me and my 15-year-old son. The quarrel’s subject was something meaningless, perhaps the lack of computer time or my 10th attempt that day to stop him from eating.

But meaningless things become extremely meaningful to my son. He fixates on the minutiae the rest of us simply allow to run off our backs. And so, we often quarrel. I try to get him to understand that we don’t have to go to the dollar store every afternoon. But the trip is as important to him as a ride on the Space Shuttle.

Finally, in his exasperation, he yelled at me, “You don’t know what it’s like to live with autism!”

It broke the tension, and even gave me a brief chuckle. The truth is I’ve been living with autism for almost as long as my son.

Continue reading to read more about Pat, his son and how they handle autism. Also, be sure to read about Pat’s son’s latest developments. continue reading »