Posts tagged School
Stories From the Heart: Evelyn, Queen of the Jungle
Jan 2nd
Posted by autismtoday in Stories From the Heart
I asked Evelyn for what felt like the hundredth time that day to spell a word she probably couldn’t…and we both knew it. She and I sat together twice a week in the freezing school library where the librarian glared from behind a desk, sighing as she scanned each checked-in book.
The first time I went there, I remember thinking, “This is a school where kids do not like to read.” That was a complete understatement. In third grade, Evelyn still confused her b’s and d’s. Reading and writing were horrible bullies to her, and she was beginning to find out that the antagonistic subjects loomed in every corner. On my first day as a tutor, I learned that this was not only a school where kids did not like to read, but one where many could not read.
In a perfect world, I would have given the children I worked with at Sims Elementary a clean slate – loving and available guardians, a community with more money and energy to invest in the school, and financial stability. But even in an imperfect world, I managed to hand Evelyn a relatively clean slate and a piece of chalk. I drew six short lines on the slate, preparing her for our own version of Slate of Fortune, a fill-in-the-blank game where nobody got hanged or went bankrupt. Best of all, contestants never feigned illness of sobbed in frustration.
“I have another word from your book for you to try,” I said. “Now listen very carefully to all the sounds and take your time. The word is ‘jungle.’” I began to prepare my consolations. Evelyn had already missed easier words in our session that day. She was always the last to finish the book, to master the concept, to be dismissed at the end of the day.
Evelyn smelled like the oil in her cornrows, stale milk from lunch, and the accumulated sweat of clothes handed down years too long. Among other painful inheritances were her mother’s poverty, her father’s absence, and her community’s lack of resources.
The first time I asked her to read for me, Evelyn hid under a desk crying. I took it personally. I assumed she must not respect me, but really she dreaded another defeating session with the printed word. Evelyn did not have any support outside of school, and this outraged me. How could I undo her years of pain and neglect?
I was disheartened that I could not help someone who needed it the most. I was just born into great fortune – the victor, rather than the victim, of my family’s circumstances. These circumstances allowed my parents to nurture me by communicating with my teachers and helping me learn. They made my education one of their priorities. I grew up “sheltered” and “comfortable,” though at the time I called it “bored.”
When Evelyn said she had written “jungle,” I asked her to think about it again. It is a difficult word to spell. I don’t even know why the first letter is a j instead of another g. I was hungry and shivering in the fluorescent lighting of the library, fidgeting in a too-small chair, and getting impatient with my inability to reach Evelyn. I wondered what would have happened if I had never boarded the #6 to East Austin that day. I will probably never know. However, I can guess that Evelyn would not have spelled “jungle” correctly, because to my amazement, that’s exactly what she did.
“You spelled it right!” I marveled, and even the librarian knew this was not an occasion to be shushed. “I was right! I was right! I can spell ‘jungle!” Evelyn hollered until we were finally asked to lower our voices. This was my loveliest parting gift from that day’s game of Slate of Fortune and my entire year as an Americorps literacy tutor.
Evelyn gained a newfound confidence that day. Reading and spelling became easier and more enjoyable to her, because she finally knew she could do those tasks. So did I. Evelyn may have taught me more than I ever taught her. I discovered that teachers and tutors will never manufacture epiphany; they can only ease it along. We must keep the faith that if we try our best, we will eventually be successful. Just when I began to think that my efforts had been fruitless, I was pleasantly surprised. There was a whole “jungle” out there.
Author Unknown
Stories From the Heart: Learning Friendship
Jun 6th
Posted by autismtoday in Stories From the Heart
“Don’t look at me”, “Don’t touch me”, “Don’t sit near me”, and “Too loud, too loud” are the sensations that scream from within. “Why does the world have to be so confusing?” “It hurts me.”
My Molly is 5 years old. She came to us at 20 days old as a foster daughter. Molly did not bond to me, but to my husband. Very unusual for foster babies in our home. I knew there was something different about Molly, but what?
At three years old Molly was diagnosed with Autism, as tears rolled down my cheeks. I suspected Autism, yet to hear the words out loud still hurt a mother’s ears. By this time, we had adopted Molly and had much love invested in her.
We struggled to help Molly adjust to this world so full of strong contrasts for her. A light breeze to us, felt like a tornado to Molly with “things” swirling about. The tornado crashed across her body. The leaves blowing in the trees the sound of a freight train. The sights and sounds that we crave are the very same things that hurt Molly.
Human contact was tolerated at best. “Why won’t Molly sit on my lap?” my husband questioned in complaint. I told him, “You have to be a chair”. “I let Molly sit on my lap and stop my longings to wrap my arms around her.” Gently, I explained, “Molly gets on your lap, you hug her. “Quick as a flash, she’s gone.” “You have to learn how to just be a chair.”
An emotional connection with another person is often a rare thing for a child with Autism. I told Grandma, “Don’t feel bad, Molly doesn’t hug me either.” While her cousins played in their little group, Molly sat on the sidelines comfortable in her own world.
I remember my first, best friend, Kathy. We shared everything. We played together every day, back and forth at each others’ house. We held hands. We were best buddies. I wanted Molly to know the gift of friendship, yet how this would ever happen was a mystery to me. That kind of closeness with another human was against the grain of who Molly is. So many obstacles in the way.
Last year Molly attended a special school for Autistic children. She quietly sat in class, day after day. At the beginning of each school day, Molly would whisper, “My name is Molly.” Molly was in class, but not really with the class. They could have been in another room for all that it mattered to her.
This year began with a new school and a ride on the bus. How frightening the bus was for Molly. A new driver? A man driver? This sent Molly in a spiral of anxiety. She craved sameness in order to have some control over her world. Weeks went by with anxiety and tears.
One day a wonderful thing began to happen. Molly started watching a little girl, Claire, during playtime. They started swinging next to each other. No words were exchanged, just closeness, sameness.
The teachers began to tell us, “Oh, Molly and Claire, they are next to each other always!”
Molly and Claire began sitting next to each other on the bus. Always. Soon, at home, Molly would mention Claire’s name. We began sending little stickers and such for Molly to share with Claire on the bus. Claire would bring little things for Molly. We all knew something special was happening and happily encouraged them.
The school year came to a close and soon summer school began. Molly cried when she saw a new bus driver. She didn’t see Claire on the bus, either. Now her world was beginning to unravel. Getting Molly on the bus that day was not going to be very successful. Molly cried, her eyes searching the bus not knowing what to do. Nearly hysterical, Molly suddenly saw another classmate, Katerina, on the bus. She started crying, “I need Katerina, I need Katerina.”
It was simple and to the point. Molly needed human contact. Molly needed Katerina. Tears filled my eyes as I saw Molly reach out to yet another child as a bridge to the world. My heart aching for the distance she had traveled to reach outside of herself.
Molly is learning friendship and human contact is a good thing. I am reminded through Molly that friendship does make the world a gentler place.
Author Unknown
* Stories From the Heart is an ongoing series of user contributed heart warming stories, that shine light on the Autism experience.
Stories From the Heart: Alien
Apr 25th
Posted by autismtoday in Stories From the Heart
Last week I felt like the mother in the commercial, where her son shows her a good report card, and she starts to cry. My son is growing up. He pulled up his grades. I wish he could do the same for his pants, but one thing at a time.
We visited a college campus this past weekend. He was happy to find out the school was seventy percent female and he liked the food. I was happy thinking I’ll have less laundry, and that he was finally happy about going to school, any school.
School was never easy for him. Not that the curriculum was a problem, the staying out of trouble was the hard part. He was always too bright for his own good. He got bored easily and boredom for little boys leads to lots of big boy trouble.
I think every Principal he ever had kept my phone number on speed dial. I heard far too many times, on the other end of the line, “Is this Devaun’s mother?” “Um, no. She went out to lunch. Can I tell her you called?” Okay, I didn’t really say that but I wanted to. It’s hard being a mother to a child whose I.Q. surpassed your own at age five and yet I’m supposed to know what to do with him.
I knew we had a problem on his first day of Kindergarten. The teacher gave us a tour of the class and I could see his bright little face starting to frown. Those handsome dark eyebrows, that I loved, were knitting together and I knew he wasn’t happy about what he saw.
“We are going to learn to read in this class,” said Miss Way-Too-Happy teacher. Great. Does she realize I walked into my son’s room last night, hoping to read him Happy Birthday Moon and found him reading my John Steinbeck novel, Of Mice and Men?
“Then we will learn how to tell time,” says the teacher as she pulled out a pretend clock, made from a paper plate, with black movable hands. I could see his disappointment growing. He had been telling time for over a year now. His older sister still relied on her digital watch for time telling and his mother, the microwave.
I left my beautiful little boy with Miss Way-Too-Happy teacher and a scared look on his face. That day was the first of many “He did what?” type of conversations on the phone.
I remember him asking me once “Mommy, how many miles to get to San Jose?” “Ninety miles,” I replied. “Oh,” he said, “so we should be there approximately one and a half hours from now. That is if we continue to go sixty miles per hour.” I wondered “Who is this kid really? And what planet did his pod drop in from?”
Once I took him out of school, for a mother and son road trip. He was ten. I was….none of your business. We drove to Oklahoma, all the way from California. As we were leaving California I remember pointing at a mountain and saying “Look! There’s Mt. McKinley.”
He didn’t even look up from his book and said “I highly doubt that, Mom. Mt. McKinley is in Alaska.”
I said “Really. Then what is it doing over there?” “That’s Mt. Whitney,” and he kept on reading his book. Hey, how am I supposed to keep the names of mountains and dead presidents straight?
Recently, I was standing at the front door of my house. The kids were arguing and my arms were full. I was jiggling the door knob with one hand and holding my keys in the other. I kept pressing my cars automatic lock and unlock feature on my key chain, while getting frustrated that the front door wouldn’t open. I honestly stood there shaking the door knob, to my house, and said “What is wrong with this thing? I just bought the damn car.”
He quietly reached over, took the keys from my hand and opened the front door…with the house key. Then he looked up to the sky, as if praying, or was he searching for the UFO that had accidentally left him, to come back and take him home, to his true mother.
Over the past twelve years I grew to know all of the schools educators and administrators, much more than I would have liked. I have paced the floors, yelled, cried, and replaced property damage.
I have spent countless hours circling neighborhoods and calling friends houses, to look for him, and then cried and gave thanks when I found him. I didn’t know what to do with him, but I never want to live life without him. Maybe I’ll be lucky and this six foot three extraterrestrial will remember to “phone home”.
Author Unknown
* Stories From the Heart is an ongoing series of user contributed heart warming stories, that shine light on the Autism experience.
