All About Nick

I've had a few sort of epiphanies about Nick in the last couple of weeks. One is that, whatever his difficulties, he's basically a really good kid. The other day he was supposed to go to the after school program, but when he got there a kid who (for very very good reason) he doesn't trust was there, so he left. I got three immediate, frantic calls from three different people. The other teachers in my classroom were all "leave, you have to go find him!" I was utterly calm. I knew Nick wouldn't run off and wander the streets, and that Kevin would track him down in a few minutes. He'd either gone to his grandparents house, the library, or he was still at school somewhere. I was right, he was in the resource room hanging with his teacher.

It's so easy for me to blame myself and buy into the idea that he's the way he is because I've done something wrong as a parent. An almost unbearable amount of guilt goes along with being the parent of a difficult child. But I can trust him, and that's saying something. I've seen enough kids his age roaming the town, unsupervised and doing shit they know better than to do, to know that it's something to be proud of that Nick isn't one of them.

Something else I've realized is that I'm so concerned about what other people think about him, how they perceive him, that I'm forgetting to help him be just who he is. So he's not a typical kid. Who cares? And even if they do care, what good will it do? This is a hard one for me to face. It's hard to give up that wish that he were normal. Fact is, he's never going to blend. But with some help, he can learn how to be who he is and still live with the rest of us.

I'm about half done with a six-session, thirty-hour long ordeal called the Positive Behavior Seminar. I'm there officially as Nick's mom. I'm also there as a school district employee, and I'm really grateful for the opportunity. I'm gaining an exciting insight into human behavior.

I've actually managed myself very professionally through the first two sessions. At this third session I was an emotional train wreck. I broke down in hiccuping tears twice, and was generally irritated for a good portion of the afternoon.

I get to this place where every instinct I have as a mother tells me that the only way to protect my son is to stop sending him to school. Screw socialization. He's miserable. I'm sending him everyday into the trenches where he feels like he's at war. Why, oh why, is trying to force him into being able to socialize in a group of 300 snotty middle school nightmares so fucking important anyway? What if sending him there is actually impeding his socialization? What if it's making him worse?

That's the place I was in today.

After doing some data collecting I felt this "Ah-ha" moment that Oprah would have been proud of. For thirteen years I've been positive that what Nick is ultimately seeking with his behavior is attention. The data was perfectly, undeniably clear that I was wrong. That every teacher, every adult he's ever been in contact with, was wrong. Nick isn't seeking attention. He's seeking self-stimulation, and he's seeking to be left alone.

The woman running the seminar was talking to us (Team Nicholas!) about trying to figure out strategies for preempting the "staging events" (in Nick's case, transitions during class) that set off a particular behavior (grabbing his aide's arm when his aide tries to walk away from him.) The woman asked me why Nick was doing it and I said "because he's autistic." She said no. He's autistic, but ultimately he's trying to get something out of the behavior, autistic or not. He's trying to get his safety-net to stay near him.

I'm still struggling with this, because I keep thinking that I could go to a million seminars, a zillion doctors, and I just can't use some sort of strategy to wash the autism out of Nick. It doesn't work that way.

And then the woman said that all we're trying to do is help Nick get what he needs in a way that makes people want to give it to him.

Oh. Yeah. That makes so much sense. We aren't trying to get Nick not to need a safety-net person. We're trying to get him to ask for one in some way that doesn't involve grabbing at his safety net physically when he feels insecure.

Nick has never been in regular classrooms before. Not even in elementary school. He's never been expected to do the same work as his peers, to do homework, to be held to the same standard as everyone else. He's used to classrooms with less than ten kids, now he's in classrooms with 20 to 30. He's overwhelmed and literally latching on to his aide as a port in the storm. His aide is only five years older then him, young enough to relate to Nick on his level. He's a friend that Nick can trust won't be an enemy tomorrow. He's a friend who, because he's being paid, is always there. Having someone in authority stand up there and say that it was okay for him to need that was incredibly gratifying.

I still feel the fairly intense desire to just remove him from the incredible stress on our whole family of him going to school. I'm a little calmer about it right this minute. The program ends in January, about the time the semester at school ends. We'll see what happens then.