I glanced at the clock. I had ten minutes before I had to be back at my station – plenty of time to find my kids at their respective tables, give them a hug, and make sure they were behaving. Michael was so engrossed in his friends and his sandwich that he barely gave me a high five. Gabi squeezed me tight and rattled off a long list of all the things they had gotten to do already that day. As I approached David’s table, I saw immediately that something was wrong. His bright orange Beavers cap was pulled down over his face, and he was hunched up against the table. I tapped his shoulder. “David, hi buddy, are you having fun today?” I saw the tears brimming in his eyes and immediately regretted my cheerful, nonchalant greeting. “Oh honey, what’s wrong?” I wrapped my arms around him and tilted his cap back. The tears fell then, in torrents while he held my arms in clenched fists and begged for me to take him home. I was taken aback when I saw the intensity of his emotions. I tried to calm him, to give him a safe place to tell me what had gotten him in this state. He said something about being a bad boy but the rest was too muddled for me to understand. I glanced up at the young counselor seated across the table. “Has he been having a rough morning? Did anything happen?” I asked, desperate to figure it out and make it better. “No, he’s been great. He seemed like he was having a lot of fun with us.” I looked back at David, whose inconsolable face broke me. I started crying too, hurriedly trying to brush away the tears and angry that they had sprung up when I least needed them. I was supposed to be the voice of reason, the one who could convince my kid that he was indeed “having fun.” The older counselor for the group walked up to the table. She listened to my concerns and said that David had been enjoying himself in his classes all morning and that she was quite sure he would continue to have a good day. She was good at the reassuring part. I wanted to tell her that I’m not one of those moms that hovers over my kids all the time and never lets them cry or have a sad moment, but with my own tear-stained face and shaking hands, I knew I would not be convincing. David still wanted to go home. I had to be back in my classroom soon.
This was my dilemma. Do I encourage my child to step outside his comfort zone in the hopes that he will find it enjoyable and hence want to do it again, or do I identify that he has set a boundary for himself and this is literally as far as he is able to go today? It certainly wasn’t the first time I had encountered this problem when we were in an overwhelming environment. After all, having autism does not mean staying home all the time, never interacting with others, and only eating hot dogs. We “regular” humans stretch ourselves frequently by trying a new food, attempting to make a new friend, experiencing a new class at the gym, conquering a fear, etc. In the normal world, autistic people have to venture outside their comfort zone all the time. It is exhausting for them, but it must be done if they are to function in our society. Social situations, especially large groups, can drain the energy and good mood right out of David. In fact, it’s one of the reasons we homeschool him.
All parents have this task of respecting their children while also pushing their children to greater things. It is a delicate balance. Whether your child is autistic or not, you have to decide what things to urge on and what things to respect and hold back. If your child has stage fright, you may try to coax them to do the play anyway in hopes of conquering their stage fright. Alternately, you may suggest another activity that doesn’t require them speaking on stage.
I looked David in the eye and said, in the most reassuring voice I could muster, “Buddy, I have to go back to my class now. But your group is coming to my class very soon. You’ll get to see me there. And if you still want to go home then, I’ll get a replacement for my class and take you home.” His hands still clutched my arms, but he gave me an almost imperceptible nod and sniffed loudly. I reluctantly walked away from his table and returned to my classroom with an uneasy feeling that perhaps I hadn’t made the right choice. I went through the motions of the next group’s class while watching the door, waiting for David’s group to arrive. My head told me that he was okay, but my mama heart wasn’t sure. When he came bounding through the door and nearly crashed into the table with his excitement, I sighed with relief. He threw his arms around me in a big, little-boy hug and exclaimed that my class was going to be the best and did I see that there were army men on the tables and were we really going to get to eat snow cones?
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of homemade snow globes, melting ice experiments, and excited little children. I gathered up the kids and their armloads of crafts they had made and headed home. He had done it! He had managed to find a way over his impossibly high hurdle, and now he was done. In celebration of his victory, I made the executive decision to skip karate class that evening. That night, after baths and brushing teeth and bedtime stories, I talked to David about his day. Now that he was out of the overwhelming environment with all the noise and activity, he was able to look at it much more objectively. “Tell me the best part of your day,” I encouraged him. He answered that it was definitely the snow cones. “Now tell me the hardest part of your day.” He looked defeated. “Game time.” I realized that he had been caught in the trap of comparing himself to the other kids. Even though he hadn’t been teased or bullied in any way, David was starting to notice the differences between him and his peers. I took this as an opportunity to lift up my son’s strengths instead of focusing on his struggles and was quick to tell him what made him so special to us. “You’re getting really good at reading. You are awesome at playing Megaman. You build the coolest things with your legos. You are such a good big brother. You like to help people.” I turned to Michael, who shares a room with David, and asked him to chime in. “I like David because he’s really good at being funny.” I saw David crack a smile. It means ten times more when it comes from your little brother than from your mom – that I know.
We haven’t solved anything. I don’t know what I’ll do next time this kind of situation pops up. But taking the time to recognize what happened, why it happened, and where it happened even will help. It’s in God’s hands, and I need to recognize my need to go to Him first before I google “autism helps in social situations” or even before I talk to my friends about it.
“Hast thou not known? hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, the LORD, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary? There is no searching of his understanding. He giveth power to the faint, and to them that have no might, he increaseth strength. Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall. But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary, and they shall walk and not faint.” Isaiah 40:28-31
