Autistic Moments: Autistics Should Be Sterilized

Recently, I encountered an ‘Autism Mom’ who wrote that she thinks her son shouldn’t be allowed to reproduce. She uses these words: “I am still deeply worried about the idea that he could get someone pregnant and yet could never be a real father – which is why I will insist on having medical power of attorney, so that I will be able to make the decision about a vasectomy for him after he turns 18.” This is Judith Newman, author of ‘To Siri with Love’. (Updated)

According to a New York Times review, she advocates, in fact, for (implied non-voluntary/forced) vasectomies for all autistic men. I’m not sure if she assumes autistic women only have sex with autistic men (in case she reads this and doesn’t know, we are not a separate species incapable of reproducing with neurotypicals), or if she thinks that I too should be sterilized, but men were the ones specifically mentioned. Full disclosure, I have not read the entire book this woman has written detailing her point of view, and I do not wish to give money, publicity, and recognition to someone who seems to consider something that terrible as an option. I have read several passages, and found them disturbing enough to avoid the rest for my own mental health. However, I would like to discuss this topic of sterilization because there are a disturbing number of people out there – including those who claim to be allies of autistics – who feel that we should not be allowed to be parents.

FORCED-STERILIZATION.jpg

 

Let me just say it straight up for all the autism parents out there who think that sterilizing their children should be an option. IT. IS. NOT. YOUR. DECISION. Our bodies, our choice. Plain and simple. It is not your right to steal our potential from us.

The fact that any of you would even think it is your call disgusts me. We are allowed to have agency as individuals. And it hurts me deeply that you want to take that away from us. I’ve always wanted to be a mom one day. I’m getting married in less than two months, and if all goes well, in the next few years I’ll have a mini-me or mini-him. Whenever I’ve helped care for young children, I haven’t had any real problems. I’ve worked at summer camps before handling between three to easily a hundred kids at a time. I even just helped look after my year-and-a-half-old niece yesterday and we had a delightful time as she babbled adorable nonsense and took me on a tour of the backyard garden. There are plenty of autistic parents out there who do just fine – or even just mediocre, which isn’t a crime since there are plenty of mediocre neurotypical parents out there whose kids turn out alright. Autistic parents are hard to find online, because any googling of the words ‘autism’ or ‘autistic’ and ‘mom’, ‘dad’, or ‘parent’ automatically leads to an army of neurotypical people who’ve stolen our label to slap on themselves, but they do exist. There’s even autistics out there in the education system or helping out in daycares. In many cases, we are completely capable of being nurturing, loving, successful parents. Maybe when we’re five, ten, or fifteen we’re not at that point yet, but we can learn. Judith Newman’s son is a minor. He has the potential to perhaps become capable of parenting in the next few decades. She wants to rob him of that decision because he’s not as visibly mature in one way or another as current parents – as if people never change? The reason autistic adults are so different from autistic children is that we have learned. We’ve been often forced to adapt by society around us. And even if we haven’t, there’s always the chance that we will in the future. So just because you might look at an autistic boy having a full meltdown and think, “Oh god, he could never be a parent” doesn’t mean that in the future he won’t be fully capable of parenting well. You don’t know where the future will go, how he might adapt and evolve. You should not rob him of his choices by sterilizing him. Thinking differently and having difficulties in life does not mean we should be required to give up the human right that almost all other people on this planet have, whether you think we’re worthy of it or not.

To draw a comparison (and I apologize if I make any mistakes, since it’s not a community I’m intimately familiar with, nor a part of), a deaf person who was born deaf and has no concept of hearing thinks differently from a hearing person. A deaf person would use a visual language – sign language. They may or may not be able to speak verbally. Does this mean that we should sterilize said deaf person out of fear that they won’t be able to communicate well enough if they have a hearing child? No, that’s preposterous, inhumane, and reminiscent of horrifically immoral eugenics programs. Would we do a DNA check and sterilize a hearing person if they were prone to having deaf children out of fear that they wouldn’t be able to communicate well enough with their child? No, of course not, due to presumed competence of able people. We instead provide services. The parent should learn the language their child is most suited for.

getting-involved-with-deaf-hoh-community-03.jpg

Translated to autism, we think differently. Not in something as straightforward as lacking the experience of one of the senses, but our brains are wired differently from neurotypicals. While most of the autistics I’ve encountered are online, I find them easier to communicate with than neurotypicals, and from all the literature on the subject, neurotypicals seem to find just as much difficulty communicating with us as compared to with each other. Speaking hypothetically and with no first-hand experience, I imagine having autistic children as an autistic would be easier for me than it would be for a neurotypical. The language is one that’s natural for me, so to speak. I don’t need to learn it. This isn’t to say that I couldn’t care for a neurotypical child. As far as we can tell at this point, my niece is a bright, social, neurotypical child – she still came running to bang on the bathroom door when I left her for a few moments with her grandmother, so I must have done something right. But to say that because I may have some difficulty different from a neurotypical parent that I shouldn’t be allowed to have the ability to reproduce is appalling. It regulates basic human rights to gatekeepers. What if such a thing were to become common practice again (as we did used to practice forced sterilization)? Why stop at autistics? Should we include all disabilities? After all, how could a blind person look after a child? As seeing people, we think about how difficult that might be for us and all the problems that could happen, but blind people are parents all the time and things turn out fine. Blind adults know how to handle their blindness, and it’s really none of our business how or if they parent so long as they’re not doing something genuinely abusive warranting a call to CPS. Likewise, in general, autistic adults know how to handle autism, and it’s none of your business how or if we parent so long as we’re not doing something genuinely abusive. So don’t you dare force us to give up our choices because you presume we’ll forever be incompetent.

babies

I’d like to mention here something that I learned a while ago that broke my heart. I’ve always imagined I’d adopt a child. Ever since I was little and learned that not everyone had parents or a family, I wanted to provide that for someone if I could. My fiancé is adopted from Korea, and we discussed having one child biologically, then trying to adopt a second, preferably from Korea. I looked up the restrictions for who can adopt from Korea, and it broke me to learn that parents with any history of mental health issues – including autism – are prohibited from adopting. I began reading on forums about adoption, and trying to find anyone writing from the perspective of an autistic trying to adopt or who had adopted not just from Korea, but from anywhere. What I encountered was an unfortunate mess of people who’d been told they shouldn’t be allowed to adopt, or people saying to autistics that (without any knowledge about our abilities as a potential parent or who we are as individuals beyond being autistic) simply because we are autistic we shouldn’t be allowed to be parents because we would be incapable of emotionally nurturing a child due to our lack of empathy. This blends misinformation and incorrect stereotypes into policy that blocks caring, giving people from helping children find families.

Not all autistics want to be parents, and that should be respected. And there’s a good chance some of us perhaps shouldn’t be. But the potential for us to make that choice needs to be there, the same as it is for neurotypical people who might not make for good parents. I think that plenty of us would make for pretty good parents, and I know that there are plenty of autistic parents already out their raising happy children. We just need to not be robbed of our potential.

One last note: If you are a non-autistic parent of an autistic child and want to write a book about it, ensure that you have several autistic adults review your book for content and language as sensitivity readers. I would suggest going on twitter if you have an account, and asking for help using the #askingautistics hashtag – a space set up specifically for neurotypicals to ask autistics questions. Chances are you can find someone willing to help you there.

Asking autistics

The mother who wrote the book inspiring this blog post clearly did some research and listened to things like youtube channels of autistic adults as part of her research, which is excellent, but that’s not enough. She pays lip service to things that mean a lot to many autistics, such as pointing towards actually autistic sources, but then undermines it all with presumed incompetence (“I want to understand what he’s thinking. *Is* he thinking?” Yes. Yes he is. And you feeling he doesn’t think will hurt him one day), infantilization, promotion of eugenics, appropriation of autistic adults without their consent or consultation, othering, demeaning language, dismissal of her own son’s agency as a person, dismissal of her son’s privacy as an individual, and overall harmful bile. An autistic sensitivity reader could have seen this and instantly told her how incredibly harmful such language is to our community – and to her son. I don’t think that parents with autistic children should never write books about their experience. I think such works can be very useful to other parents facing similar situations. However, they need to be extremely careful in doing so and ensure that they are not belittling, shouting over, harming, or presuming to speak for autistics. We are the only people who can truly speak for autistics. Keep that in mind next time you see a non-autistic writer appropriating our label, and if you read their work, read it with a grain of salt and a critical lens.

Like, share, comment, and/or follow to show support! You can also find me on facebook as Some Girl with a Braid, or on Twitter @AmalenaCaldwell.

Autistic Moments - Autistics Should Be Sterilized.png

Image text:

Some Girl With a Braid at Six Years Old: When I grow up, I’m going to have a baby like my doll, and I’m going to make up a name for her like my mommy and daddy made up my name, and I’m going to love her, and take care of her, and cuddle her, and read to her, and teach her dancing…

Some Girl With a Braid at Twelve Years Old: There’s so many children without nice families like mine… I should make a family for one or two when I grow up. More people should adopt. I should try to adopt.

Some Girl With a Braid at Twenty-Four Years Old: You are the cutest little niece a girl could ask for. I hope your future cousin is even half as cute as you, you adorable little girl.

Niece: Kitty-Cat ah Goo!

Internet: Autistic people should be sterilized. Autistic men should have vasectomies. Autistics should not be allowed to adopt. Autistics should never be parents. Reproducing is a right they should not be allowed.

Some Girl With a Braid: *Sobs quietly*

(Update, 3:43 – came across an extremely disturbing passage and have decided to name names because while I don’t want to give her publicity, this needs to be shamed.)

Advertisements

Autistic Moments – Don’t Touch My Hair

I’ve noticed that in life, if there’s something unusual about a person, other people will want to touch them. They often won’t ask permission, and sometimes even if they do, they do so while in the middle of doing the thing they’re asking permission for. I don’t quite understand why others have this urge to touch strangers around them, but it gets very, very annoying.

Sometimes I’ll be standing in line somewhere like the supermarket, feel something move behind me, and turn around to find my hair in some stranger’s hands. This has happened enough times that it doesn’t even surprise me anymore. I’ve had waiters/waitresses sneak up behind me and start petting my braid, women grab my braid while I’m standing in line for the bathroom, and even groups of people surround me and start passing my hair around in their hands like a braided joint.

If I were a neurotypical person, I think this would be incredibly annoying and invasive. As an autistic person, I have to suppress the urge to violently swing around and roundhouse kick my space invader in the face because strangers touching me (especially by surprise) triggers a fight or flight instinctive response. My body tenses, I feel panic in my chest, I have to sometimes slip into meditation breathing to remember that I’m not actually in danger. Then I have to pretend to be nice, because apparently if I don’t want strangers touching me, I shouldn’t choose to be different (yes I have actually been told that before by multiple people). I plaster a smiling mask to my face and answer the repetitious questions everyone has.

Yes, it’s real. No, I don’t want to donate my hair. Because I like it on my head.

I’ve been growing it for eighteen years. No, I am not eighteen years old.

It is four and a half feet long when open. I sometimes trim it, but never cut it.

I wash it in the shower. With shampoo, conditioner, and water. Like everyone else.

I go to the bathroom just like everyone else and it doesn’t get in the way. Why would you ask a stranger how they go to the bathroom?

fighting stance

It does feel a bit like an attack whenever I’m out in public and get subjected to random pawing. I like my personal space. I can barely stomach hugs if I’m not already comfortable with the person I’m hugging. Having people surprise me by touching me drives me crazy in a very bad way. The worst part is how they always seem to ‘mean well’. I tell myself, they’re just curious, it’s fine. My hair is very unusual, and they’ve probably never seen something quite like it in person before. If it’s a kid, I don’t even really mind because kids are usually adorable – and they are actually the ones more likely to ask permission first. But adults should know better.

If you see someone who’s physically different in some way, don’t follow your instinct to immediately put your hands on them. For one, it’s really rude and invasive, but you also have no idea what sort of tolerance they have for that type of thing. They could be autistic, and having a stranger touch them could trigger fight or flight instincts. Don’t be responsible for traumatizing people who dare to leave the house while looking different. The day is already a minefield for us. Don’t be a mine. Being touched by strangers should not be the tax people have to pay if they keep their hair a way that you don’t, whether they have unusual colored hair dyes, curls, are black and have natural hair, or even if it’s just that their hair is longer than average. If you feel you really want to touch someone’s hair, tattoo, nails, or anything else, always ask permission. And if they tell you no, accept their choice without being offended as if you’re owed the right to lay your hands on someone. You’re not.

 

Has anyone else experienced this sort of thing? How do you handle it?

Like, share, comment, and/or follow to show support! You can also find me on facebook as Some Girl with a Braid, or on Twitter @AmalenaCaldwell.

 

Autistic Moments - Don't Touch Me

Picture text:

Space Invader: (grabs my hair) Oh wow! Your hair is so long!

Some Girl with a Braid: Do I know you?

Space Invader: I just had to come over! Your hair’s so long!

Some Girl with a Braid: Alright. And do you normally sneak up behind strangers and grope their hair? At what point while I was standing here did you get the message that I wanted you to touch me?

Space Invader: So can I touch your hair?

Some Girl with a Braid: Gee, nice of you to ask. NO.

 

 

Autistic Moments – What’s Wrong?

Apparently I forget about my face. It’s there, I know, and I’m supposed to put more effort into it, but I don’t. I don’t get why I should, really. Smiling all the time hurts my face, and why should I put effort into my expression especially when I’m not in the middle of socializing? Sometimes I’m hyper focused on something, and that focus means that I don’t have the diverted brain energy going into making my face palatable to others. Sometimes it’s just nice to be alone and stare into space while playing fantasies about mythical battles, dramatic romances, and epic dragons. When my brain’s so busy with such wonderful things, why would I bother trying to make my face look like I want to be approached?

Part of my lack of effort in my face is because I get annoyed when pictures are taken and my face isn’t perceived the way I perceive it. What’s the point in putting effort into smiling if the smile I like isn’t the smile other people like? I’ve been told that pictures I think look really nice (usually with a close-lipped smile) make me look like I want to murder people with some sort of death glare. That I don’t look properly happy without a big, toothy grin that feels weird to pose with on my face. I just don’t see it. I don’t think I look as good, I feel like I see more of me the way I see myself when I don’t smile at all, or when I have a slight smile. I think there’s something delicate about my lips in that way, and big, toothy smiles make me think of comedy, clowns, and jokes – all bulky things in my mind that are heavy and take up energy, even if they take up energy in a good way. Those things don’t mean ‘happy’ to me, not really. They’re amusing, of course, and I can feel happy while experiencing them, but that doesn’t capture ‘happy’ for me. Happy to me is more about being content and comfortable, with pizza, soft clothes, and a good book/movie/videogame. I don’t need smiles to enjoy those things. The way I feel in my head doesn’t match up to what other people feel my face expresses, and it can be exhausting practicing and making sure I remember not to let the mask slip.

I think some of the reason I get comments is because of gender. There’s a thing about getting girls to smile all the time that I don’t quite comprehend. If someone sees I’m not smiling, wouldn’t they understand there could be a reason I’m not smiling? Or maybe no reason to smile? Smiling takes energy and I wish people would stop demanding I spend energy for no good reason.

Just as common though are well meaning people who think I’m always sad or angry or that something must be wrong for me to be sitting by myself and staring off into space without any particular expression on my face. They just want to help, and I get that. I even appreciate the concern.

But sometimes sitting there alone and expressionless helps me recharge my social batteries before plunging into the fray once more. A few daydreams, a little bit of watching the grass grow, playing bejeweled on my phone, or bouncing my leg up and down, and I can be good to go.

So, nothing’s wrong, thank you for asking. I get that you mean well, but I really am fine and you don’t have to look so skeptical when I tell you I’m fine. If I’m not fine, chances are that I just need some time to recharge. If you are a close friend who knows that I enjoy spending time with them without feeling drained afterwards, that’s cool and I’m probably okay with hanging out while I recharge. If I’m not, don’t be offended. But if you’re just a well-meaning passerby, please continue to pass by. Don’t tell me to come on out of my shell because socializing and smiling will make me feel better. It won’t. And even when I do recharge, don’t be too worried about whether there’s a smile on my face. If it happens, it happens. But I don’t think it’s worth draining my batteries to force it.

Autistic Moments - What's wrong.png

Image text:

Well-Meaning Person: Hey, what’s wrong?

Some Girl with a Braid: Nothing. Why?

Well-Meaning Person: You look upset.

Some Girl with a Braid: Huh. Weird.

 

What type of techniques do you use to recharge? I have a few go-to stims (fidgeting, rubbing my eyes, bouncing my leg up and down), and I like soft quite places, like my bed with a heavy comforter (or two) and possibly a million pillows. I’m curious how others cope.

Like, share, comment, or follow me here, on Facebook (Some Girl with a Braid), or Twitter (@AmalenaCaldwell) for future updates if you enjoy my posts!

Autistic Moments – Talking Over Me

What is the correct way to refer to me and others like me? Let’s talk about talk.

When it comes to autism, there’s a lot of talk about talk. Mostly, in the form of arguments for or against one of two sides. One side promotes ‘person-first language’. Person-first language is calling someone a “person with autism.” This is because they feel that putting emphasis on the fact that we are people will help humanize us, and also often because they don’t want to see their child as a walking condition/diagnosis. Rather, they would like to see them as just their child.

The other side champions ‘identity-first language’. Aka: “I’m autistic”, “I’m an autistic”, or “I’m an autistic person.” This is because, since autism is in our brains and is a major aspect of our personality, we don’t see ourselves as separate from our condition anymore than you might see yourself as separate from your gender, sexuality, religion, race, or other intricate parts of your identity. We feel that separating autism from our personhood is dehumanizing in that it is trying to sanitize and change us to be more appealing to neurotypicals. As if we can’t be seen as both autistic and a person, that these things must be separate, because autism is not a person and the implication is that being neurotypical is the default onto which is added autism. Except that’s not the case. We cannot be without our autism, just like we cannot be without our gender, sexuality, religion, etc.

I’m female in the same way I’m autistic. No one ever stops me to say that I should say “No, you’re a person with female-ness. Put the person before the female.” The implication I get from that is that, somehow, females aren’t a type of people. Which is probably why no one says it, because females are undeniably people. But apparently, autistics are not?

If you can’t tell already, I prefer identity-first language for all the reasons I’ve listed, and probably a few more I’m forgetting.

The main point I’d like to get to isn’t the merits of one over the other. In fact, I think it’s just fine if someone prefers to be referred to as a person with autism (though as an English nut, I feel it’s a bulky, unnecessary phrase). If they do, then I’ll respect that and refer to them as such – though I should mention that the majority I’ve encountered and across the expanse of the internet prefer identity-first. No, the main point I’d like to get to has to do with non-autistic people getting all huffy and puffy over language. There are a lot of people online who claim to be autism advocates, parents, or professionals who flat out stamp on and insult autistic people for asking that their choices be respected. Sometimes a neurotypical posts something about “people with autism” and an autistic person corrects them, only to be virtually shouted at, berated, and belittled. Sometimes a neurotypical will seek out autistics and inform them that they’re being offensive.

However they make these comments, neurotypicals engaging in this behavior are disrespecting and offending the very people they claim they want to help. They are silencing our voices because we make them uncomfortable and they are accustomed to the stereotype that we cannot communicate. Sometimes they tell us that because we can speak, we don’t count (which is always amusing when this is told to someone who then reveals themselves to be non-verbal behind the keyboard).  It’s as if they want us to be silenced. They want to believe the stereotype that autistics cannot communicate. The advance of technology has made us more capable than ever before, and they don’t want us talking for ourselves, because then who will listen to them as the expert? We challenge their authority by existing and typing. You can’t have much more expertise and authority on autism beyond being autistic yourself and living it 24/7. I feel that these people talking over us are afraid that we’ll displace them and replace them as the ‘top dog’ in go-to autism related matters. They have a loud privilege at the moment in this society. Like all people with privilege, they’re afraid of losing it, even if it’s a sub-conscious fear. So they put us down and try to keep us quiet, try to make their voices the loudest.

No one likes being told that what they’re doing is hurtful. It’s a personal stab when someone accuses you of doing anything wrong, even if you didn’t mean to. But if you’re an adult, you should know to graciously accept comments and use them to better yourself. The proper response to an autistic person telling you, “Actually, I prefer being called autistic” is not “How dare you question me?! I have so many qualifications!” (or variations thereof). Instead, try, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I’ll try to do better in the future. Thank you.”

And as for other autistics out there… Don’t be afraid to correct people to whatever your preference is. If they don’t hear/read/see our voices and communications, then they’ll never change, never learn to respect our agency, and may not even realize we do indeed have our own agency. If you can’t emotionally handle the potential backlash, then do what’s best for your mental health. But if you can, know you have the support of at least this autistic. You do you, and don’t let anyone tell you you’re doing it wrong.

What are your thoughts on and experiences with person-first vs. identity-first language? Leave them in the comments below!

Autistic Moments - Talking Over Me

Comic Text:

Some Girl with a Braid says: … And that’s how I learned I’m autistic.

Blue Mommy Martyr says: Oh no, sweety, you shouldn’t say ‘Autistic’. Say ‘Person with Autism’ or else you’re insulting them. Put the ‘person’ first.

Some Girl with a Braid says: Can you not see us as people and autistics at the same time? I feel personhood is implied with any descriptive identity. And, as an autistic, I prefer identity-first language. Actually, the vast majority of autistics I’ve encountered within the autistic community prefer identity-first terminology because we feel that separating our personhood from our neurology is stigmatizing and vilifying a significant part of who we are. We cannot be the people we are without our autism. We cannot be people without our brains. Autism is also not something we can be rid of; it is not a cancer that can be cured or a purse that can be put down. It is always with us. It is who we are, for better or worse. It’s the same way you would refer to yourself as a female instead of ‘person with female-ness’. It’s a part of who you are and not offensive. If someone on the spectrum does prefer person-first language, then use it at their request, but by telling me how to talk about myself, you are policing and silencing the community you want to help, and insulting us by trying to rob our agency.

Blue Mommy Martyr says: How dare you! I know more about the experience of people with autism than you ever could because I’m a professional and I have a two year old nephew with autism!

Some Girl with a Braid says: …

Blue Mommy Martyr says: You obviously don’t know any better, so I’ll be offended by you on your behalf and attack you for you.

Some Girl with a Braid says: Are you serious right now?

Like, share, follow, etc. if you want continued updates of future posts and more Autistic Moments comics! You can find me at “Some Girl with a Braid” on Facebook and @AmalenaCaldwell on Twitter. Or, if you really love me, follow me here on my blog!

Autistic Moments – Faces

I’d always read about autistic people having difficulty with faces. Usually in regards to recognizing emotions and reading body language, but also in recognizing people. It’s called prosopagnosia, also known as ‘face blindness’, and is defined as the inability to remember faces, or sometimes even to differentiate a face from an object. I’d read about this often being something that autistics deal with, but always thought that was a symptom I just didn’t have. I can recognize my parents’ faces, my siblings, my cousins, grandparents, best friends, long-term classmates, and most teachers. If I meet someone I consider interesting, I’ll probably remember their face. Then I went to college, away from my small class of forty-two graduating students, some of whom I’d known for twelve years.

I started getting greeted by people I’d just met and completely not knowing why they were talking to me or why they knew my name unless they mentioned what class we had together, or how we’d met. I’d be unable to remember what name went with each person, and facebook (ironically named for this post) became a saving grace. I’d always had difficulty remembering names, but for the longest time I figured that was just because I knew too many people and that they only recognized me because of my unusual hair, so it was just natural some would slip my mind and I couldn’t be expected to remember everyone. Once in college, it was a jump into the deep end to try and keep everyone’s names and faces straight.

There was one particular class I remember that made it all crystal clear to me that perhaps I did have a mild version of this autistic symptom. I had a project I was supposed to present with a partner the next time we had class, and I was feeling fairly confident since she was a nice person and we’d done some good research. The day comes, and I go up to get ready to present. I’m pulling up our powerpoint presentation and realize I can’t spot her in the class. I start completely panicking, thinking that maybe she’s sick that day and I’d have to present her half of the project. I started frantically looking at the door, looking nervously at the teacher, reading over her half of the powerpoint so that I could practice at least a little and not bomb in front of the class… then at the last moment this girl walks up with a big smile and asks if I’m ready to go. Relief flooded me because I realized the only reason I thought she was absent was because she’d changed her hairstyle and that was how I’d been recognizing her up until that point.

I told this story to my fiance, and he just told me, “Yep, sounds like you had an autistic moment.” It took me a moment to realize, yeah, I had. And somehow, that felt really good to know.

If you’ve experienced moments like this, feel free to share them in the comments section, I’d love to hear all about it. Like, share, or follow me here, on Facebook (Some Girl with a Braid), or Twitter (@AmalenaCaldwell) for future updates if you enjoy my posts.

Autistic Moments - Faces

Comic Text:

Some Girl with a Braid says: See you tomorrow for the project presentation!

Girl with Ponytail says: Yep!

(Next day in class)

Some Girl with a Braid thinks: Oh no, she’s absent today, I’m screwed. Oh no, oh help, oh no…

Girl with Ponytail who’s hair is now open says: Hey! Ready to present our project?

Some Girl with a Braid says: Yep, all set up and ready to go!

Some Girl with a Braid thinks: Oh thank goodness, she just changed her hair.