Category Archives: Autism Life

Autism Life, Speech

Teaching Judo where Inclusivity is about Adaption

I had four children in front of me. Three boys and a little girl. All were roughly the same in age, around five and six years old?

As I stood in front of them, I hoped that my judo knowledge would be sufficient or at least enough to con a group of young children.

I was nervous but didn’t want to show it.

“Who wants to learn a judo throw?” I shouted with enthusiasm.

The little girl shouted “yes!” with excitement, and the boy next to her joined in, but the other two sat in silence. Not a sound was muttered.

There are many reasons a child will not talk. It can be from speech delays, autism, anxiety or even selective mutism. The way we see the world and develop is different for every one of us.

And from my experience I knew this.

I knew that in this setting I was not going to get a verbal confirmation of the desire to learn, and as I demonstrated the throw, I immediately knew that a different method of teaching was needed.

Instructing with words and then looking for a verbal recognition was not a result I could bank on.

So I paused.

I knelt down to the level of my audience, and I held up my hand.

“Who’s in?” I shouted, and waited for the non verbal response. My more confident students jumped up and slapped out the strongest five fives they could muster, while the two, who were a bit quieter, watched.

I crawled forward and held up my hand. I smiled at the boy in front of me and he smiled back, lifting his hand and tapping out his response. The fourth then followed with his agreement in being part of the group, his high five a bit more reluctant, but his message was clear, he was ready.

I then paired them up. I took each by hand and put them in position. I placed my hand on the mat to show where to stand, and even nudged their feet in the right directions – another form of non verbal communication.

When all four children started to tire and their attention spans drifted, I announced “Last one in line gets thrown by me!” in the hope that they would fear it and line up immediately.

But the opposite happened.

They all wanted to be thrown.

Their cheeky smiles were across their faces. Their bums wiggling in anticipation.

So the lesson changed once again. It adapted to meet the desires of the group.

After half an hour I gave the last set of high fives and saw a change in four young children.

Not one of their throws were perfect. But each one of their smiles was present.

And that’s all I needed to make my day.

Get to know your students. Get to know those around you. Every one is different. Everyone has a different ability. But everyone can learn. It is just up to us to adapt our methods to make it possible.

That’s inclusivity.

Autism Life

Autism: The Word No One Would Talk About!

The towers were huge. He would take a block, and without any effort, immediately know the position, the balance and the physics.

The towers grew to his height and beyond. I would watch him stretch his arms above his head, placing that final block way above his blonde curls.

He was only 18 months old!

When the health visitor arrived for his 18 month developmental check, she placed three blocks in front of my son. The milestone he was expected to reach at his age.

I remember the giggle inside me, as I watched Rhys stack each block on top of the other, then gather other different shaped blocks and create a sky scraper.

The health visitor’s mouth took a good thirty seconds to close. She had not seen a skill in a child of my son’s age.

But that’s when it stopped.

My son could stack blocks. His fine motor skills exemplary.

But he was silent.

He said no words. He didn’t respond to my requests. He couldn’t make a pretend cup of tea when asked. He did no imaginary play. He didn’t socialise with any other children. He was locked in his world.

I held onto his strengths. But struggled with where he wasn’t making the grade.

That was a time of uncertainty. A time where no one told me the reasons. A time when all I wanted was for someone to give me the answer. To give me the guide book on what I could do.

But no one did.

Not until a good two years later.

And that is tough. That is hard on a parent.

Two years it took. And then many more years of fighting for help and closure.

Because Rhys was not the one who needed to change. I needed to change and understand the mum he needed me to be.

I am not there yet. I will keep evolving. Things will keep adapting. I will keep learning.

I just wish autism wasn’t so taboo. I wish those in the profession could have told me what they were seeing. I wish the system didn’t mean they couldn’t, and it is only the role of the paediatrician that can.

Our children don’t need to change, this world is what needs to change!

Autism Life, Day Out

Autism: A Word to be Feared or a Fear to Not be Mentioned?

The lady said ” Would you mind me asking?”

Which was a strange question, when you don’t know what was about to be asked.

But I knew, so I nodded and said, “Of course”

I knew because my son was struggling. He was scared and anxious of the walk ahead, a place we hadn’t been in a while. A place where he didn’t have his marble run or favourite shows for comfort, just the trees and the dusty path.

He was crying, so we cuddled him to reduce his anxiety. Taking only a couple of steps and then giving a cuddle top-up, a burst of natural endorphins to keep him on the right side of the boundary of meltdown.

The lady looked at us and smiled as she warmly asked, “Is he autistic?”

“Yes he is” I answered calmly, cuddling Rhys one more time.

“You are doing an amazing job” she added.

As we walked on a few more steps and the cuddles became less and the gaps between them became further and further apart, I knew we were OK. I knew where my son’s line between anxiety and way-too-much began and ended. It had taken years of trial and error and getting to know the signs.

Rhys had just needed the cuddle-support method to get past his first hurdle.

As we walked hand in hand I thought about the lady’s question. I want more people to ask about Autism. I want it to become acceptable to ask a question if someone is thinking it and give acknowledgement of the hard. It helps sharing knowledge. It reduces the fear of the word.

I knew nothing about autism five years ago. I had heard the word but never been given any context. If the word had not been so secretive and unspoken maybe I would have gained acceptance quicker? Maybe I would have been able to understand my son’s world sooner?

Once we got past our the initial tense part of our walk, the stroll through the trees was calm and engaging. We took our time and enjoyed the outdoors. A successful trip that had unfolded as a result of a cleverly thought out plan and strategies we had learnt and others we had created ourselves.

Well until I said “Rhys, I see horses”, and then he told me to bugger off in his own special way!

I guess we are still have a bit of work on the “I see” activity goal. šŸ˜„

Autism Life

Autism Futures Are Just a Bounce Away

The group of kids were older. I estimated around fifteen or sixteen years of age. There were about ten to fifteen of them, all with one goal in mind and the determination that no one would stop them.

The tall one shouted, he was loud and vocal, but I didn’t turn my head, I continued to watch.

The wall was in front of them, about eight foot high, leading to a platform where you got a full aerial view of the park. The ultimate superior position a group of teenagers would want to claim as their victory.

I watched.

The trampoline was at the bottom of the wall – a purposely positioned stunt for jumpers who had the skill.

“Lift on three” the boy shouted, and they crouched down and let a girl use their thighs as steps while being lifted to the eight foot height. As she claimed her position on the elevated level, the cheers erupted before the next person took their position.

The teamwork was structured and executed with precision. Each person lifted or bounced up to the platform.

As I became engrossed in the scene I forgot about my son for a second, and only realised when he came into view. He had started to jump on the trampoline alongside the group. Jumping in a position of risk that someone being hoisted upwards may fall or harm him.

I rushed forward quickly, but was too late. One of the boys had walked forward and taken his hand. He used no words, but led him off the trampoline to the one adjacent, smiled and went back to his group.

I nodded and thanked him, but I got no response.

It took ten minutes for everyone to reach the platform. A cheer at every successful teammate making the ascent. The smiles were infectious, and I felt the pride in their hearts, and clapped in celebration with the crowd.

We were at the trampoline inclusivity session. Most of this group of teenagers had additional needs. They were children who had been labelled as having social challenges. Communication difficulties. Problem children.

But I saw none of that.

I saw a group of young adults who were kind, caring, social, fun and most importantly teammates. Not one of the group had been singled out or excluded. Their aim had been to get every one onto that platform, and they had succeeded.

I watch this group of kids every week. Sometimes they play tag. Sometimes they climb. Sometimes they jump. But I also notice that they are always looking over their shoulder to check they have never left anyone behind.

Because they are a team.

Today Rhys was jumping with two other children from his class. Not one word was being spoken. They just jumped happily alongside. Their challenges ten years behind the group I had been watching.

I hope one day they will be helping each other up onto that platform. I hope their future is as exciting as what I have just watched. Because they are already smashing down barriers which have been putting before them. They are changing the world in their own special way.

Who knows what will happen in time!

Autism Life

Autism Life: A different kind of Hard

To the parent complaining about the variety of choice in school meals. I have no comment. I am just relieved that my son is eating, even if his meals each day are identical to the day before!

To the mum who is worried about the loss of a school cardigan, and circulating WhatsApp messages for everyone to check their children’s bags. I’m sorry I never replied, cardigans don’t feature on my list of priorities, because just getting my son to wear clothes, is my main objective. No school wants a naked attendee!

To the teacher who questions why I forgot my daughter’s reading book, the book which should be returned on a Thursday to allow a 48 hour quarantine. I’m sorry, but I was writing an annual review submission, for my son, my seven year old whom I would love to hear read, but has not met that milestone, yet!

To the father who posted a video of his one year old son, and the word “daddy” being spoken so clearly and confidently. I’m sorry I didn’t comment, but the pain in my gut was so strong, because I never had that moment. And when I did, I was too scared to post it on social media, because my son was five years of age!

To the crowds of parents who meet up after school or on weekends, and drink coffee while their children run off and play. I’m sorry I am unable to join you or sit and relax with a mug of my own. I need to watch my son constantly. He may decide he is finished and walk away, because that’s the way his mind works.

To the grandparent who rolled her eyes while I sat on the supermarket floor, the one who tutted and said the word “discipline” under her breath. Iā€™m sorry but I have no words to respond, because my attention is always on my son and how I can help him. But I would like to sit her down and educate her, and highlight her ignorance.

To the other parents like me who raise their glasses to achievements that are so small to others but so huge to us, I’m sorry we don’t shout louder, I’m sorry we don’t celebrate bigger. I’m sorry we let those others get to us.

I will cook pizza for every dinner. I will loose every cardigan. I will forget every reading book. I will work for hours on my son’s speech. I will sit on any cold floor to provide support.

Because every time I prioritise my son over the mundane, we see achievements. We see milestones gained. We see accomplishments.

We have bigger things to fry on this side of the fence. Come over this side anytime to see how we do things.

Because our hard is harder than any lost cardigan!