“CLOSE THE DOOR!” Brady demands when I stealthily open his bedroom door to get a small glimpse at what he’s doing. We’ve removed the lock so he cannot really keep us out, but he makes it clear that while he’s creating art- whether a drawing or an origami boat- he wants to be left alone. I get it. To me, there is something incredibly pleasurable about being alone when entering an intensive creative mode. Shutting out the world and all its annoying distractions helps me tap into a deeper level of creativity. It’s like falling within yourself and safely opening the door for those creative juices to spill out, completely uninterrupted. When I choose to check on him, I do one soft knock and then slowly crack open his door. For a while Brady can lose himself in the magically sensorial part of his brain as colors mixed with intense emotions pour out on a simple page of white paper.
Brady pushes open doors in his life but only when he is ready. I can never predict when he will suddenly burst a door open and do something that leaves me bursting with pride and laughing with excitement at his audacity to tackle the most daring physical challenges. What an amazing delight to behold. In those moments, I’m beyond thrilled. I’m elevated to a euphoria that makes me want to dance, jump up and clap, hoot and holler. It’s a feeling that leaves me on a high for days, even weeks.
It all started one day at an indoor pool this past winter. A stranger who was practicing some impressive dives on the lower board stepped towards me: “Hey, are you his mom? Mind if I help him learn to dive off the board? What’s his name?”
Twenty minutes later…
“HE JUST DID IT!” I exclaim and immediately stand up. I’ve got goosebumps on my goosebumps as Bugs Bunny would say because of what I’ve witnessed. Brady, my gutsy boy just dove for the first time into the pool with a man named Miguel. Who is Miguel? Just a diver who was practicing in the deep end where Brady was also using the boards. I had been watching them as Miguel kindly started showing Brady the mechanics of a board dive. A stranger who looked a bit like a miniature Arnold Schwarzenegger saw my son smiling and trying to mimic a dive. After 20 minutes working with Brady, they were diving together. My son was soaked into the world of a real diver who helped him believe he could dive. And he did. Brady was able to kick open a self-doubting door because of a simple act of kindness from a stranger. A stranger who chose not only to notice Brady, but also chose to lend a hand because he saw a kid who wanted to TRY.
See you next Sunday, Brady! I’m always here practicing. Good job today!
We went back to the pool for many Sundays following and one Sunday, Miguel surprised Brady with a present, his very own dive towel- a light blue shammy just like Miguel’s.
How Labels Can Open Up Doors of Support and Empathy
Brady is labeled with diagnoses of: Autism, ADHD, Sensory Processing Disorder, and a seizure disorder. That all sounds depressing, doesn’t it? It’s not. It’s a blessing to have him categorized correctly based on his symptoms and behaviors because it helps others (therapists, teachers, aides, other adults) understand his needs and take them seriously. Because the medical community labeled his disabilities, Brady has received the maximum possible support this year in his public-school setting. Without this support, Brady would not be a valuable member of a general education classroom. However, with this critical support, Brady has made huge strides academically and socially this school year. He has friends who he models socially and that is important for a kid on the spectrum. By being around neurotypical kids all day in school, Brady is learning the nuances of social interaction. He is both a spectator and a forced participant.
Brady knows he is a part of a community of third graders, and he has adapted seamlessly to their daily routine. The bar of “how to conduct oneself at school” was raised from last year, and he has been hitting it. He trusts his aides and lets them know when he is overwhelmed (needs a quick break from the current scene). They have supported him with coping strategies which he is now independently using. Because of the labels, the administration at his school understands that Brady is not like a neurotypical child – that it takes a lot of mental energy for him to complete writing tasks, for example.
Supportive accommodations are put in place so that Brady will not feel defeated before even beginning a task. Supports help Brady want to try. His aides break assignments into bite-sized doable pieces. None of this would be in place if he didn’t have the labels on his file. The labels do not change who he has always been. While no one should be judged by their labels, these labels help others understand that his brain works differently, that his emotions can be unregulated, and that he cannot help the struggles he was born with.
One evening last week as I was tucking Brady into bed after reading a couple of his favorite Pig the Pug books, he looked right in my eyes. His eyes widened and I knew he was feeling upset.
“What’s wrong, Brady?”
He took a shallow breath and his eyes flooded with water.
I placed my hands on his shoulders and leaned in closely to his face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked softly.
He took another shallow breath and said in a shaky voice: “Nineteen more days.”
I looked at his eyes which were holding so many tears, and asked: “Nineteen more days ‘til what?”
He took another breath with his lips quivering. I kept my eyes locked with his.
“Until school is over.” Tears poured down the sides of his cheeks as he lay there solemnly.
“Oh- but we have a fun summer planned. Beach time, pool time, playgrounds…”
“No,” he interrupted quietly.
“I don’t want my class to change. I won’t see my teachers and my friends again.”
I tell him: “We can have play time with some of your friends this summer. You will see them again in the fall.”
I take a deep breath and continue: “You’ll have a new teacher and I bet some of them will be in your class again. Who would you like to have in your class again next year?”
He looks at me intensely and replies: “All of them. They are all my friends.”
The significant effect of inclusion was revealed in those moments before bed. Brady has never expressed an emotional attachment to school before this year. This year was his inaugural year of being a member of a mainstream “gen ed” classroom. Each one of those 22 kids mean something to Brady. He knew when someone was absent on a given day (“Mom, Jessica wasn’t in school today. Neither was Chris.”) He always told me when they would come back to school and if it was someone’s birthday (“It was Kevin’s birthday today, Mom.”).
The classroom became his supportive community and the power of including someone like him was that Brady felt motivated to step up his ‘game.’ He learned to come out of his shell more socially. He gradually immersed himself by talking with others and sitting with others at lunch, and by playing with others on the playground. By second quarter, Brady was showing others his Rubik’s cube solving skills. Brady’s class went on field trips together, completed class projects together. Most importantly, from my point of view, the children in Brady’s class learned about what it’s like to accept a kid with autism as a friend, quirkiness and all.
I’ve learned that being in a classroom that’s truly a supportive community makes all the difference in how Brady feels about himself, and what he can achieve. He observes others completing their math sheet; consequently, he feels empowered with the belief that he can do it too. The positive effect of classroom inclusion and peer influence has been magically transformative for Brady this school year.
I’m so glad we decided to kick OPEN the inclusion DOOR, Brady. I knew you were ready. I’m so proud of how you walked bravely through the door and utilized the support that was granted to you. You kept trying even in the hardest of moments, and let others get to know you.
You made them aware of who you are and with time, moved them past awareness into acceptance, and that is a life-changing lesson for everyone.
Brady as Alex Honnold, participating in the third grade live Wax Museum project this spring. He did a great job reciting facts about the famous climber before others tried to guess who he was. “It took me 3 hours and 56 minutes to climb El Capitan. I climbed 3,000 feet without any ropes, just my chalk bag (Brady wore around his shoulder).”
This has been a Finish The Sentence Friday post hosted by the fabulous Kristi Campbell of https://www.findingninee.com. This week’s prompt was a picture of an open door.
Wow to Miguel, taking the time to share his diving expertise with an enthusiastic little boy, and wow to Brady who was so brave, learning to dive! To all of you, for opening doors to inclusion and mainstream. You’re amazing.
Thanks, Kristi! We have to let go sometimes and allow strangers to make an impact on our kids (new troop leaders, or even another child on a playground). It’s a powerful lesson for us and our children- we should be able to lean on others; we need to at times.
Love your tying creativity and growth together with the door imagery. So potent, such a simple thing, a door. Solid rectangle (locks or not) that divides ‘is’ from ‘might be’. And paradoxically by dividing, a door can define, here is my place, there is a new place.
Good to hear (and therefore benefit) from the affirmation of there being good people, even when dressed as strangers.
Thanks, Clark. Brady has opened my eyes to the goodness of strangers. The Miguel interaction and the caring way he volunteered his time (even going forward) has helped me feel more at ease in new public places with Brady.
I think the kids in Brady’s class have a lot to learn from Brady, too, as you said. Beyond the general idea of learning how to accept a kid with autism, I bet they learned through example about advocating for themselves (“I need a break”), about getting in the zone (working hard on something with all their concentration), and about the behaviors they’re modeling that get mirrored back by someone working on the tools Brady was working on. Congratulations to you for what sounds like a great year all around!
Thank you, Debi! I think you’re right about other kids learning from being around Brady. Several of them have become protective of him and have shown so many acts of kindness. He notices them all and they impact him in ways they don’t realize (makes him feel he’s one of them…normal).
Now I have goosebumps on goosebumps! So thrilled to hear what a great class/community environment Brady had this year. I’m sure he did/does teach others everyday how important a diverse community is. Yea! Yea! Yea!
Thank you, Madra! Our kids help us learn how to open doors, and vice versa. I love how much Brady continues to transform me by opening my eyes to so many possibilities.
We need more Miguels in the world – holy cow what a guy.
And oh my heart about Brady being emotional about 19 more days. My kids have the same countdown going and are both feeling the weight of wanting to not change what they’ve been living. That class, that teacher. Sigh. I always was ok with summer as a kid because it’s awesome and because I have a summer birthday.
As a parent, I find it much harder.
We definitely need more Miguels in this world! My next post shares another story of how one person can make such a difference to a child.
It is so wonderful to read of Brady’s progress. I am excited beyond words for his ability to learn so quickly and for his love of school. I adore reading your blog. Encouragement for everyone, “normal” or not
Thank you so much, Melody! I love that you are reading my blog and learning more about our journey (Brady’s and mine).
I really enjoyed reading this entry, Rebecca —