Ethan Hanson - Sports Reporter

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My arms and legs were covered in bruises and cuts as I pushed a blue mountain bike up a flat and jagged gravel road on a humid summer day in Kent, Connecticut, four years ago.

For over 20 years I had felt ashamed that I had struggled with simple tasks like riding bikes and driving cars. I was diagnosed with autism at 4 years old and struggled with fine motor control. My fifth-grade teacher chastised me for my unreadable handwriting.

I had tried riding before, but I couldn't figure out how to control the steering part of a bike. I avoided bikes as I got older because I felt embarrassed to tell people as a grown man that I didn't know how to ride.

Now, for an entire month, I had crashed and failed. At one point my sister told me to wash my arms — she thought they were covered in mud. Those were bruises. My mindset needed to change, to accept the fact that failure exists in everything we do. Persistence and the ability to keep getting up is ultimately what enables people like me — people with autism — to break barriers.

Down I went again. But something changed. For the first time in my life my brain connected to my hands and feet

The moment I learned to ride a bike in Connecticut became a critical moment in my life. I didn't know it at the time, but learning to ride a bike would set me on a course to becoming a sports reporter in Redding.

My passion for sports started when I was very young.

My father had a rule that I had to read two hours in the morning before I could go to the park and play basketball. So I'd read the entire L.A. Times sports section aloud on his 90-minute drive through rush hour traffic from Santa Monica to teach English at Hawthorne High School.

I grew up listening to Hall of Fame broadcasters Chick Hearn and Vin Scully. Hearn and Scully were da Vincian in their descriptions of the games. What a time to be alive — to learn from some of the world’s greatest wordsmiths and voices, and they were both in one city.

Each man and woman with autism has a superpower. Mine is my memory. When I picked up those newspapers, I could memorize the box scores and statistics.

Other kids made fun of me in elementary school because that's all I ever talked about. I didn't know anything about Spongebob Squarepants but I could talk for hours about Shaq and Kobe, USC quarterback Carson Palmer and why the Dodgers couldn't beat the Giants.

As I got older, I struggled with driving. Driving wasn't fun because when I first got behind the wheel, the cars whizzing by caused me to become overstimulated. Overstimulation is a form of pain that's an overload of certain stimuli. My response is expressed in a quiet, bubbling rage that could potentially erupt in shouting or crying.

I never wanted to drive. It scared me. I figured it was more healthy and cost-efficient to ride the bus. I paid $1.50 and as long as I knew where the bus was going, all the responsibility and panic of being at the wheel was out of my hands. In Los Angeles, I could get almost anywhere using the bus.

During college at CSUN, I had learned from a kinesiology professor how to control my anxiety and overcome the feelings of overstimulation. She told me to close my eyes and visualize a happy moment in my life. She said: "Focus on it and make it so vivid that it's like you are in your own time machine and concentrate for 30 seconds." This method allowed me to be more comfortable in situations that caused overstimulation, like driving.

Four months after being hired, I turned the ignition of a Toyota Camry during a rainy day in December 2019. I remembered the steps that the professor from school taught me and implemented them before looking at the road ahead. I was calm, relaxed and at peace. Eventually I got my license, the final barrier that stood between me and a happy and independent life.

These days I still struggle socially and in the workplace. When I get into a flow, the smallest thing can cause me to react. The sounds of jackhammers pounding through concrete and the voices of neighbors can cause me to become irritable and make me want to bite my hands. I also hate going to clubs and crowded restaurants because the lights and lack of space between people can cause panic attacks.

Achieving independence and living with autism is possible. It starts with learning to take personal responsibility and being accountable for your actions. The challenges I faced — communicating my anxieties, driving, riding a bike — were difficult because I allowed them to be difficult. I allowed my own fear to take control of my life. I've grown to face my fears and accept that failure is part of the path to becoming self-realized.

If you have autism, I believe you should feel lucky. Your superpower, your gift can change the world. Your courage and persistence are strong enough to overcome any obstacle. Use your gifts, fight for the things you wish to achieve and make your wildest dreams come true.

If you have autism, I believe you should feel lucky. Your superpower, your gift can change the world