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Seven seconds left in overtime, down by 1. Quarterfinals of the New York State Association of Independent Schools tournament.Tristan Braverman comes out of the timeout and walks to his spot near the right baseline. Trent Parrish, his teammate at Lawrence Woodmere Academy (Woodmere, N.Y.), takes the inbounds pass from the Lions' own end and is pressured immediately by a Horace Mann (New York) defender as he drives down the center of the court. Four seconds. Parrish is bumped above the 3-point line, just as Tristan rolls toward him, tracing the line with his steps. Parrish picks up his dribble and scoops an underhand pass to Tristan, who immediately fires from deep. Two seconds. One second. It feels like an eternity.
Something was wrong with Tristan.At first, they thought he was deaf. Tristan would sit in front of "Barney" transfixed, and while that wasn't unusual for many babies and young children at the time (such was the popularity of the big purple dinosaur), Tristan could stare at the screen for hours without moving. As a test, a doctor recommended his parents, Steve and Stacy, bang a pair of pot lids inches behind his head. Tristan didn't flinch, his eyes glued to the TV. But Tristan wasn't deaf. A neurologist -- a series of neurologists, in fact -- eventually confirmed he had autism. Autism is now so well-known -- if not yet so well-understood -- it's easy to forget that when Tristan received the diagnosis 14 years ago, it was uncommon enough that the first doctor his parents consulted told them to get in touch in a couple of years if the symptoms persisted.
"The first doctor we went to said, 'Don't even worry about it; call me when he's 3,'" Steve recalled. "Can you imagine?" A March study released by the Centers for Disease Control (based on 2008 statistics) found that 1 in 88 children is now diagnosed with autism, a rate so astonishing in its growth -- up nearly 80 percent from 2000 -- that it's unclear whether the disorder is increasingly prevalent or just more readily diagnosed. But back then, there was far less attention paid to autism, which encompasses a wide "spectrum" of symptoms and severity. Stacy didn't care what it was called. She just knew Tristan needed help. The Bravermans fought for a "massive amount" of early-intervention services, and they were lucky enough to have the means to pay for those things the state didn't provide. "Basically, Stacy wouldn't take no for an answer," Steve said. "We ended up with five different therapists that would come work with him for eight hours a day." For years, Tristan received every type of treatment imaginable -- speech therapy, physical therapy, special education, occupational therapy, family therapy, applied behavioral therapy -- and when the professionals left, Stacy would take over. She videotaped every session so they could monitor his progress and mimic the therapists' techniques. "I don't think I got out of my pajamas for three years," she said. "I did everything I could possibly think of doing -- everything." The family is convinced that the early intervention is the reason strangers might not know Tristan has autism today. He still struggles with social interaction and interpersonal communication at times -- hallmarks of autism -- but he's a nearly straight-A student who, for all intents and purposes, seems like a "normal" kid. Because the autism spectrum is so broad -- the symptoms so variant -- it's hard to generalize, hard to quantify the disability. Terms like "high-functioning" are often used to describe kids like Tristan, but they're imprecise. Some children with autism will never make the strides Tristan has; some didn't have cases as severe as his to begin with. Since he is, by most appearances, so normal, Tristan's story might seem like much ado about nothing. Kid with autism plays high school basketball. Big deal. But that would ignore the countless hours of work he and his family put in to get him to this point. It would gloss over the many times he was picked on for being different -- almost always when his older brother Hunter wasn't around to teach the tormentors a lesson -- and the fact that he has struggled to make close friends. The obstacles persist to this day. "Communication-wise I'm never able to find the right things to say," Tristan said. "I always have exactly what I want to say up here -- and what I want to prove -- but being able to convey the message to whoever I'm talking to has always been difficult.
|Tristan came off the bench at the beginning of the season but eventually earned a starting spot.|
Tristan, 16, likes to say he "beat" autism, which isn't to imply that he discounts the diagnosis. Far from being embarrassed, Tristan likes serving as an example of what's possible for autistic kids. He pointed out that April is Autism Awareness Month -- he'd noticed NBA coaches wearing the blue puzzle piece that represents Autism Speaks, the nation's largest autism advocacy organization -- making it the perfect time to tell his story. "I hope that children with autism would see me as a role model," he said, "as someone they would aspire to be like."
|Tristan wants to be a doctor, but first he wants to be a starting guard for the Knicks.|
"We don't treat him any different. Everybody likes him. He's always in the gym. He loves shooting. Everybody treats him the same; he's one of us. When he struggles we all struggle. When he succeeds we all succeed."Now a 5-11 (and possibly still-growing) junior, Tristan wants to play for Columbia or Stanford while he studies medicine. He'd like to be a doctor, but first he wants to be a starting guard for the Knicks. His room is covered in basketball paraphernalia, from the framed Harlem Globetrotters jersey and ball he got when he attended a game (and nailed a 3-pointer at halftime) to the rack of trophies to the autographed picture of Willis Reed hobbling out of the locker room before Game 7 of the 1970 NBA Finals -- a picture he said taught him "a lot about persevering." He literally sleeps with two basketballs. "Basketball is Tristan's entire life," Steve said. "If all of a sudden basketball disappeared, he would be completely lost." "I would spontaneously combust," Tristan joked, getting a laugh from his family.