"Why is he so loud?"
Well, I'd be a rich woman.
My answer has varied greatly over the years. Depending on the child I have said, "Well, he really likes to be loud!" To the ones that seem genuinely curious, "Have you ever met anyone else that really likes to be loud? Do you like to be loud sometimes?" Once, with an especially precocious and smart little five year old girl, I got an incredibly insightful answer.
"Well," she said, "There is this one boy in my class. He really likes to be loud. All the time."
"Why do you think he might like to be loud?"
"Well, I don't know. But if I ignore it, it doesn't bother me too much."
"And if you don't ignore it?"
"Then I'm being bossy. I don't like to be bossy."
"Well, Charlie really likes to be loud. But to tell you the truth, I don't think he really knows he's being so loud most of the time."
"Oh. It's like Christmas. When you get so excited and go a little crazy."
"Yes, it's like Christmas. Just for Charlie, and some other kids like him, things feel like Christmas a lot of the time."
"Oh!"
A moment passed, "Well, I'll try to have fun with him. But can I tell you if I need some help?"
That particular time, they had a great time playing together. And nobody asked me for any help.
But that is an example of a very rare occurrence in Charlie's social realm. What typically happens is that the other kids like him at first, especially if they get him in a small and somewhat controlled dose. Charlie is funny, and he is great with the compliments. If he's not too over-the-top at the first meeting, he usually makes early friends. But it doesn't take long for the other kids to start drifting away. He makes the same compliments day after day. He compliments some boys in ways that aren't quite right. He has a very hard time with respecting personal space and keeping his hands and feet to himself. It's hard for Charlie to follow protocol in a structured setting, and most kids don't want to be associated with the unpredictable one. Socially, in rules of play and sharing, his skills are closer to those of a toddler. And then there's the fact that Charlie fixates on things and wants to play the same game day after day in the same way. Did I mention that there is also a [not really] small matter of him trying to police the kids around him?
But the thing that seems to stand in his way more than anything else is the matter of that volume control. It's not just that he is loud. He has to make noise. Always. He literally never stops talking. If he is made to, he will start making noises with his feet, hands, or rocking back and forth. And if he's asked to stop that, he'll start clearing his throat or breathing like Darth Vader.
Let's just sum this up by saying that it's no small feat to be Charlie's friend.
One time at kindergarten drop-off I saw him tell a boy in his class, "Your hair is really pretty." The boy looked at him like he was an alien. Then Charlie yelled "Ah!" inches away from his face really, really loud. The little boy turned around, shaking his head and walked away. Kudos to that little boy. What great control. Especially since Charlie was less than one footstep behind him the whole way into class. That was one of the times that I followed in. When I caught up I gave his shoulder a tight squeeze, which calms and centers him, and pulled him to the side to have a quick discussion about watching the body language of his peers and to wish him well for the day.
I walked out that day holding my breath. This happened to be when I was on bed rest while pregnant with Macie, just a few weeks before her birth. I was so torn that day. Because I was on bed rest, I had a nanny at home with Ephram, and I thought about staying to help Charlie.
The truth is that I wish I could go through every day with Charlie. For Charlie. I wish that I could cue him on how to act and what to say, to center him and to instantly bring him back from his sensory-overload moments. Oh, if I could just make those innocent children see the pay-off of playing with Charlie, of being his friend. The silly giggles that are so much fun because he sees humor in literally everything. The endless notes and pictures he'll give you that will make you feel on top of the world. The wonderful imagination locked up underneath all of that noise. I wish I could explain that yes, Charlie is different... because he sees the whole world differently. And that, if you give his world a chance, it's an interesting place.
But, we all know how that works. Any parent wishes they could take the burden on for their child. But every parent knows that they can't. I have to let him go and experience on his own, and look for the opportunities to teach and help where I can.
It's just that progress is so gradual with Charlie. I find myself craving the documentation and reporting from school because it is empirical. The statistician in me is drawn to the numbers. My inner Six Sigma-ist knows that the smallest increments can tell the biggest stories. With these records it is easier for me to find the little wins. The big wins are few and far between. They come so slowly that, without documentation, I would probably miss them completely.
So, I was very happy two weeks ago when we had what was, for Charlie, a roaring success of a trip to the Woodland Park Zoo.
The outing was fraught with obstacles that could cause meltdowns and trouble galore. He was amped up because my parents had just come into town, and was hyper all morning. I let him stay home from school, which just added to his amperage. We were going to an outside venue... and Charlie always equates outside with lots and lots of yelling. AND we were meeting a whole bunch of family that he had never seen before - great opportunities for showboating. I spent the morning trying to maintain what calm I could in hopes of at least starting from a good place.
When we got there, my Uncle Del addressed Charlie directly and introduced him to all of his cousins one by one. Giving Charlie this attentive intro set a perfect foundation for the outing. And then my cousin Kendra's oldest daughter came wandering back.
"And this is Little Miss Wander Off," is how she was introduced to Charlie. He was really excited to find out that she was in first grade, just like him. And even though it was added, right away, that her name was actually Ella - Charlie clung on to that Little Miss Wander Off title.
For the next 15 minutes, I heard:
"Where is Little Miss Wander Off?"
"There you are Little Miss Wander Off!"
"Come back Little Miss Wander Off!"
He started to take it upon himself to make sure she stayed in the fold. "Uh-oh," I thought. Let the policing commence. I pulled him aside with my trademark shoulder squeeze twice, within minutes.
But then, something wonderful happened. Ella, like most kids that fall subject to the Charlie police, was starting to get a little annoyed. So she did something about it.
"I'm not Little Miss Wander Off anymore. I'm just Ella now."
(This was about a minute after I'd seen Kendra pull Ella aside and tell her to either stay close or she'd have to hold her mother's hand.)
Charlie called her Little Miss Wander Off again.
She repeated, as calmly as the first time, "I'm not Little Miss Wander Off anymore. I'm just Ella now." And then she let out a little laugh.
Charlie tilted his head to the side and his eyes did the dizzy-dancing thing they do when he's truly processing. I wasn't sure what would happen. Then..
"Okay Little Miss Ella! Come on!"
Did my ears deceive me? Or did Charlie just show real-life, actual flexibility?
I swear, there were actual angels singing inside my head.
I almost laughed a few minutes later, near the gorilla exhibit, when Ella came up to me and said, "Where did the Loud One go? Oh! There he is!" And off she ran, Little Miss Not Wandering Off Anymore to play with Little Mr Not Totally Inflexible Today.
You know what? They had a blast. They truly did. They were both excellent map readers and bonded pretty well given the three hours they had to do it.
On one hand, it's unfortunate that Ella lives all the way in Canada. (And we aren't talking nearby Vancouver, we're talking all the way in Alberta.) On the other hand, it could be a great thing. Charlie made a genuine friend with a second cousin and they can become great pen pals.
Hooray for the little victories that are huge for my guy.
People often ask me what they can do to make things more comfortable for Charlie. In a lot of ways, that's my job. It's my job to give everyone access to information about who Charlie is and what makes him tick, while respecting his space and privacy. It's my job to work with Charlie and walk that fine line between asking for conformance with the world around him while letting him be different. But if you're looking for that one thing that you can do to help those with ASD - and there are an awful lot of them around you - for me, I think it is to learn about them, to accept difference and to foster acceptance in the children you influence. Difference can be confusing and frustrating, but accepting it comes with great reward.
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