For Random Learning Comes

Documenting the Homeschool Experience

Is Halloween Over?

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Halloween and Christmas are good gauges for growing up.

As parents, we’re never quite ready for the changes.  They always seem to come too soon. But our kids let us know, in little, silent ways, when something, that was once important, loses its allure.

The past few days, I’ve been reading a lot of blog posts on homeschoolers who celebrate Halloween.  Everyone seems to have had a good holiday.  Nothing is so charming as a child in costume, after all.  But the older kids, well, you don’t see them as much.  Halloween changes when you get older.

This is the first Halloween that my 17-year-old, the one with autism, did not ask to wear a costume, or to trick or treat.  It is a milestone.  And I cannot help but feel a little sad.

Early Days

My son has always loved holidays.  He silently counts them down, and then springs them upon you.

In elementary school, he was in Paradise.  So much was made of all those moments in time, all the commemorations (like MLK Day), the anniversaries (like 9/11), the individual student’s birthdays.  Then there were the Big Ones:  Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, St Patrick’s Day, Easter (or their secular versions).  There was a craft, and a treat, and a card, and a movie.  It was an ingenious way of breaking up the humdrum of everyday schooling.

I made sure to implement the same methods, in the early days of homeschooling.  Lots of crafts, stories, and worksheets based around the holidays.  My older son ate it up.  My youngest, not so much.  About the age of twelve, he began to groan when anything celebratory was introduced.

But my older son could not get enough of holiday-based work.  Probably it felt more like play to him.  The content is familiar.  Everyone knows their holidays by the time they are eight or ten.  Manipulating the symbols and words in puzzles or crafts seems more like fun than work.

On the other hand, I tried, once, to push a series of letters from Pilgrims and other Thanksgiving characters of the time on my unsuspecting children.  It was met with much resistance.  Not everything about the holidays qualified, at least in my son’s book, as fun.

Of course, I naively thought of it as an “opportunity for learning.”  No.  I was crossing the line between play and work, and that would not be tolerated.

The Tricky Tweens and Teens

Holidays like Halloween definitely change as you get older.  I still remember trick or treating at thirteen, years and years ago.  I can still hear the crotchety old gentleman, backlit in his doorway, refusing to give me candy: “Aren’t you a bit old to be Trick or Treating?”

That was the beginning of my awareness that I had entered adolescence.  I think it’s much the same way for kids today, although the rules of how old is too old seem a bit more flexible.  Even so, walking the neighborhood with someone taller than you can attract attention. That’s part of why—besides my bum hip—I had my husband, who is still taller, take my older son out the past few years.  I figured as long as he enjoyed it, he should be there.  Enjoying it.

Last year, he was Sherlock Holmes.  What a great costume.  But brutal! A woolen coat in the Florida heat.  He didn’t seem to mind.  He was in character.

But this year, not a word.  No urgent insistence on going to the costume store.  No demand to be allowed to choose the correct candy (his favorite, of course).  No longing looks at the pumpkin patch.  We actually committed the sacrilege of not buying a pumpkin this year!!!  We have never done that.

But perhaps his desire for celebration was satiated by the little “trunk or treat” our co-op did.  We decorated our car and handed out candy to all the smaller kids, decked out in their finest.  Both sons came shopping and helped pick out decorations.

My younger son had very decided opinions about what he wanted.  He chose fabric and trinkets with care, sighing resignedly whenever his brother put something less spooky in the cart.  He (the younger) did most of the decorating.

My older son, armed with the obligatory pumpkin bucket, stood in line and passed by the various decorated car trunks, to get candy for the ride home.  I handed out treats.   He was full of excitement all day, and that one event seemed to be just enough to satisfy his expectations.

Halloween is not Over

 

Not all the teens at co-op were so blasé about their Halloween experience.

I saw delightful costumes, intricately designed, excellent makeup, and an absolute indifference to the idea that anyone (even the adults, many of whom had great costumes) might be “too old” for Halloween.  Thankfully the crotchety old gentlemen and ladies (such as myself!) are now learning to keep their mouths shut and let the kids, whatever age, have fun.  My sons didn’t want to dress up, but who knows.  Maybe next year they will.  Maybe I will, too!

The version of the game of “dress up” you play seems to change as you get older.  In the teen years, it’s more of a competition, a striving, for  quality or for integrity in their vision of a certain character, mythological creature, or mood.  They rarely look like they just picked up a store-bought costume and threw it on.    This is an exercise in creativity, and the artistic and inventive types take it seriously, and really shine.

Too often, in our society, Halloween is more or less taken away from teens, as a thing for little kids, even though the masquerade balls and costume parties of adulthood are not quite yet upon them.  Is it any wonder, then, that many kids gravitate toward anime conventions and other fandom-related excuses for dressing up?  Not only do these events expose the kids to artistic expression of different types, and encourage their own individual expression, but they motivate and support interests that are not necessarily academic in nature.  Drawing.  Collecting.  Writing.  Sewing.  Building. Music. Socializing.

Also, they don’t just happen in October.

Much as I hate to admit it, we have turned a corner in our homeschool.  The days of parading the children around the neighborhood for their annual inspection is over.  A pumpkin- and costume-free Halloween is definitely new to us, and strange.

I cannot help but think of Halloweens of old, and sigh.

But think of all that lies ahead.  New surprises, around every corner, waiting to be sprung upon us.

BOO!

What do your teens do for Halloween?

To see what my son with autism’s first Halloween was like, read my blogpost:

Our Stems Are Fragile.

 

 

 

Through My Eyes

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One of the common beliefs about people with autism is that they see things differently.

Temple Grandin, the world-renowned celebrity and architect of livestock facilities and contraptions, who also happens to have autism, has often said that she thinks in pictures.  Rather than having a method of sorting through thoughts verbally, with one word leading to another, she describes an inner visual catalog of movies.  It reminds me of an online photo album, with software that recognizes the similarities in images.

Photo Album of the Mind

For instance, if you heard the word “church”, a dozen examples of the word church would spring to mind, visually represented alongside one another.  And you would narrow down your conversation-partner’s meaning by comparing these images, one by one, to the one you are speaking about.

I imagine the same could be done with non-concrete objects, feelings, or ideas—a visual representation of that experience would come to mind, along with that of all similar instances, for sorting and referencing, to make sense of what lies before you.

We all probably think this way, to a degree.  Especially when things are unfamiliar, or threatening, or surprising.  I can recall feeling shaken up after being rejected by a love interest, for example.  When something happens to you for the first time, you search your memory frantically, trying to locate a similar event in your life, something that can help you make sense of your present quandary.

These are not words, but experiences, you are sorting.  You are picturing the last time you felt this way, comparing it, seeing if it fits.  Talking to others about their feelings and experiences gives us additional pictures or movies to add to this collection of “felt” experiences.

Visual Thinkers, Visual Speakers

I have often heard that visual thinking is typical among kids with autism.

I wouldn’t know how to find out whether this is true with my own child. He rarely speaks to me.   It is unclear why:  Is it because he is a teenager, or because he chooses not to talk to me, or because of some difficulty in forming thoughts or words, or processing them?

I do know he can type long involved stories or screenplays effortlessly.  He has been quite talkative during various intervals in the past, and he does occasionally recite scripts from shows he has created, so I know the words are there and he can use them.  At least he can, in certain contexts, should he choose to do so.

It seems to me, that there is both a volitional component (wanting to talk) and a contextual component (being selective about where, or when, or about what or with whom you talk,) as well as, possibly, a mechanical component (finding that talking is just too hard for some reason.)

For example, my son will tell me, in no uncertain terms, when he wants to see a new movie.  He will even tell me the time and date that we must go.

But if I have a question, and I try to draw an answer out of him, I am lucky to get a yes or no.  I definitely can’t expect to get, from his own lips, any insight into the way he thinks about things.  At least not for the time being.

In that same first chapter of Thinking in Pictures, Ms. Grandin says children with autism who are less able to express themselves verbally often think in associations.  One thing or thought leads to another because it is related.  Much like correlation and cause and effect in the realm of statistics.  Both are important and informative, but they are two very different things and may lead you to differing conclusions.

Artist’s Statement

Lacking confirmation from the source, I find it interesting to try to speculate on my son’s point of view through his artwork.

My son began attending an art therapy class about six months ago.  Despite the fact that it requires getting up out of bed, and putting on shoes, he seems to rather enjoy it.  I am not there during the sessions to observe, nor would I want to pry into the “therapy” portion of this activity.  Like all teenagers, my son values his privacy.

But I do occasionally catch a glimpse of his artwork, and I like to think it speaks to me.

The piece above is a simple activity, done by elementary and preschoolers everywhere. Blobs of paint on a paper, folded once, and opened for a surprise.  I recall making butterflies this way.

But I can’t help but feel that his eyes are staring out at me, from this particular Rorschach-type inkblot.

They have been studying various artists as they go along and among them have been Jackson Pollack:

Miro (this was a joint project with another child):

And some others I am not familiar with.  In addition, they have worked on “mark-makers” or various sorts.  In other words, what kind of things can you use to make marks on paper?  This is just one example of this, including hand prints and drippage.

Alternative mark-making is especially valuable when the artist’s fine motor skills are weak or somehow compromised.  So many of our value judgments about art have to do with precision, and those whose strength is not in their ability to draw precisely from life have a definite disadvantage, although their creative impulses may be no less strong.

At home, my son’s creativity is often expressed through food or crafts.  He likes to pair unlikely foods, or add flavorings such as vanilla to beverages like milk.  (For this reason, the milk lives in our bedroom in a cooler at night, and the vanilla in my top dresser drawer.)  He also likes to make dips of various kinds.  I recall one involving ketchup and chocolate syrup!

This picture shows both types of creativity.  It reminds me of the food sculpture assignment my daughter had to create in her arts-focused middle school.

What these say about my son, I’ll leave to you to guess.  But it is entirely clear to me that creativity is an integral aspect of his being.  I even remember him complaining to his Math teacher in elementary school that he didn’t like Math because it was not creative.

I think it is important that we foster this spirit of creativity in children with autism in every way we can.  Who knows what surprises lie in store for us, when we unfold the page?

 

A Chorus for Change

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Autism blogs abound.

I had no idea how many there were, until I used “autism” as a search term in the Search section of my WordPress app.  Many, many, many blogs.

The authors range the gamut:

  • those who have grown up with the diagnosis
  • those diagnosed late in life
  • moms and dads whose children have been newly diagnosed
  • veterans of the systems we use, to usher those with autism through life
  • professionals and researchers
  • homeschoolers of kids with autism

The point of view and purpose of these blogs vary widely, as well.  Some are anecdotal, some research-based.  Some are inspiring, some full of despair or resignation.  Some philosophize, some analyze, and some teach.  Others are simply chronological, depicting the passage of time.

The blogs are as varied as the spectrum itself.  And that is only counting those on WordPress.

Why is it important that we have so many voices?  Isn’t it all just noise?

Conspiracy of Silence

To evaluate the present, we must know the past.  Today, people teem with opinions on the subject of disability.  But what I remember from my own childhood is silence.

I do not recall a single student with a disability in my elementary or junior high classrooms.  In high school, it was the same.  I was aware of a man with Downs syndrome that frequented a local park of my childhood, and another, who biked around a park I used to walk through, when I was a young mother.  I am ashamed to say, I never interacted with either of them, from a mixture of ignorance and embarrassment and fear.

Now I know

  • That laws requiring children to be educated in the public schools, despite their disabilities, were not fully implemented till after my childhood.
  • That before that became the law, public schools often just refused to admit these children.
  • That very often, these children were institutionalized, on doctor’s orders, with little consideration for family bonds or the child’s emotional needs.
  • That often, the very existence of these institutionalized children was kept secret.

Raising a Voice

Years later, in one of my law school classes, an older man sat in a wheelchair in the front row.  Now that I think about it, he could hardly do otherwise.  There was no way for him to sit in the higher tiers of the auditorium, since architectural accommodations, which we now take for granted, were not yet required by law.  Even in a law school.

I was a shy, far from confident woman in her twenties, with no life experience beyond school.  I would much rather have faded into the woodwork, than be called on, in front of that class of 200.  I sat high in the ozone rows, hoping the professor’s glasses prescription would not allow him to recognize objects so far away as life forms.

Compared to me, this man talked quite a lot. Voluntarily.

Several times, he mentioned the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), which had yet to be passed by Congress and signed into law. And my ignorant brain nodded and thought, well, of course.  He would be interested in that.

Joining the Chorus

When I found out my own child had a disability, I felt sick to my stomach.  I was deeply afraid.  I was terrified for him, since the first inkling we had of his condition came in the form of violent seizures.  That alone was disorienting and alarming, a loss of control, an earthquake of the soul.

I was also terrified for me.  Could I handle this?  What would it do to my otherwise calm, idyllic life?  Would I still be a good mom to my other kids, a good wife to my husband, a good daughter to my parents, a good friend to my friends?  Or would this one condition overwhelm and envelope my life? Would I ever dare to have another child?

That reaction was no doubt, at least in part, born of my unfamiliarity with disability.  Other than the obvious casualties of war and infirmities of old age, all human bodies and minds, I assumed, were essentially the same.  In fact, I had very little hands on experience with differences of any kind.

Why lay bare my prejudice, which will only subject me to ridicule, in this more tolerant, accepting age?  Because this conspiracy of silence, a conspiracy I was party to, kept progress from being made by, and on behalf of, people with disabilities.  It wasn’t until people, like the man in my law school class, spoke up, and did something about it, that things actually changed.

And there is much left to change.

A Difference without a Difference

So back to the voices. The many autism blogs, the many points to be made, the many points of view.  Noise, or Music?

They say every child with autism, has autism in a different way.  If you have met one child with autism, you have met one child with autism.

We like to think ,sometimes, that we are alone in being peculiar.  Other groups with disabilities may be different, but we are the different-est.  Requiring more.  Deserving of more sympathy.  Qualitatively more impaired.

But the same can be said of all those with disabilities.  They just don’t have such good PR.  The experience of disability is what binds us together in common cause.  Not the diagnosis.

Working Toward Obsolescence

I remember going to an inspirational talk while my son was still in preschool.  The point of the talk was to rally the parents of children with disabilities to action.  But not just to individual action. To joint action. The louder the voice, the more likely it was to be heard.

There are many children and adults with autism, and so we make for a resounding chorus when we speak in unison.  But there are so many more voices out there, experiencing a multitude of disabilities, along all walks of life.

We need to advocate for them all.  Not for one group over another, hoarding the funding, the research, the services.  Not splintered, like a rainbow, into bands of light, insisting we are nothing like one another.  We should be joined, instead, in a single purpose, in a single all-powerful stream of bright, white light, so strong it cannot be looked upon, nor ignored.

Let us be advocateurs.  Provoking progress through advocacy.  Each voice pushing the message so that the whole can fare better.  Not just sopranos, nor altos, nor tenors, nor bass.  A chorus.  All means all, after all.

Good luck to each of you in your blogs.  And let us hope that twenty years from now, our children will look back to this moment, and it will seem to them just as backwards and obsolete, as my own, not so distant past, seems to me.

Because we have made so much progress.

Update:  if you want more information on the history of disability rights in the US, try this article by one of the authors of the Americans with Disabilities Act. 

Not Quite up to Snuff

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Every parent of a special needs child has been there.

You know the moment.  It’s when you realize that the therapy or activity you are considering, or the professional you have already hired, or the educational program you signed up for long ago, doesn’t quite live up to your expectations.  When you know it’s time for a change, but are dreading telling the professionals.  Or dreading whatever might come next, which might prove equally disappointing.

That is the moment I hate, the moment that makes me squirm.  When I arrive, full of excitement and plans for the future, and then leave, my hopes dashed and the future looking vague and bleak.

You can come to this realization, that this is not for you, in many different ways.

Rejection

This is one of the hardest ways.  Your son or daughter simply does not qualify.  Usually this involves the learned opinion of someone who has just met your child.

My son is not considered a good candidate for talk therapy, for instance.  Or for a social skills group, even one comprised entirely of teens with autism.  Mainly because his verbal skills, at the moment, have decided to hide themselves away in a remote place where none can visit.   I understand their point.  Talk therapy without the talking could make for a very long hour.  And there is nothing particularly social about refusing to talk.  But still, rejection stings.

There is another common type of rejection: from other children. The playground is a perfect example.  My son loves to swing.  He will swing for an hour.  When he is not swinging, he tends to pace, to talk to himself.  The other children are confused.  So, they go the other way. I don’t know if he notices, but I do.

Differing Philosophies

We have encountered this one too.  I walk into a room thinking we are going to discuss a type of therapy, or participate in a fun activity, and I am floored by a very unfamiliar or unsettling approach to children, or learning, or life in general.

We had this problem with Boy Scouts.  It proved to be too ritualistic and militaristic for our tastes, as well as having several basic tenets that we disagreed with.  Church turned out to be less than welcoming to disabilities as well, although there were attempts to bend rigid rules of conformity, discipline and obedience.  We also ended up feeling that only one political belief was tolerated.  And the intolerance of our own tolerance was unbearable.

We went to a martial arts class once.  It was amazing. The one who led the class was so good with the children.  But the idea was discipline, discipline, discipline.  All I could hear was failure, failure, failure.  The irony of autism is that the child’s inflexibility demands that we, as adults and caregivers and friends, be more flexible.

Another example is sports.  The notion of winning at all costs.  Of pushing our children to their limit.  The fact is, some of them reach their limit much earlier than others.  And when a child with autism has reached his limit, watch out!

I Can Do It Better and Cheaper

This may be strictly a homeschooling phenomenon, but there is a segment of services that are available only because they save parents time and effort.  In a homeschool, the two things not in short supply are time and effort.  So, if something is relatively simple to do, it is often tempting to rationalize just doing it yourself.  Professionals will sometimes even tell you how they would approach a given problem, and suddenly you have a road map.  The quantity and quality of curricula out there on almost every subject makes the job even more doable.

I looked into getting life skills training for my child, just to solidify his grasp of basic concepts.  You need to put the cheese back in the fridge, sealed in a plastic bag after you use it.  You need to make sure you have a towel in the bathroom, before you take a shower, so when you exit the shower, you don’t leave a trail of water across the bathroom floor.  Stuff like that.

To reduce the amount of yelling going on in my house, mainly.  There are only so many times that you can make the exact same words come out of your mouth at the same volume.

I got a recommendation for ABA (Applied Behavior Analysis) therapy.  Chunk the task.  Teach each chunk.  Reward successful performance.  Practice, practice, practice.   Look at before and after the behavior, antecedent and consequence.  Keep data.

I was hesitant.

But why does ABA leave such a bad taste in your mouth, I was asked.  I could not come up with an answer at the time.  Not a good answer anyway.  We haven’t done it.  I don’t really know what it’s like, from experience.  But still.  I don’t want to try it, either.  I definitely have a prejudice against it.

I guess, it’s because it does not seem like something you should do to a human being, much less a child.  It seems disrespectful of the original and unique entity that he or she is.  Disrespectful of his or her right to self-determination, to decide how to react to a given stimulus, for example.   It seems to send the message that he or she needs to be worked on.  He or she is flawed, or faulty.  Not that any child is perfect, least of all mine.  But he is fine as he is.

I remember kindergarten.  The tiny munchkins.  The brightly colored posters.  The floor pads with their names on them.  The hooks to hang up their backpacks.  And of course, the chocolate treat jar in the corner, to be delivered every time the child did something right.  As “reinforcement”.  Like doggie treats for a dog you are trying to house train.  The idea that motivation is often extrinsic, like a paycheck, I get that.  But the idea that a child, because he has a disability, has no intrinsic motivation? That without your coaxing, he would do nothing? These children want to do things.  Just not necessarily what’s on offer.  Not necessarily on your schedule.

Still, for DIY purposes, as a homeschool mom–the chunking part, the division of a task into pieces, well, I can do that.  The teaching part I can do.  The rewarding I can do.  At my discretion.

The rest—well, let’s wait and see whether that is really necessary.

 Beyond the Disappointment

The decision to leave, in love and therapy, in playgroups and homeschool co-ops, in after-school activities and family get-togethers, is always painful.  We want to believe we can do anything, blend into any environment, feel included despite our children’s differences.  Then reality hits us in the face.  And we must learn to take it.

My husband has gained a lot of wisdom over the years listening to a podcast on Buddhism, Bad Buddhist Radio, which is snarky and sarcastic and far from orthodox, if there is such a thing as orthodox Buddhism.  His favorite device for thinking through situations is the Eightfold Path, which often leads him to a feeling of equanimity, that is, of peace with what has just occurred.

  1. Right Understanding—Do I understand what just happened correctly? Is there something I am missing?
  2. Right Thought—Am I brooding, or thinking emotional thoughts, or thoughts connected with other things than that in front of me? Is there something faulty in my logic?
  3. Right Speech—Did I say what I meant? Did I stay silent when I should have spoken, or speak when I should have stayed silent?  Was I clear, concise, kind?
  4. Right Action—Am I doing the right thing in response to what happened? Am I overreacting or underreacting?
  5. Right Livelihood—Is my job (for example, homeschool mom) the one I want or should be doing now? Do I somehow carry a grudge because this is my job?
  6. Right Effort—Have I really given this a chance to work? Did I do my part and use my energy to promote its success? Is my effort wasted on this?
  7. Right Mindfulness—Am I focusing on the problem and current conditions, or are prejudices or feelings or past experiences clouding my judgment?
  8. Right Concentration—Is this a spur-of-the-moment decision or have I considered all sides of this? Have I taken the time necessary and gathered enough information to make a good decision? Am I distracted by something or someone?

Think about it and make your best decision.  It’s all you can do.