Today The Roadmap Company family is honored to share a very special post. One that is a culmination of 15 years in the making, but not a finale. Only a beacon of brighter things to come as we grow and implement a bigger plan. This past week, the Visnovske’s have been in Moab Utah with an amazing family celebrating the launch of The Colin Project. A new endeavor backed by a nonprofit started by Sara and Josey called Aunt Kathy’s Rock House Foundation. In Josey’s story, you will read how the Project came to be, but the story does not end here, nor does it only involve us at The Roadmap Company. We have had so many helping hands to get us to where we are. Have to thank our friends at Ag Pro in Dixie, GA. Pro Street Diesel Cairo, GA, Hog Cutters Trapping Co. Calvary, GA, Alpha Upkudo Karate Havana, FL, Andy’s Garage Park Hills, MO, Earth Mother Health Foods, Farmington, MO, JRS Jeep Repair Richfield, UT, Twisted Jeep Moab, UT, Wild West Voyages Moab, UT, Poison Spyder Bicycles Moab UT, Brittney Melton – State Farm Moab, UT, Moab Canyon Tours, Moab UT, and Utah Escapes Vacation Home Rentals, Moab UT. Recently we have also made friends at the Richfield Reaper Newspaper, and they did a fantastic article about our story and our friend Colin which was released yesterday. You can find the article here.
The link no longer requires you to make an account to read the article. Thank you Richfield Reaper!
We at The Roadmap Company want to thank you for being part of this inspiring new chapter with us. By sharing our stories, hitting the like button, or commenting on our content it encourages us to do more. -Heather
The Colin Project
I knelt there in the church and could hear her behind me. No one ever told me to not look at her, but it was hard not to. There were never any discussions about what was different with her,
but I knew she was not like me. I spent my childhood and teenage years in that church and accepted that she was a part of her family, but I doubt I ever accepted her and who she was.
We walked into the prenatal ultrasound clinic for our first baby ultrasound. I stood there as the nurse performed the test. I could hear the baby’s heartbeat. The nurse told us the baby looked healthy and had all the parts in all the right places. The nurse asked if we wanted to know the sex of the baby and we both said, “no.” As we walked out of the clinic a family stood together in tears with a pregnant woman crying the hardest. She was being comforted by a man and an older couple. I could only imagine what news they had received and felt guilty that I was glad our baby was ok. Our first child was born and then our second child. But until we could put our hands on them, that day outside the clinic lingered in my thoughts, driven by fear and the unknown. Our boys were healthy and as they developed, we developed into better people. As the birthdays passed, I often thought of that family outside that clinic. Was their child healthy? Did they ever have a child?
I walked into the mechanic shop and asked the man behind the counter if my truck was fixed. The man said, “your truck is ready to go.” As we spoke, another man was peering through a window that connected the office with the garage area. The man was making all sorts of faces and gestures. I told the man behind the counter that I think someone in the garage needed something and he laughed. He said, “that’s just Colin.” I could tell Colin was not like me, but I was unsure how to ask what was different with Colin. I drove the seven hundred miles home from that mechanic shop wondering why, as a grown man, I still cannot ask the why. The weeks passed and Colin stayed with me, and he reminded me of those younger years kneeling in that church.
Our boys took karate when they were younger and as their interest changed, I stayed on to teach karate to younger children. Being a father has blessed me with the patience to teach children. We have children from all sorts of backgrounds, and some have learning disabilities. I soon learned the key to teaching is figuring out how to connect and communicate with each student because we are all different. What works for one student does not always work for another. As a teacher I found myself able to ask the why, but as a person, the why was so much harder to ask. I found myself returning to that mechanic shop to eventually ask the why. The owner of the shop was named Andy, and Colin was his wife’s first cousin. Andy met Colin when he first started dating his wife and the bond began. As Andy told me the story his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. Then came the long overdue question of why. I stood there, and for a brief moment I was back on that church kneeler. I could hear her behind me. I could see her with her family. I struggled for the words and then they came. “What’s different with Colin?” Andy replied with no hesitation of shame, or fear or anything that was less than pure admiration and love. “He’s
autistic.” Andy said it like a badge of honor. I stood there trying to process that word. I had karate students that were autistic, so I had some basic knowledge of the disorder. But when it came to Colin, I wanted more than just basic knowledge. I wanted to understand what went through Colin’s head. Does he look at our lives with envy or he is just happy to be Colin?
I spoke to Andy about a failed Jeep project that I had been working on for over ten years. Several mechanics promised me that they would put a diesel engine in our 1967 Jeepster Commando but
none of them ever did. I told Andy I was ready to give up on the dream. Andy said, “I will do it.”
One week later our boys and I delivered the Jeep to Andy. Over the next few years, the Jeep would have its moments of being in Andy’s shop and I would receive pictures of the progress.
Along with those pictures was a picture or two of Colin. I am not sure when our form of unique communication began, but I would send Andy a picture of me giving “the bird,” and Andy would
send one back from Colin. As those years filtered through my mind and a dream appeared it could be a reality, the deeper side of why wore on me. I wondered what Colin thought of the Jeeps’ transformation. Did he need to complete things like us to feel accomplished? Or was he just content to see happiness in others? As those years filtered and etched the memories of that church kneeler, our boys bonded with Colin. It was clear Colin was more comfortable with them than he was with me. I smiled and laughed because our common thread was “the bird.”
As the desert sand slid through the hourglass of reality, after 13 years the dream was almost done. Andy called and said, “the motor is in and it’s time to drive her.” My response without hesitation was, “I want Colin to be the first one to drive her.” Andy said, “He doesn’t really drive, but knows how.” I said, “He needs to drive her first, not me.”
On a bright sunny afternoon in the parking lot of Andy’s shop, Colin and Andy got into the Jeep. The rumble of the diesel could be heard more than how hard my heart was beating. Colin made a few gestures at me and off they went. I am glad I recorded it because I could not see anything through the tears. I could feel the sand sliding through my hands as the Jeep rumbled by. I stood there and for once that church kneeler was gone. The dream was a Jeep for our family to climb rocks in Utah, but now the dream was altering as I changed. As Colin made laps around the parking lot our boys cheered for him and not the dream they knew growing up. We all took the Jeep for a drive that day, but the one who broke the dream from the hourglass was a man named Colin.
We shipped the Jeep to Utah, but it still needed to be painted. Once again broken promises found their way to the Jeep. She sat in a storage shed waiting to see the light of day. The hourglass once again, wrapped itself around the Jeep and the desert sand almost stopped. I replayed the video from that glorious day, time and time again. I questioned the dream. I questioned the purpose. I questioned why did I want Colin to be the first to drive her? During the 14th year the Jeep saw the light of day and found its way to a man of his word. Our family dropped the Jeep off, and the hourglass wrapped around her gain. As we drove away, I had some hope but not much.
I stayed in touch with Andy and Colin by random visits and pictures of “the bird.” I saw how Andy took the small town he was from and people not only accepted Colin, but they embraced him. All of him. I stood there motionless one night on a street in Andy’s small town watching people interact with Colin, and wished when I was younger, I had an Andy. It was then the sand shifted in that hourglass and the dream was so much more than a Jeep crawling on rocks. The dream was to help others stand up from the kneeler and embrace the unknown. The dream was acceptance, finding the path of communication, and understanding. I told Andy of my new dream and that every good dream needs a logo. Within days Andy’s son designed the logo that explained exactly how I felt.
Then the day came during the 15th year. I received a picture of a painted 1967 Jeepster with a diesel engine in her. Once again tears found their way to me. The hourglass broke that day and the sand found its way back home to the desert to filter life. In the midst of the broken promises and life, my bride and I formed a nonprofit to help others. Not only to make them aware of autism but somehow help them embrace it. For years, this story has danced and darted around in my head, but I could never connect the dots of time and transcribe the altered dream. I knew how it ended but where did it start? I knew once we picked up the Jeep, I would want to release a story of this 15-year journey and how embracing autism came to be. Did it start at Andy’s with Colin? Was it one of my karate students? As the days approached for us to pick up the Jeep, I was in my own hourglass and the sand was moving fast. I had no beginning for this story.
Last Sunday morning seven hundred miles from my home I took my mom to church. I knelt on the kneeler. A couple came in and sat in front of us. My mom knew them, but I was unaware of who they were. At the end of mass, the couple asked if we wanted to go eat somewhere. It was then I realized I knew the man but had not seen him in over 35 years. I honestly did not want to go eat because I had work to do at my mom’s, but I said ok. As we sat eating lunch trying to fill in the gaps of 35 years, I finally had the courage to ask about the man’s sister. He said, “she is autistic,” The gaps were filled with broken dreams, children dying of cancer, parents resting in a better place, and a Jeep to help others embrace autism. Three and a half hours later we stood in the parking lot outside the restaurant saying our goodbyes as if time did not matter. There were no tears in our eyes, just joy in our hearts. The sand has a way of filtering life. We can grow from the sand.
In 1966 the world was introduced to the Jeepster Commando. For some of the die-hard Jeep enthusiasts it was clearly a different Jeep. In 1973 the Jeepster Commando was no longer built. In those seven years a few alterations were made to the Jeepster, but at its core it was still a Jeep.
So, the seed to the altered dream came from a man who I almost did not eat lunch with. A man who sat behind me in church with his autistic sister, and a 35-year struggle to ask the question why.
In three days in a small town in Utah I will see her and once again I will hear her. Originally it was a Jeep project for our family to crawl the rocks of Utah. She will still be crawling the rocks of
Utah, but she will be bathed in a new dream to help others not only acknowledge autism but to embrace and accept people at their core. And never wait 35 years to ask the why. -WJV
For More information on Aunt Kathy’s Rock House Foundation please go to our website
https://auntkathysrockhousefoundation.org/
For more information about the interesting history of the 1967 Jeepster Commando that has been transformed by Josey’s family click here
