Another Story about living the fullness of life on the Spectrum.
“Maybe the two different worlds we lived in weren't so different. We saw the same sunsets.” -- S. E. Hinton, The Outsiders
Everything is Ausome I split the responsibility with my wife and adult son of waiting for Calvin, my sixth grader, to arrive home on the school bus. You can usually tell how his day went at school by his demeanor as he emerges to street level down the short bus staircase—either bounding or hesitating on the steps. He mutters to me, “Glenn Road,” with a sour look on his face, and adds, “Stupid Idiot.” I can tell Calvin’s not in a good mood. Usually he bounces off the bus and meanders effortlessly home bearing his blue backpack with a smile exuding boyish wonder. Before he reaches our porch, he is distracted by a cloud, a breeze against his face, or a passing cat. Most days he characteristically transitions to eating a quick snack, scootering up and down our block on the sidewalk, or starting his evening homework, in no identifiable order. Today is different. I want to get to the root of his angst. His two short phrases did not solve the puzzle of his distress. Calvin, with improving, but severe speech delays, is not a good source for daily details, but right now he is my only source. Without any resistance he drops his backpack at my feet. When he does have a bad day at school, he often not-so-slyly conceals his backpack, because his autistic support team report his missteps for parental review. I didn’t bother to look at the report since he gave up his backpack without guile, I sensed that his distress came from the bus ride home. First, I think a snack will calm him down. He refuses. I suggest scootering, some exercise will help him blow off steam. He refuses. I suggest he start his math work sheet. He counters that he wants to go to bed – before four o’clock. He marches upstairs and I hope he self-soothes, gets consolation from his stuffed animals. I give him some time alone and arrive in his room as he finishes pulling on his summer pajamas, shorts and a t-shirt with a matching shark theme. Maybe it is too soon, but I want to know what happened. I repeat these verbal morsels to him: “Glenn Road” and “Stupid Idiot.” He abruptly admonishes me, “Don’t say that,” he says sternly with authority. He is referring to the word “stupid;” which to Calvin, it is a curse word. His father listens to too much sports talk radio and when Calvin is in the car he often barks out to the show host or Ernie from Conshohocken, “Don’t say that.” Calvin hears everything and the word “stupid” stings his sensibility. As a father, I twinkle inside that he is still a sheltered child protected from the harshness of reality. Although, I want him to grow up, I adore that Calvin, perhaps because of his autism, can swim in the softness and protection of a happy childhood longer than his peers. Then, I concentrate on the other half of my verbal clues: “Glenn Road.” Calvin clarifies that he said, “No Glenn Road,” and a hypothesis begins to form. Lately, Calvin has been studying Google Maps and has been memorizing streets major and minor in our township and beyond. He is a little GPS with curly brown hair. Recently, while running late for the morning bus, Calvin was compelled to write down the twelve streets his bus traversed on his commute. He finished just in time to take the commute, leaving me with list. Today’s afternoon school route must have needed to detour. Calvin’s comfort of expectations and routine was shattered. Again, part of me was relieved that Calvin was horrified by a detour, could have been a tree pruning, scheduled road work or some other mundane suburban occurrence. I know too many children are suffering from war, hunger, domestic violence, crime and ethnic atrocities. Despite downgrading his grief on this huge scale, I provide comfort and a hug without letting him know I was grinning inside. A detour is no big deal. As I left him alone, again, I wondered about the phrase “Stupid Idiot.” Did he get upset and was my sweet little boy called a stupid idiot by another passenger? Or was my sweet little boy shouting his weak profanity at other children or worse at the driver. I emailed his autistic support teacher my thoughts and concerns. She replied almost immediately, even though it was Friday afternoon, she would investigate on Monday. The email exchange got the scenario out of my stream of thought, Calvin found some old toys and eventually descended off his plateau of anger. The old toys again reminded me of the tender childhood still preserved in him. By the end of the year, he will be a teenager, but I am glad he still finds joy in the simplest things. It is an ironic reversal of feelings because I despise when others treat Calvin like a baby. Some think his life on the autism spectrum means he does not think and feel like a typical pre-teen. I shrug when I realize some part of me does this, too. When the weekend ended, the only hangover from Friday was Calvin’s outright demonstrative refusal to ride the school bus to school. I was able to drive him to school, but I was worried that he might refuse to ride the bus again – impractical, impossible, and a potential disaster to be his chauffer daily, even with a couple weeks remaining. His teacher planned an unusual Monday bus ride for Calvin anyway. In his homeroom, chairs were formed into long row of pairs with a row in the middle. Like a courtroom drama the Friday bus ride home was recreated. His teacher had already spoken to the driver and wanted Calvin to work out his trauma. Calvin directed the bus to different streets and bus stops. His classmates, some playing themselves exited the scene when appropriate. Then the imaginary bus approached Glenn Road. Calvin shouted “Stupid Idiot.” The very same student was offended by the comment, but Ms. Scott, Calvin’s teacher realized that Calvin was channeling his new love of sixth grade literature. The phrase “stupid idiot” was from a pivotal moment in the book, and its inspired movie, The Outsiders. The teen character, Darry uses this phrase to express his anger. Calvin, by repeating it, was communicating that he was angry, with literary allusions. The offended student understood now that Calvin was making a literary observation, not name calling, but on the day of the actual ride, the student was upset at being called an idiot. Calvin was upset that his fellow passenger was upset, first the bus detoured AND then another student was mad at him. The adult bus aide tried to help, but there was anger, resentment, and now adult intervention and no one understood Calvin’s language of literature – and all were upset at him. His teacher understood. She shared with the original offended student that Calvin was not name calling but referencing his anger. She knew Calvin knew the dialogue of Darry as well as Johnny, Sodapop, Twobit, Ponyboy, and Dally. She introduced him to scene re-enactments and secondary sources, film adaptations of these book. Calvin loved “directing” scenes from the books with his classmates as actors, giving blocking and dialogue coaching. After The Outsiders unit, he devoured other books in the same way and when the last book was over, he demanded more stories. His teacher provided him more middle school books to study. He memorizes key dialogue, and studies secondary sources, especially related films. Even though Calvin is behind grade level for reading, he exceeds in a desire to get better at understanding stories; it’s his window to understanding the world. Reflecting on the books he studied this year, I realize that he sees beyond his childish demeanor. The Outsiders is a book about teen gangs and class disparity; The Giver, a book about a dystopian society; Holes, a story about teen juvenile detention; and a pair of books about Nazi occupation, Number the Stars and the Diary of Anne Frank. Calvin is processing many heavy themes in the middle school literature cannon: death, street violence, racism, authoritarianism, child imprisonment, and the atrocities of Nazi ideologies and practices. While Calvin doesn’t yet have the language skills to fully discuss these themes, he is beginning to explore the adult world, with its harshness and evil edges. If I fail to prepare him, along with his educators, I will be the “stupid idiot.” Robert Frost reminds, “So dawn goes down to day; Nothing green can stay.” Someday, he will need to deal with more than an unexpected road closure. He must learn about all the realities of life, including dangers where no visible detour sign is posted. He will be a teenager by the end of the year. I need to begin to treat him as a soon-to-be adult while still nurturing his greatest quality, boyish curiosity. I wonder what story will be next. Everything Is Ausome, Frank Kennedy , June 2018