How I Spent My Summer "Vacation"

Do you remember as a child having to write the obligatory essay each fall outlining how you spent your summer vacation?  No?  Really?  Well in all honesty, neither do I.  But, over the next few days I will make an attempt, the highlights (or lowlights, depending upon your perspective), the Cliff Notes version of how we spent the last three months, autism style.


Most kids count the days until summer break.  They look forward to lazy mornings, unstructured time and trips to new places.  But for David, who craves structure and routine, who thrives on the familiar and repetitive, sometimes “vacation” can send him into a tailspin.


So, this year I actually spent time working to make a smoother transition for David.  I had drafted a visual schedule and rewards chart, loaded with summer fun.  I found activities that I thought he would enjoy and took the time to introduce him to them ahead of time.  In fact, I now read back to my very last post, where I was bragging about finding the rainbow park, cheap and highly motivating entertainment for David.


Well, my summer fantasy came crashing down the stairs with David one Friday afternoon.  Or perhaps more accurately, David came tumbling down a staircase, taking my summer plans (oh, and incidentally my laptop computer complete with the unprinted visual schedules and rewards chart) with him.


As the physician’s assistant wound the protective gauze around David’s broken arm that day in preparation for a cast, I stood mentally checking water activities off of David’s summer list.  Oh, and helping my husband to hold him down because David had decided, at that moment, he was not too fond of casts and would really rather take a pass.  I said a silent goodbye to the rainbow park, the swimming pool, the sprinklers and bath time for David.


I had imagined, (naively, I know) a summer filled with fun and frivolity, but still packed with those teaching moments that would enable David to surpass his peers academically--a little private joke that might be obvious only to me and to the handful of people who can understand what he is saying most of the time.  Don’t get me wrong--even without our most highly motivating category of summer activities, David did make excellent progress over the summer which was described by his teacher as night and day difference from last year.  But, as is so often the case, I seem to have learned plenty of lessons, as well, which I have outlined below.


David’s appreciation for the color red apparently extends only to apparel.

David does not consider a cast to be an apparel item.

David is a resourceful boy and if thwarted (say, for example, in preventing a cast from being applied to his arm) he will move quickly to plan B, which may include but not be limited to trying to crack it open on the floor or get it wet in the sink before even leaving the exam room.

I can be equally resourceful and quickly realize that the favored black splint covering the hated red cast might just do the trick, although make the removal of shirts somewhat difficult.

David is able to generalize his hatred of X-ray machines to different machines in varying facilities around the city.


If I am the person guarding the door of the X-ray room, it is important to count the number of exits prior to the beginning of the procedure.


David is fast.


I am not as fast as David.


Sometimes those handicapped accessible, automatic doors serve a valuable purpose in distracting a sprinting child just long enough for an exercise-challenged mother to catch him at the front doors of the outpatient clinic.


Always buy Dell’s extended computer warranty with hazard coverage.


Yes, the boys enjoyed the break from school and I had a somewhat unintentional break from writing, but I am glad to be back to our schedule, our routine.  Let my vacation begin.

So Long Spontaneity

In the movie, Pretty Woman, the Julia Roberts character, Vivian describes herself by saying, "I'm actually, no I'm not a planner. I would say I'm a kinda fly by the seat of your pants gal, you know moment to moment." I have never been a very spontaneous person, a "fly by the seat of your pants gal," but spontaneity becomes an even greater challenge with autism introduced into the mix.

As you might guess, David is the polar opposite of spontaneous; you might say rigid, scheduled, deliberate. He does not tolerate change well and we spend a great deal of time preparing him for the next season, next event or trip to the store, next shift in wardrobe. I did not give a second thought, however, to preparing him for our first visit to the splash park, technically a sprayground (how clever) which is close to his school.

We were waiting for some workers to be finished at our house one weekend afternoon, which was irritating David, so Michael and I decided to drive past this splash park. We grabbed a towel and piled into the car without telling the boys where we were going. I wasn't sure exactly where the park was located and my niece, while extremely talented in many areas, shares my sense of direction (or lack thereof) and had given me pretty vague directions. 

We did manage to find the park and I knew from David's reaction to that very first glimpse that he was hooked. In fact, he immediately dubbed it the rainbow park in honor of the four curved metal spray arms, each painted a different color of the rainbow. I felt so relieved in the knowledge that David and I could have a new summer hangout with no legwork necessary. I did not have to prepare him for the visit. There would be no coaxing of cajoling. What a tremendous relief.

Still giddy with excitement, we pulled into a parking spot and decided to let the boys spend a few minutes running through the water. As David and Andrew charged up the sidewalk I happened to notice a pile of discarded clothing in a heap behind the blue bench. Did the earlier kids just strip naked? I thought to myself.

And then I heard Andrew yell sternly, "David, NO!" I looked up, but not before I saw the trail going up the sidewalk—first Crocs (called pool shoes in David's vernacular), then a red shirt, followed by David's shorts a few feet away. I looked up just in time to see the SpongeBob Squarepants undies making their descent.

In all my nonchalance about the rainbow park, I had neglected to tell David that it was okay to get his clothes wet.

For the time being, we are probably not to be classified as an impulsive family. The closest David has come to being a "fly by the seat your pants" guy was probably that day at the rainbow park—flying up the sidewalk with the seat of his pants exposed. Do you suppose that counts?

The Extraordinary Shirt

Last week, I posted this unusual picture of David. It was, of course, strange because David is not wearing a red shirt. This shirt does not have a red stripe, red lettering, or even a red tag in the collar. (And no, for those of you who inquired, he was not wearing red shorts, either. I did crop the picture, but not to conceal red pants. I was trying to hide the fact that David has recently overcome his Band-Aid aversion and now insists on wearing a Band-Aid on each knee, which is an altogether different story.)

I found the new shirt shoved into David's backpack the first week of summer school. Although a cute shirt, I momentarily considered putting it immediately into the Goodwill pile. Instead I washed it and tossed it into his shirt drawer on top of the lone stack of shirts not a shade of scarlet, crimson, ruby or cherry (incidentally not David's favorite color red, because not all reds are the same). I figured I would not have to consider it again until it came time to pack away the summer clothes for longer sleeves months from now.

And then the note arrived. It was a permission slip for the first of three summer school field trips and a note asking that all students wear their new shirts for the trip. At first I laughed and thought good luck with that, but then the mommy instinct kicked in.

We are constantly worried about David's security in numerous ways, but the issue we confront most often is David getting lost. If he gets separated from us—or lost on a field trip—he does not have the ability to tell someone his telephone number, or address, or my name. He will occasionally tell someone his name if asked, but he still refers to himself as Ginnie, completely ignoring the rule that your mononym should have some vague allusion to your real name like Cher (Cherilyn Sarkisian), Prince (Prince Rogers Nelson) or Bono (Paul David Hewson—wait, what?!?).

Anyway, my first line of defense is always an ID tag that David wears on his shoe. In this instance, however, the shirt would serve as extra insurance. It identified him as a part of the field trip and, if he got separated from the group, listed the name of his school. Now, if I could just convince him to wear it.

I started talking about the shirt three full days before the field trip. I told him the principal said he needed to wear it for his field trip. The assistant principal said he needed to wear it. His teacher and the paraprofessional in the classroom (his new favorite person) both said he needed to wear it. He seemed receptive, even referring to it as the "two how-hend a-na-na" shirt, in reference to the year printed at the bottom.

I was hopeful, confident even, that David would wear the shirt especially if I allowed him to wear a red shirt underneath and when the moment of truth came, David was completely agreeable. I did not have to coax him, or bribe him with the red undershirt, or chase him into a corner. He just put it on like it was no big deal. And then he went back to wearing a red shirt the next day…and the day after that.

A Day in the Life

Andrew was seven years old when David was diagnosed. It was a difficult time for all of us, but I originally underestimated the effect that the diagnosis would have on Andrew. I did not think that he was really old enough to understand what was happening, until several weeks later when he asked if David had the type of "handicap" (a word that I don't recall having used) that would allow us to park closer to the store. Maybe some additional explanation is required, I thought at the time.

Andrew has always shown wisdom beyond his years, especially pertaining to David. He has written the following essay for Quest Above and Beyond, a gifted and talented summer school program offered by our local school district. The assignment was to write about an important event in life and this essay is Andrew's submission for the class. 
 

A Day in the Life

By Andrew

Autism. It means nothing to the average person. Although I am not the average person because of David. David is not the average person. The world will know of the word Autism. Because of David.

Autism is a disease of major effect. It makes someone lack social rules so you do not learn words at the normal speed. It can make people be a little quieter with strangers. David can break the rules a little bit. To be like he should be.

My major scar is not physical, yet emotional. Hearing David had Autism scared me and confused me. What was Autism and how could I help. If I could help. If anything can help at all.

I learned that I can help David with daily things. David can help himself with daily things. We can help each other with daily things. And we know that together.

Now David has shown me the meaning of recovery. He has shown the world freedom. He will show the world the meaning of Autism.