I hear him whisper-talking to himself as I pause by his bedroom door. It’s a couple of hours before school time and although I can’t see him, I know exactly what he’s doing as I listen intently to the soft sounds emanating from his room.
“Yes, that’s okay. The We4 are jumping on this page…this page,” he says in an even more hushed tone. “He’s not really a bad guy. A bad guy…he’s actually good. He’s good,” Brady audibly whispers. He’s hunched over on his floor, near his bed, fully focused on his homemade comic book. He’s sketching as words flow meditatively from his lips in hushed tones that sound so sweet. I am privileged to hear his brain thinking as his creative juices are flowing. It delights my heart because he has discovered a new interest that awakens and completely engages him. He has been drawing and coloring since preschool and now, he’s sketching complex action scenes inside his own series of books. And even more exciting, there’s a storyline: the good guys (the “We4”) band together to fight the bad guy.
Dare to knock? You really shouldn’t. I learned to let him be unless I need him to cease his activity. The sound of a knock is jarring to him, as I could clearly discern from his agitated response:
“No! I’m working. Don’t come in!” Why, he even has a handwritten sign on his door that reads: go away in red marker.
I guess when you are hyper-focused and whisper-talking to yourself, interruptions are the last thing you desire. It’s a curious thing that a child with autism and ADHD can become super focused for such a long length of time – over an hour – when at school, this same child struggles to keep engaged for more than fifteen minutes. (The difference must be the stimulating creativity of making his own books vs. the rigidness of completing school assignments.)
“The phenomenon of what’s
referred to as hyperfocusing is very common with people on the autism
spectrum, and people with ADD/ADHD, OCD, and bipolar disorder. It’s a state of
intense, single-minded concentration on one particular thing, to the point that
you might become oblivious to everything else around you.” – Rebecca Winchell, “Let’s Talk about
Hyperfocus”
In the evening as I’m tucking him into bed, we look at some of the books he’s created.
“What’s the “ES” stand for, Brady?” I ask as I note the letters at the bottom of the first two picture books of the We4 series he’s been writing and illustrating.
“It means Epic Series,” he answers.
“How many books are going to be in your series?” I inquire as my eyes wander to the Captain Underpants books he has neatly stacked nearby.
“Sixteen. I’m going to be busy,“ he states with his eyes darting back to his stack of books. “Very busy. The next book is going to be called Yeah, It is” he tells me and then directs my attention to the very last page of his latest book.
“See?” He points to the illustration on that last page. “It says the next book’s name right there. That’s how you know. Okay?”
“Yes, got it,” I assure him.
He’s modeling his Epic Series after the Captain Underpants books he has come to love. Those advertise the next publication to be produced. I just love the vague yet oddly enticing titles he has come up with: We4, It’s Cool, and Yeah, It is.
“Oh! The We4 are those kids on the front of the first book, right?” I exclaim to him. (Did I mention that Brady is one of four kids? I wonder if his characters somehow represent him and his siblings.)
Just before I tuck him in, we read one of his homemade books and he tells me to “not worry about the spelling because it’s how I’m sounding the word, Mom.” I wasn’t even thinking too much about the spelling, although I internally smile about his phonetic lettering of certain words. Truly, I delight in the fact that he is writing and using his imagination.
Carry on, brave, creative soul.
I’m cleaning out the bird cage where our two budgie parakeets live when I remark on the yellow female bird, Jill. She’s the one who doesn’t like to be handled. She’s nervous and squawky, unlike the blue one, Jack.
“Oh, Jill, you strange, silly bird. Jack is so normal but Jill…goodness, that bird,” I casually remark as Brady sits at the kitchen counter eating chips and salsa.
“Mom,” he says in a soft, serious voice, “Jill can’t help it.”
“Can’t help what?” I reply looking at him.
His eyes widen his tone sounds thoughtful, “She can’t help that she doesn’t like something. She isn’t a bad bird. Stop talking badly about her.”
(Goodness)
“I wasn’t saying that Jill was a bad bird. I just sometimes wish she would let us hold her like Jack does. She’s also quite a loud squawky bird but I guess that’s part of her personality,” I cautiously reply, understanding that Brady is drawing heavy parallels between himself and our dear Jill bird. It’s funny — but maybe not so much.
“She’s a good bird, Mom,” Brady says moments later.
“Yes, I know. She is the way she is, and I do accept that,” I add, hoping that this resonates, and my sincerity is noticed.
When I think about how this child has changed the way I view others who are unlike me, (others including feathered friends and clever sand crabs), I think of these eye-opening conversations. Those that continue to believe autistic children lack empathy couldn’t be more wrong. Time and time again, Brady demonstrates that he feels intensely what others bring into the current scene. He looks at facial expressions, wonders about the meanings of words (“Is Epic better than Awesome?”), and shows concern when others are unhappy.
Sure, sometimes I have to point out why someone is upset with him (cause and effect can be murky for him) but he takes it all in and ponders it more than many might assume. The scenes in his books show fright, worry, anger, sadness, and joy. I look at the character’s faces and the way he has drawn subtle changes in their eyebrows and eyes to reflect the appropriate emotions. Even the hair stands up when a character is angry.
Could there be a connection between Brady’s artistry and his extreme sensitivity? Oh yes, I believe there is. As his mother, I get to be witness to the unique way in which his brain takes it all in through his art and the wonderfully candid conversations I am grateful to be a part of….even if I accidentally laugh before I am able to respond with utter seriousness.
“Do bad guys ever cry?”
“Do they always laugh wickedly?”
“Can bad guys do good things?”
“Empathy is the most important, most essential, most foundational element of painting and drawing.” – Vonn Cummings Sumner, an internationally exhibited American painter
I love Brady’s brain, and his reminder about your squaky bird. I mean, don’t we all feel squaky sometimes and don’t even realize why? That for some, it’s an always feeling is a lovely reminder.
Yes, Brady – I love your brain,
epic is better than awesome
[in my opinion].
Epic applies to the world of mythology and in the modern and post-modern world.
And this is the universe where the We4 work and play and live?!
Awesome has been debased. When we talk about AWE on its own it does not have many words or decorations, at least not for me.
When we add SOME we are sort of diminishing or minimising.
Sixteen books! I mean wow!
It took me nine months to do this for me. The sixteenth book is a cruise around the world especially the Asian-Pacific universe including Papua New Guinea and Fiji.
“It delights my heart because he has discovered a new interest that awakens and completely engages him. He has been drawing and coloring since preschool and now, he’s sketching complex action scenes inside his own series of books. And even more exciting, there’s a storyline: the good guys (the “We4”) band together to fight the bad guy.”
#respectthework #respecttheworker #goodandevil #respectthestory #actioncomplex
And when you talked about Jill and dispreference – #beyondthelimitsoftolerability
Hmm, they could [represent you and your siblings]. However I respect if you keep your cards close to your chest in that regard and let the audience/viewers/readers discover that on their own.
#chipssalsacomplementliterarywork
Hair stands up too when a character is shocked.