In doing research on finding appropriate placements for
students with either high-functioning autism or Asperger’s syndrome, I got side
tracked by a little jewel of an article that had appeared in a magazine
published by the National Education Association. Titled “Square Pegs: Kids with Asperger Syndrome are Hoping You’ll
Help Them Find a Place in the Classroom that Fits Just Fine,” the article
quotes Lucas, a young man with Asperger’s who had just graduated high
school. According to Lucas, “You’ve heard
people say we don’t want to be square pegs in round holes, we want to be square
pegs in square holes. To me that means
we don’t need to be fixed. We’re not
broken people. We just need to be
understood.” What Lucas is asking for—understanding–is what is essential to
ensure a successful placement for the child with high-functioning autism or
Asperger’s.
Teachers who are willing to go the proverbial extra mile may
discover that children on the spectrum can contribute enormously to their
classrooms. These children can shine
brightly with a teacher who appreciates who they are and shows classmates by
example how to treat the child with autism or Asperger’s with respect. Children who are placed with rigid, top-down
disciplinarians are probably not going to do so well. Everyone—the child, the teacher, the
principal, and the family—are going to be miserable. And some children simply cannot have their
needs met in a mainstream classroom.
Although we had some bad years in schools with our son, we
were mostly fortunate to have teachers who wanted to understand him and tried
to include him. Could it have been
better? Of course it could have been
(did it not occur to anyone that a kindergartener who spent his year behind the
bookshelf playing by himself probably needed help?). Some years we had teachers who complained
that he was inattentive and spent his class time doodling maps and hurricanes
on his school papers. Other teachers
were willing to understand that this was how our son communicated his stress
and responded accordingly. One teacher
took to heart instructions from my son’s psychologist on how to restrict his
then obsession with hurricanes. To my
son’s delight, the teacher allowed him to present a 5-minute hurricane update
to his class each morning, after which he was to be done talking about
hurricanes for the day. In middle school
one teacher complained when his new special interests (U.S. presidents and
military history) intruded into the classroom.
Another, more thoughtful teacher guided him onto the scholastic bowl
team. (Allow me to brag—his “scho-bowl”
team was first in state by his junior year in high school. Who knew that an obsessive interest in revolutionary
war generals could earn respect from your peers?)
High school can be merciless for many kids, not just the
ones on the spectrum. Unfortunately, one
of the sad realities for kids on the spectrum is that they are frequently
bullied. A recent study indicated that
46% of children on the spectrum are bullied compared with 10.6 % of children in
the general population. When our son
was young, we found it a mixed blessing that he seemed to lack the awareness to
recognize when he was being bullied. One
call I received from his elementary school was actually about my then 5th
grade older son, who had fallen apart after witnessing his brother being teased
on the playground as he was “hurricaning” by himself. (Does any parent of a child on the spectrum
need me to explain this verb?) According
to the kind teacher who made the call, my older son was sobbing in the nurse’s
office while the erstwhile bully was cooling his heels in the principal’s
office. I would like to say that the
school social worker was out on the playground with my younger son to take
advantage of a “teachable moment,” but I’m afraid it just wasn’t so.
By the time my younger son reached high school, his brother
was 6 ½ feet tall and on the varsity basketball team. It would have been a foolish student who
opted to pick on my son with “big brother” in the building. Another hero came into my son’s life in the form
of the basketball coach who invited him to join the team as the business
manager. We all know that spectrum kids
are particularly vulnerable in high school lunch rooms, but freshman year my
son ate with members of the varsity basketball team. In my book those boys are champions, and I’m
not just referring to their trophies in the main hallway at the high school. My son also discovered Model UN, where he not
only was allowed to speak non-stop on a topic which interested him without
regard to his listener, but he also could earn awards for it! And to think we had spent years and who knows
how much money on pragmatic speech therapy for him. Between his extracurricular activities with
the basketball team, the scholastic bowl team, and the Model UN, as well as the
support of a wonderful resource teacher, my son was able to find a niche for
himself in an extremely large, exceedingly competitive suburban high
school. And most importantly, he was
happy.
I’ve always loved the poem attributed to Digby Wolfe,
“Here’s to the Kids who are Different.” I first ran into it when it was posted on the wall of one of the developmental
therapy centers where my son received services.
Its reassuring message that “as history has shown, it’s their
differences that make them unique” made me both smile and reassured me. But
I’m fully aware that my son was exceedingly lucky; his disorder is fairly mild,
and in school he found caring teachers who were willing to support him and by
extension, peers who were willing to accept him and even be his friends. Unfortunately, not every child is so
fortunate.