Contents.
Preface by Steve
Introduction by Annette
Playgroup Day
A Mother's View
Associated Pages within this Site
AS, and Autism Links
Contact Annette
This is a story of a day in the life of Annette, and her son Callum at his weekly Playgroup Day in the UK. It is a moving tale of the problems, and prejudices that as parents we all face with our special children; of the misconceptions others may have of us as parents as we deal with our children, and as we deal with our children's view of the World around them.
I have corresponded with Annette by email on a number of occasions, and it is with her kind permission that I have put Callum's story on the Internet.
Callum was nearly 3yrs old when his mother sent me these articles. Callum has Asperger's Syndrome.
Annette introduces her own story with a background of Callum, and her reasons for writing this tale.
"I wrote this story to help my husband, Andy, see the contrasts between a normal child's play and our younger son's play. AS is still very new to us. We are always looking for further helpful information, if anyone else can relate or be helped in anyway by our story then that is brilliant. There is not a lot of information on toddlers with AS out there, we've been looking. Today is here, his future we have yet to travel. One step at a time.
Would you understand if I described Callum as being sweet, yet a monster. He is sweet in the way his voice is still "sing-songy", his hair is quite long, (well for a boy, because we don't like hairdressers), and wavy at the ends. His eyes are big, and blue with long eyelashes, he has a "pretty" face. He does like a great big cuddle, and we can have soppy kisses.
Sometimes the things he says come out at the strangest of times, sweet, yet a monster when he climbs onto the window ledge when you are on the phone, or pulls the heads off your flowers, and dismantles the petals when he knows they are mommy's. The plants have their leaves removed so he can line them up on the floor, the different shapes are different styles of trees. The cutlery from the draw is also lined up and called trees. He wont have it if you try to tell him otherwise, e.g. spoons and not trees. He does do worse. Another habit is that he climbs over you, I mean he treats you as if you were a climbing frame and he does not like it if you try to stop him. He's got wonderful temper tantrums, which don't last too long because we ignore his efforts."
"Wednesday is playgroup day. Interaction and socialisation is what Callum needs. He won’t play for long; he flits from scene to scene. How do I help him to play, if the interest isn't there?
Play-dough, he makes skittles, rolling lumps of dough into sausage shapes. Some skittles refuse to stand; they are too thin and long. He pats them down. He pats more pieces down, these become a cloud. Below his cloud he wants a tree. The trunk is a reused skittle with tentacle branches. He adds some leaves, squashing down the dough. Then more leaves upon his tree. He is concentrating here, he dribbles whilst in thought. His sweater top is damp around the collar. This game is nearly over; he has played long enough and now his creativity turns to destruction. It’s up to me too finally tidy up. He had finished his game by shredding the dough and tossing it onto the floor.
"No Callum, not on the floor, that’s naughty", but before my sentence had finished he’d gone.
Callum had spied the chalkboard. It’s double sided and low levelled, so he kneels on the floor. Rows of beautiful skittles appear, then with numbers in succession from one to seven. A ball always finishes the set. On the other side a beautiful Christmas tree, triangular shaped edges form the top and a solid trunk below. Baubles trim the branches and then fill the tree. In seconds another masterpiece is completed. I look on, another tree; the thought enters my mind.
A woman next to me comments, "he draws very well, he’s very artistic."
I smile, thinking of how many times he’s done this before, how his numbered skittles have progressed from being all number one’s to a sequence in order to ten.
"Yes", I replied. Further thoughts dwell on the practice sketches drawn upon the walls at home.
"He likes drawing, especially skittles, trees, clouds with rain falling, he does this all the time."
"He’s a quiet chap isn’t he?", the woman remarks. Not really I’m thinking, he doesn’t mix with other children; he doesn’t understand their games. He’s alone with his own thoughts, his games. But I didn’t get the chance to reply.
He’s off again, caught by the attention of a younger boy running. Here we go, Callum runs too. He slips. This is fun he runs and practice falls some more. The younger boy joins in. The two of them are having lots of fun, running around the floor.
"Callum! No running!", I insist, "No running!"
This falls on deaf ears. The younger boy halts. His mother has told him to stop. Callum continues, he pushes the boy, he wants the game to go on, but he act of pushing looks bad. Callum needs to be physically stopped.
"Sorry", I say to the younger boy, "Callum wanted you to play some more."
Callum squirms in my arms. The woman whose admiration he’d once received now looks on indifferent. They all look and listen to Callum's’ frustrated cries of, "No stuck! No stuck!"
He struggles in my grasp. He wants the game to continue. It’s time to stop. I release Callum.
"No running, no running!", Callum shrugs off my command and edges away from me.
"Callum nooooo!"
This has a bad effect, he begins to run. Once again I resort to a firm cautioning and hold him tight. This process is repeated several times. Let them all look on and stare, they’ll not get the satisfaction of seeing me embarrassed, I’ll not be shouting at my son or smacking him. But you know this is what they’re thinking. That’s what he needs, he’ll soon learn. But what do they know? The next plan is to distract him, find something of more interest. This is hard; the toys have no meaning to Callum. Running is what he likes best.
The other ladies gather once again in their huddled groups. They chatter, drink their tea and dip their biscuits. Their children amuse themselves. I’m looking, watching and waiting for the next confrontation.
Back to the play-dough. Callum takes some from a little girl. I take it off him and give it back. Then I reach into the centre of the table where a discarded lump sits.
"Some for Callum", I comment. Once again we roll out some skittles. Many skittles. More skittles. The little girl chatters to her mother. Her mother makes a Teletubby character. The little girl is pleased. Another character is made and another. Soon she has the whole set. Callum continues with his skittles. They stand in a long line across the length of the table. He shows no interest in the girl as he comments on his skittles.
"Lots of skittles". "Do ball, do ball!"
He asks for a ball. The little girl looks across and gives him a puzzled look. Then she turns to her mother, "look mommy, he’s got lots of skittles!"
The mother looks across to me and smiles. Kids eh! The smile says to me. I smile back in acknowledgement. Callum doesn’t look up from his play; he misses the pleasant exchange. The social cues, unspoken language.
"More skittles!" He states. The little girl looks up to her mother.
"Can we make NooNoo now?", she asks. A near perfect question, merely forgetting the please.
"Oh! That’s a bit tricky", the mother replies, "but we’ll have a go."
"More skittles", demands Callum, with a stern look from the corner of his eyes, not raising his head to meet my gaze.
"Do you want me to make some more skittles?", I ask, knowing very well his reply.
"More ski-ttlesss! More ski-ttlesss!", he demands whilst emphasising this fact by nodding his head. He pushes a lump of dough into my hands. Oh the luxury the other mother has of simple conversation. The social enjoyment of it. The sharing of thoughts and ideas. The pleasure in responding. I’d drifted off with the marvel of it all when suddenly he’s gone.
As quick as a flash, he’s over by the slide. He makes his way to the top before I have chance to do anything. Another child had been pushed aside. Here we go again. My fault for sitting and resting I suppose. Once again I apologise to the other child. I then hover by the slide to help Callum take his turn. Slowing him down, to give the others a chance to ride themselves, without a helping shove. He does find it hard to wait his turn, to take turns, but it will come we’ve been told. Some of the other children stand looking at Callum, what do they think of him? I suppose he is a source of entertainment, why doesn’t he do as we do? You can see the look upon their faces. The other children run off to amuse themselves in the home corner. Callum is left in peace to enjoy the slide on his own. He wants to run up the slide but I won’t allow it. He then slides down on his belly. He’s a bit of a daredevil. A few more turns and he’s exhausted this play idea. He then heads off for the baby mat so called because babies sit here and play with assorted toddler toys.
Callum has spied a train. A baby has the connecting coaches, trouble is brewing. Callum sees them. They go together. Callum knows this and tries to snatch them from the baby. The baby just looks, slightly startled I suppose.
"No Callum, that’s naughty", this is all I seem to say to him.
"Baby’s coaches, no touch", I take the coaches from Callum and hand them back to the baby, who is non the wiser. Callum reaches out his hand and flicker-flexes his fingers, indicating they go in his hands.
"Get back train! Get back train!", Callum wails, "No Callum, baby’s coaches."
With this Callum throws himself onto the floor and a temper tantrum follows with legs kicking and cries of, "My train, my train. Carums’ train."
I scoop him up, he resists. I manage to sit down on a chair and hold him close.
"Ca-rums’ train, Ca-rums’ train", his cry continues.
Once again all eyes and ears are focused upon us. I feel like the worst mother ever, with the worst child ever. We’re not very good at sharing either. With all the noise and feeling concerned, the baby has moved closer to it’s mothers legs or is it the disapproving glances coming our way, that the baby senses. The baby’s facial expression shows concern and uncertainty upon it.
Now the baby has moved, Callum sees his chance. He jumps down from my lap, grasps the coaches and the train engine, now standing defiantly he declares across to the baby,
"Ca-rums’ traaaain."
Again he looks through the corner of his eyes, in the direction of the baby, the offender. Callum's’ face is blank of emotion, but if looks could kill?
The baby is soon forgotten. Callum plays happily, in solitary bliss with the train. He pushes the train together backwards and forwards, he looks at the many wheels turning. He lies alongside the train going back and forth, but not here or there. What a difference. He plays to and fro with the train. There’s no chuffing and there are no stations to stop at, just those wheels turning. As he lies there you can see his concentration, you wonder as to his thoughts. These are private thoughts, not shared in conversation, or to be enjoyed with others. A private mind. A different outlook upon life and the ways of the world. This is Callum's’ world.
Wednesday is playgroup day. Interaction and socialisation is what Callum needs. What pleasure do either of us get? Is this effort all worth the fuss we cause? Here I go again, thinking, wondering. The session is nearly over. Callum's face has tear streaks and a runny nose; I reach down with a tissue and cast a sneaky swipe. He looks up at me and scowls then goes back to his trains, his wheels. I wonder as to Callum's liking for Wednesday, or is it all a big trauma? Does he benefit from these social events? Is it all worth it?"
Annette Griffin 18/04/2000.
I have corresponded with Annette on a few occasions, Callum mirrors in many ways our own son Lee, when he was this age. What comes across from Annette is that Callum is deeply loved by his parents, he is a beautiful, cheeky little boy, who is frustrated with the World due to Asperger's Syndrome, but with the help and love of his parents, will be able to progress from the "shell" that AS has put around him.
Steve Nichol 18/04/2000.
Rice in the sandpit. No sand, just lots and lots of rice grains. What an excellent idea!
Callum doesn’t like sand. Somebody said it was a tactile thing. It sticks to little hands and gets between the fingers. But he did like the rice though. Callum stood, totally absorbed in the rice. Taking handfuls of the rice, he raised his hands out of the pit. He gazed at his hands, the fist shapes raised in front of him. He looked at the rounded knuckle curves, then slowly his fists' unclenched and the rice was allowed to trickle slowly down. Falling freely, rain from a cloud.
The clouds rose up from the pit many times and slowly they released their contents. It rained over and over again; Callum was deeply absorbed in his activity. It pours down, again and again, watching over and over, the grains falling, landing into a heap. The rice grains quickly blend into those left behind. Callum has a bright mind. His drawings of clouds with rain have been reproduced with fists. The knuckles are the rounded edges of the clouds. He opens his fingers slowly, to release the grains of rice, it rains in trickles. Can you see this? Or is it because I’ve seen his drawings and know a little of his passions.
He has this wonderful way to transform objects into ‘imaginary play’ within his special areas of interest. Clouds and rain falling is one such topic of interest for Callum. We’ve drawn many cloudy pictures and Callum has gone onto reproduce his own artwork. On the floor Callum has utilised most household things, he will place out his socks and puff them up into clouds. Flat Lego bases become clouds and the smaller squared bricks the rain. Cut out paper shapes are laid out expertly, water droplet shapes are placed just so, the correct way up in a beautiful arrangement, falling from the cloud shape. Oh yes and we’ve even used a whole toilet roll!
Whilst playing in the sandpit Callum begins to gather the rice into a mound in front of him. The speech therapist describes aloud to Callum what his actions are doing. He’s building a mound of rice now.
"Big pile of rice" She says, "big pile of rice."
Those words are clearly and slowly repeated, Callum continues to build his hill of rice. He rakes it up from around his mound and then trickles it over the top. He works with care and patiently his pile increases.
He plays all alone in the pit, with the rice, forming his hill.
"Big pile of rice" the speech therapist coaxes Callum.
Again she repeats this statement clearly for him to hear and understand. She’s waiting for a response from him. Callum is listening. She is talking; the therapist is saying what Callum is doing. Why therefor should he say it too? He is listening; the words are simple enough for him to understand. Wouldn’t it be nice if he acknowledged her, agreed a reply or even looked to the lady and smiled? No, he is listening and thinking, he is building his pile, his heap, it is for his pleasure, his game, not yours.
This tranquil scene was soon disturbed, a boy, he’s autistic you know, gate crashes into Callums space. A Little Tykes bus and car are plunged into the rice. The boy pushes them. Rice spills into the vehicles. This lad is on a crashing mission. These toys do not belong in the pit, but who cares anyway? The bus and car are 'brummed' into Callums hill of rice. Callum stands and looks at his source of enjoyment, now dented. Once again the boy rams Callums mound. Callum reacts. The boy is stimulated by Callums reactions and does it some more. I sit quite dumb-founded, almost powerless to help. Callum becomes quite upset. The autistic boy is encouraged to do it some more because of Callums cries. Callum pushes the cars away and shouts to the boy to stop.
"Don’t do bat!" Callum shouts.
The boy persists and to his delight Callum is now doing a temper dance, the outrage, the frustration. The boys mother is sitting close by, she’s watching within arms length. But what does she do? After all, the boy is autistic.
I’m feeling really upset myself now for Callums sake. This situation needs to be resolved. It’s down to me. I pick my son up and cuddle him close. He’s crying and distressed. More so now because on top of the rude intrusion, I’m taking him away from his activity. I try to distract him with other toys of interest, but he struggles in my arms, he is not happy at all. His pleasure, his thoughts within his play have been so rudely shattered.
What an injustice poor Callum had received. I feel this is a case of bad behaviour management by the other boy’s mother. It makes me sad too. Why should my child be the one to end his game? Surely autism is not an excuse for bad behaviour. Does this boy not need help in learning right from wrong? I understand he pursued his course of destruction because of my sons upset reaction. I know autistic children lack empathy, then should he not be taught to respect another person’s feelings?
My son is autistic too; I feel the empathy for him. His behaviour is corrected, others need to follow. Autism is not a label to be used to excuse this. It’s a passport to learning about life on the outside, it is an access key to the support needed, in the hope we can help turn their narrow world into the wider one of ours given time, love and patience.
Beyond all this, autism is a very wide spectrum and the way each child develops as a person, as a personality, so the effects vary. You will not find your child in a textbook, he is like a finger print, he is unique. Unlike an ‘ordinary’ child, he’s just that bit more special and being the mother, you’re his first and greatest teacher. Life has dealt me this special child, he’s mine. I love him to bits; he has his own special qualities. These we shall use to our advantage, they are the building blocks upon which life’s skills are to be taught.
I hold out my hand, I reach for the support and guidance and hold tight. Together Callum will grow into our world and he will again face other ‘mound dentins’. Together we shall prepare him for what life’s adventures shall bring. Callum is a member of our family, one day he’ll be a member of society.
Then to Callum I write this, I gave you life, I welcomed you to our world. Our world has many rules, so you shelter away. I therefor give you my life and together our worlds can compromise. Callum, lets look beyond your rainy clouds, there’s a ray of light and hope. The sun shines beyond those clouds and I’m sure it’ll highlight our rainbow.
A Mothers View.
By Annette Griffin
In dedication to her son Callum.
Associated Pages within this site.
Wargrave House School
Living with an Asperger Child
Lee's piece of the web
Asperger's Syndrome, and Autism
Webrings
Online Asperger Syndrome Information and Support - US Site, by Barbara Kirby.
The National Autistic Society UK
To visit my AS and Autism Webrings, go to my page on Wargrave House
If you want to comment or just contact me,
