Week 6

I can remember what it was like being eleven. I was full of shit when I was eleven. I had a million dreams and I never shut up. I thought that there were millions of possibilities for me. Everyday was an adventure. I had so many things to say, so many things to do.
Now, it's almost ten years later, and I'm standing in the early March cold, somewhere in Bangor, with a child who is eleven and has Autism.
He looked just like a 'normal' child. He was a foot shorter then me, with large blue-green eyes and shaggy brown hair. He wore a coat with Spider-man on the back.
Only this child will probably never be able to have even a single hope for his future.
Every day when I go to work, I see a seven-year-old in a diaper. I see an eleven-year-old who will never be able to hold a deep conversation with anyone. I see a thirteen-year-old boy who was born without eyeballs.
On this particular day, I'm standing outside in the playground with the eleven-year-old.
"What would you like to do today?" I ask him for the tenth time as I knelt down to his level. I use an encouraging voice in hopes that he responds with words.
He doesn't say a word. He looks at me with blue-green eyes. They are eyes that are simply looking at me; not ones that are seeing me. He turns around and walks away.
I sigh loudly. I used to think that all the dreams I had as an eleven-year-old were taken from me and replaced with harsh reality. But it is children like this who had their dreams robbed from them before they could even have been dreamed. Children like this aren't given the chance to speak.
I observe him as he plays. He's putting snow into his hand and pushing it onto the fence. It sticks to the fence, and he does it again. And again. He seems to do this for minutes on end.
According to the rules, he's not supposed to be flicking snow. It's 'unsafe'. But he's alone, he's not hurting anyone, and quite frankly I don't care whether or not he flicks snow. He looks at me with aware eyes; he knows that it's against the rules. He may have Autism, but he's far from stupid. I smile at him as he looks at me. I hope for a smile back but I'm not surprised when I don't get one.
How long does he flick the snow at the fence? I'm not sure. But once he's flicked off all of that sticky snow, he starts to hit the ice with his fist to break it, and then push it off the picnic table. This is also probably against the rules, but again I don't care.
If this is all he wants to do, why rob him of that? Why rob him of something else? Why take it from him?
I walk over to him and try again talking to him. He looks at me but doesn't answer. I can read nothing from his face.
He continues to break the ice with his fists. For a moment I think about making him stop and bringing him inside, where he can sit in the corner and cover his ears with his hands as they all play loudly. He doesn't like being around his friends; they're loud and they hurt his ears. Playing with toys doesn't entertain him. Coloring doesn't interest him. He likes to play in the park, but in all the ice and snow, that just can't be done.
So here he is; breaking snow with his fist. To him, this behavior isn't abnormal. To him, when he jumps up and down for no reason and answers questions with grunts, it feels totally normal. But in public people look at him like he's different. They don't react well to his behavior. They don't understand why he doesn't talk. And it breaks my heart to see their faces as they watch him play.
I give up on trying to talk to him. If anything, I'm bothering him.
I sigh and decide to join him. I take my fist and I start breaking the ice with him. I don't say a word as I start breaking the ice myself. His eyes widen and he watches me intently. I can't decide how he feels. But in my mind, I thought that maybe he wanted a friend to join him. I had no idea how he felt, but I'd hate it if he felt alone.
He allows me to stand close to him and break ice with him for a few minutes. We move in silence; pointlessly breaking ice and pushing it off the table. My hands get cold and it's a little boring, but I had no idea what else to do.
But I knew that it wouldn't last. The boy looked up at me and put his arms on my midsection. He pushed me away with light force.
"Stop." He mumbled quietly. His eyes were silently pleading with me. I sighed in defeat and lowered my arms.
Trying not to get discouraged, I stand back and let him finish his project in peace. He didn't want my help, it was clear.And I decided it was pointless to ask why.
When I was eleven, I was riding bikes with my friends after school every day. I explored possibilities, played soccer and read lots and lots of books. I had plans and hopes for my future already; I liked to write stories and tell stories, go camping and hiking.
Here is a boy who should be doing all of those things too. But for him, just the presence of someone standing close to him made him feel uncomfortable, made him feel unsafe. After a year and a half of seeing this boy grow, he still can't even handle the simplest of human contact.
Once he's finished, we silently go inside. I help him take off his coat and his mittens and we hang them up. He washes his hands for snack and sits at the table with his friends. He uses almost inaudible language to ask for 'bread', because that's the only thing he likes to eat for snack. He sits in silence while his friends are all talking and chatting around him.
Many of the kids here will someday be able to live alone. Some of them may even have kids when they're older; most of them will function as 'normal' members of society. But the little boy with the blue-green eyes, he'll never live alone. He'll never get married and have kids; he'll never be able to have a deep conversation with anyone. Someday he'll be able to use a sentence to ask for what he wants to eat at a restaurant, but I fear that that may be the extent of it.
I'll never be able to forget the tired look his mother bears; one, even though it's so full of love for her son, it's also tired and worn out, because raising a child with needs like this is exhausting.
But my job isn't to 'fix' him, or to 'change' him. As much as I'd love for that to come one day, it may never, so right now, he just needs to learn to feel comfortable.
I sit next to him at the table during snack. He looks at me and I smile. His eyes are a mystery to me, but after I say hello, he is able to echo it back. I sit far enough away so that he has plenty of personal space, but also so that he doesn't feel alone. He continues to look at me with wary eyes, but I just keep a warm smile on my face. I pretend to understand him, because I know I never will understand him.
But for him, and for me, that will have to be enough.