I want so badly for Lou to be included; to hear a friend call his name, to see his siblings stop in their tracks to help him when he's overwhelmed or to even have one of his grandparents, aunts or uncles to step up and ask if they can spend some one on one time with him.
The older kids get that. I hear and see these things happening for them constantly, but not for Lou. I know I look and act like I'm the only one who knows how to handle him, but no one else will unless they forge that time with him.
This evening I saw one kid picked up from school by Grandma, another one crying because they too wanted Grandma time, and then Lou? They left Lou alone with my Father where he curled himself up and took a nap.
My heart exploded when neighborhood kids his age asked if he could come out and play. He put on his puppy house shoes and bolted out the door. He didn't care that he didn't know the rules to whatever game they were playing, but you could see it on his face that he was so excited to have kids saying his name and interacting WITH him and not simply interacting AROUND him. There's an enormous difference between including and allowing space.
Including Lou would be asking how his day was and reading his body language when his tongue fails him. Including Lou is asking for a hug, but not getting upset when he says "No thanks, not today," and then follows up with asking to play hide and seek. Just because he recoils from touch does not mean he doesn't want to enjoy your company.
Allowing space for Lou means inviting, but not actively interacting with him. He can play with your things, but you have no intention of playing alongside him. And this is what I see more often than not. Space is reserved for Lou until his behaviors push YOU away from HIM, not the other way around.
And I'm not immune to this. I was the kid allowing space but not including because I too felt uncomfortable being around the "too touchy" or "too loud" kids. Maybe I'm not unlike them or even unlike Lou. Sometimes I'd rather live on autopilot in my bubble; I don't want to be touched or questioned. I just want to live out my predictable day and be done with it. And then other days I want to be in the middle of all the things and feel like an accomplishment gangster knocking tasks and conversations out of the park, fist punched high in the air.
Autism is funny like that. What might have overstimulated you one day could be the thing you crave the next because you just want to put that mask on and be included. And just because "that kid with autism" spoke one day, does not mean they're going to be holding conversations the next. They want the interaction without the uncertainty that sometimes comes with it.
We roll with the punches, Lou and I, and I pray he knows deep down in his bones how much I adore him. I hope he knows that I'll always include him to the best of my ability because I don't want him to ever feel he's completely alone.
The older kids get that. I hear and see these things happening for them constantly, but not for Lou. I know I look and act like I'm the only one who knows how to handle him, but no one else will unless they forge that time with him.
This evening I saw one kid picked up from school by Grandma, another one crying because they too wanted Grandma time, and then Lou? They left Lou alone with my Father where he curled himself up and took a nap.
My heart exploded when neighborhood kids his age asked if he could come out and play. He put on his puppy house shoes and bolted out the door. He didn't care that he didn't know the rules to whatever game they were playing, but you could see it on his face that he was so excited to have kids saying his name and interacting WITH him and not simply interacting AROUND him. There's an enormous difference between including and allowing space.
Including Lou would be asking how his day was and reading his body language when his tongue fails him. Including Lou is asking for a hug, but not getting upset when he says "No thanks, not today," and then follows up with asking to play hide and seek. Just because he recoils from touch does not mean he doesn't want to enjoy your company.
Allowing space for Lou means inviting, but not actively interacting with him. He can play with your things, but you have no intention of playing alongside him. And this is what I see more often than not. Space is reserved for Lou until his behaviors push YOU away from HIM, not the other way around.
And I'm not immune to this. I was the kid allowing space but not including because I too felt uncomfortable being around the "too touchy" or "too loud" kids. Maybe I'm not unlike them or even unlike Lou. Sometimes I'd rather live on autopilot in my bubble; I don't want to be touched or questioned. I just want to live out my predictable day and be done with it. And then other days I want to be in the middle of all the things and feel like an accomplishment gangster knocking tasks and conversations out of the park, fist punched high in the air.
Autism is funny like that. What might have overstimulated you one day could be the thing you crave the next because you just want to put that mask on and be included. And just because "that kid with autism" spoke one day, does not mean they're going to be holding conversations the next. They want the interaction without the uncertainty that sometimes comes with it.
We roll with the punches, Lou and I, and I pray he knows deep down in his bones how much I adore him. I hope he knows that I'll always include him to the best of my ability because I don't want him to ever feel he's completely alone.
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