“It’s very important for the parents of young autistic children to encourage them to talk, or for those that don’t talk, to give them a way of communicating, like a picture board, where they can point to a glass of milk, or a jacket if they’re cold, or the bathroom. If they want something, then they need to learn to request that thing.” Temple Grandin
When Brady was preschool aged, there were times that jolted and changed me from the inside out, and I remember them like they happened only a few weeks ago. One such time was when Brady’s autism teacher, Ms. Moore, reached out to let parents know they were invited to share a special festive-themed lunch with their child. It would take place in the classroom and we were welcome to eat & meet other classroom parents. Brady had transferred into Ms. Moore’s classroom only a few months earlier and this would be my first classroom event, so I was eager to go.
Brady was a student in PAC, which stood for Preschool Autism Classroom. There were only 6-8 kids in this classroom (all boys) with 2-1 support. One autism trained teacher or aide for every two children. The classroom was quite large with a designated ‘take a break’ area which had a large carpet, a few oversized bean bags, heavy throw blankets, and a few books and toys. There were timer clocks in various locations in the classroom that the teachers and aides would use to set time limits on activities or areas of use. Staff continuously supported the intensely structured environment for all the children while allowing some flexibility.
Did Chris need a break from being with the group? Then he could receive one by using one of his tailored communication tools to let the staff know. Every interaction the teachers had with each student was a learning moment on how to effectively express needs and wants in new ways, and lavish praise was poured out generously on a student when he successfully and appropriately conveyed his needs. A couple of children couldn’t talk but had devices for communicating through pictures. If they pointed to the bathroom picture, instead of yelling or throwing their bodies on the ground (for example), the aides responded immediately with praise and walking that child straight to the bathroom. Brady had to do more though. He needed to make a complete sentence, in his speaking voice, and include a ‘please.’
Brady: “I need to go to the bathroom!!!!!”
Ms. Moore: “I don’t understand that voice, Brady. Say that again in a voice I can understand with the word please.”
Brady: “Please can I go to the bathroom?”
Ms. Moore, with a very joyful, praised-filled response: “Great way to communicate, Brady! You just earned a star on your chart. YES, Brady. You may go.”
Brady gets up and runs to the bathroom.
Ms. Moore: “Back to the carpet, Brady. We don’t run in the classroom. Let’s try again.” There was always an aide who could block the bathroom and repeat what Ms. Moore had just said so Brady would understand that he needed to comply.
It wasn’t that Ms. Moore couldn’t understand what Brady was saying, it was that she was forcing him to communicate in preferred ways, which she knew he could do, but she needed to motivate him by enforcing strict rules. She was raising each child’s bar at various heights for each child’s respective issues (issues and goals that were clearly spelled out in their IEPs, signed by their parents).
She was using a technique that autism therapists have labelled ABA (Applied Behavior Analysis). A big part of ABA therapy is noticing and reinforcing the preferred behaviors as soon as the child exhibits them.
Every desirable thing a child does that relates to his personal IEP behavioral goals GETS NOTICED immediately. It’s a highly reinforcing technique. Use appropriate words, Brady earned a star. Finish your math (each child of course had their own specific academic goals based on their abilities), earn another star. Brady and his friends were in a highly structured environment that made them understand the expectations as soon as they realized it was no use trying to fight them.
No one could ‘win’ against Ms. Moore. Her tough love was as steadfast as a brick wall. She saw these kids as her kids and was determined as Anne Sullivan was with Helen Keller to teach them vital life skills such as how to communicate appropriately, how to successfully transition from one classroom activity to another, how to keep your body safe (no running or climbing, keep inedible things out of your mouth). The teacher and staff provided constant verbal acknowledgment (positive, reinforcing feedback as she called it) about every child’s accomplishments, no matter how seemingly small. It was all HUGE in her eyes.
Ms. Moore: “I see that Brady is keeping his body safe while I’m reading. Let’s give him a squeeze.” An aide would rush to Brady and squeeze his shoulders because this was his immediate reward (he loved physical touch).
If Brady earned all 5 stars in one day, he got to pick out a level 4 reward. A big clear chart hung with each reward level and its attached offerings were outlined clearly in pictures so that every child could understand. After being directed to the chart, Brady would communicate what prize he picked for his 5-star day. He most often chose a 5-minute balloon break.
On the day of the classroom parent lunch, I was excited to witness how Brady was doing in his school surroundings. Unfortunately, I never got a chance to sit down. When I arrived and Brady saw that I was in his classroom, he stopped eating and yelled out: “She’s not supposed to be here! Get her out!”
I must have blushed a thousand shades of red in that moment because he had certainly grabbed everyone’s attention and made me feel most welcomed. Then, he stood up and screamed as though I had stabbed him. Ms. Moore was right there but instead of addressing Brady’s behavior or giving him any attention whatsoever, she came very close to me and stared right into my eyes as she calmly said:
DO NOT LOOK AT HIM. KEEP LOOKING AT ME.
I opened my mouth but then my eyes flooded so I just kept them locked with hers. She spoke again:
“You aren’t going to look at him until he stops crying completely.”
Brady was now pulling on my shirt, screaming, crying.
My heart was racing, and I wanted to run out of the classroom. Brady wasn’t calming down at all; in fact, he was INTENSIFYING.
Ms. Moore kept talking to me (she was as cool and collected as a 911 operator who guides you through a very extreme situation even though you feel paralyzed).
With her eyes still locked with mine, she said: “Mom, you will now TURN YOUR BODY AWAY from him. Do not look at him at all but slowly turn your body away and remain standing.”
In front of all these parents, I was to turn my back on my son? Shouldn’t I be hugging him and trying to get to the bottom of why I had inadvertently upset him so much? (Was I wearing the wrong colored top?)
I froze, and Ms. Moore gently but firmly turned my body away from Brady.
She spoke quietly as she had placed herself toe-to-toe with me and sustained her locked eyes with mine. “Good. Now just wait. He will settle down once he sees that he doesn’t get any of your attention until he completely stops crying and sits back down.”
I’m speechless; this feels so much like a bad dream that I want to be shaken awake.
I hear an aide now talking to Brady, who is crying but no longer wailing. She tells him that Mom will not turn around until he is completely quiet and back in his seat.
A few more minutes later, the miracle happens. He is quiet and in his seat.
Suddenly, as though she is Glenda the good witch from The Wizard of Oz, Ms. Moore exclaims with overjoyed enthusiasm: “Mom, you can turn around now and sit with Brady! He’s ready for you to eat with him.” However, I feel as though I should maybe not sit down and instead start singing that the wicked witch (Brady’s screeching) was remarkably DEAD. But I maintain my composure and sit in the chair beside him. I don’t eat much, and thankfully, he didn’t start yelling or crying again.
When I leave and the munchkins go out for recess, Ms. Moore follows me out to the hallway, and we have a private chat about the scene that unfolded just 20 minutes ago. She hugs me and says she knows it’s painfully hard, but I must learn to notice and actively reinforce all good behaviors (big and small) and do it excessively so. And just as important, not accidentally give attention (i.e. reward) to the bad ones – unless he was being unsafe. At that time in his life, Brady was looking for attention in any form he could obtain it, and not choosing to use his expressive language to get his needs met. Why should he? After all, I had been the one to pick up a Cheerio from the floor as soon as he screamed and pointed his finger at it. I jumped to all of his demands in an effort to pacify him.
The experience I had that day was a wake up call to adjust my parenting skills in a seemingly unnatural way, but when I started employing Ms. Moore’s ABA strategies in our home environment our family dynamics began to change. Because I was modeling it, my older two kids naturally picked up on how to interact with Brady more effectively so we all could function better as a family unit.
Slowly but surely, many of Brady’s maladaptive/undesirable behaviors have faded or vanished over time because of Ms. Moore’s influence when he was in the PAC program. Even today I continue to use so many of her behavioral approaches and they never fail me. The funny thing is, reinforcement of desirable behaviors motivates any kid (on the spectrum or not) to adapt and grow developmentally.
Mrs. Moore is such a blessing! Wow. What a powerful lesson. It got me really choked up and emotional remembering how far our kiddos have come.
She did something similar with Tucker and me one day when I dropped him off. One boy got too close to Tucker and he kicked him. Mrs. Moore did her ABA “NO” voice and Tucker started screaming/crying and even wet his pants he was so upset. She told me not to look at him, and guided me away toward my car and while I couldn’t stop crying, she gently explained why I couldn’t give him that attention, gave me a hug, and sent me on my way. I’m so glad you shared this story! Beautiful. xoxo
I can picture that whole scene you describe, Kristi. Ms. Moore used a very rigid behavioral approach and looking back, I believe it was what Brady needed. I think of Helen Keller’s tutor (Anne Sullivan) and how determined she was to teach Helen her to communicate. Before meeting Anne Sullivan at age 6, Helen Keller was a wild, uncontrollable child who could not communicate. It is because of Anne that Helen Keller became the woman she was.
You know how feel about your parenting efforts, Rebecca, and your experiences voiced through your writing. Reading this blog entry has filled me with such awe at your insight and skill at crafting words.
I really appreciate your kind words, Joan. I know Brady is a very special boy to you (your grandson). I hope that by writing about him and our journey (so far), it helps others understand that while parenting is challenging it is also incredibly rewarding if we pause and recognize how precious every child’s life is, and that the unwavering support and love of a mother can move mountains. Incredible teachers along the way make a huge difference as well!
This website is inspiring and insightful for every parent, no matter the abilities or disabilities of her child. How truly blessed Brady is that his momma has taken the time with four children to show her love by being his advocate and encourager. When moms have an exhausting day they should take a moment and read your website. You are a blessing to mothers everywhere, Rebecca.