All posts in category Teaching Out of Autism

Intensive teaching, not necessary ABA, is what mostly helps my son. Intensive in time, difficulty, scrutiny.Teaching is imposing my way of thinking on my son. I know that. The problem is he cannot teach me, so I have to teach him.

When Schools Teach and When They Don’t

I rarely write about skills Robert acquired at one of his schools.  There are two reasons for that.

1. When the school did a good job of teaching, my part was mostly supportive.  I just either followed the suggestions given to me  during home visits by one of Robert’s teachers (when he attended private, ABA driven school) or I provided extra practice based on  the worksheets Robert brought from his collaborative program.  I did not have to think, design a program, or adjust it when it didn’t work.

2.There were long periods, extending into months when Robert was not taught anything new, when so-called “progress reports” although very wordy did not indicate one concrete thing Robert learned at school. So there was nothing to write about the school teaching.

I remember most vividly those attempts to teach Robert which aimed at the skills he was most resistant to learn. The longer I tried, the more approaches I experimented with, the stronger my memory. If I remember how  Robert finally memorized the addition  facts it is because for six years, his school and I tried, tried, and failed. So the final success felt like a miracle, although it was the result of finding a proper approach, as I documented in Looking for Variables.

Sadly, I do not recall as clearly the ways Robert learned those skills that were mainly taught at schools.  I cannot describe, for instance, how Robert was toilet trained.  I did not contribute much time, effort, or thought to that developmental achievement.  It was all the doing of wonderful, although always changing, teachers in Private School, Robert was attending at that time.  I believe that in the process many hours were spent in the toilet, but I am not sure even of that.    This school’s young and dedicated teachers also managed, to my disbelief,  to teach Robert to tie his shoelaces.  I suspect that they wrote a good task analysis and used either forward or backward chaining.  Thanks to them we did not have to search a store after a  store for Robert’s size shoes with Velcro straps.

Most importantly at that school Robert learned to stop when asked to do so.  It was a life saving skill.  Many times Robert managed to wiggle out of my grasps  and run without looking or stopping to the point of getting out of my site and placing himself in danger.  I couldn’t keep up with him and consequently I could take him to park, playground, or store only together  with his sister.  She was five, six, or seven, but she knew it was her role to stop Robert. Two teachers taught Robert to stop when he heard the word “Stop” or his name.  One walked with Robert in a maze of hallways, the other one called Robert from behind.

From what I know now about other programs, collaborative or public, I am sure that neither of them would teach Robert those important life skills.  I doubt if they would even try. That possibility still sends chill through my spine.

Similarly,  I  cannot say, how Robert learned multiplication facts because teaching and learning took place at school and I only supported what the teachers were doing in the collaborative program which Robert attended at that time.

I also don’t know how the occupational therapist in the public school managed to teach Robert to manipulate his  combination padlock to open his locker.

I value greatly those times when Robert learned something with only minimal support from me or without my support at all.  I felt that the world was full of people able to support Robert.  That was a source of great relief and hope.

On the other hand, the fact that I write so much on these pages about Robert’s learning is a very unfortunate one.  I became the main force  and sometimes the only force in Robert’s learning only because I had to fill the terrible void caused by lack of any appropriate teaching at schools. And this is quite depressing.

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by krymarh on December 9, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in Teaching Out of Autism

Posted by krymarh on December 9, 2012

https://krymarh.com/2012/12/09/when-schools-teach-and-when-they-dont/

From Coast to Coast with Herman the Fly

Herman the Fly, the offspring of Siegfried Engelmanm and Susan Hanne, was born as a maggot on the leaves of a rotten cabbage  in the 22nd lesson of the first  textbook of Horizons: Reading to Learn Fast Track C-D .  He calmly expired,  in early November, in the lesson 36th. He spent most of his 15 lessons short (or long) life on the plane traveling from New York City to San Francisco, going to Japan and Italy, watching flight attendants, bumping into passengers, surviving cleaning crews, listening to pilot’s announcements, experiencing turbulence, and adjusting to changing temperatures.

Robert read chapters about Herman the Fly in 2008 and then again in the beginning of 2009.  By the time I bought tickets for our trip to California, Robert might have forgotten the biography of Herman the Fly.  I know that I did.

It was Robert’s first trip in nine years and the first after 9-11.  The airport, however, was already well-known to Robert as he often brought  either his father or his sister there or picked them upon their return from the West Coast.  Jan was working in Menlo Park, Amanda studied in Portland, OR.  So Robert knew about lines, about baggage, about lines, about tickets, about lines, about security, about lines.   It was a great help that Amanda traveled with us on her way to her college. Although Robert didn’t see much of Amanda in the previous two years, she was still his role model.  She took her shoes off and placed them in the bin.  Robert took his shoes off and placed them in the bin.  She unloaded her computer from the case, he unloaded his portable DVD player from the case. She took her wallet out, he took his wallet out.  It helped that I notified airlines about Robert’s autism.  (In case there would be a need to explain some of the behaviors/reactions).  We were first to board the plane. We were assigned seats in the first row. Those seats were  mixed blessing.  On one hand, we could get easily in and out of the seats and the toilet was one step away.  On the other hand, those probably were the noisiest seats on the airplane, as they seemed to be close to the engines.  Luckily, Robert did not seem to be bothered by the noise any more than I was.  I was armed with DVDs of Robert’s favorite movies, cards from Super Duper School Company, and with the first part of of Horizons: Reading to Learn.  I placed this book in my carry-on bag deciding, in the last-minute, that it would make sense to  use known materials  for review  and maintenance during our three weeks long stay in California and Oregon.

When I threw the book in the bag, I did not think about Herman the Fly.  Only when I saw a galley in front of us, I suddenly remembered Herman’s taking first helping from the food prepared for passengers by flight attendants. So I pulled the book from my bag . Showing  Robert some of the illustrations I talked to him about how our trip was going to be similar to the one Herman the Fly had taken before. Just like Herman we traveled from East to West Coast.  The flight attendant on one of the illustrations was closing baggage compartments just like the flight attendant behind us.  The plane was taking off.  The pilot was making announcements. Later, there was the turbulence, just like in the chapter Rough Trip. 

As I was quickly retelling life experiences of Herman the Fly, Robert had more than the spark of understanding in his eyes.  He was looking back and forth at the illustrations and then  on the passengers, rows of seats, and on flight attendants as if he was silently comparing the story to his current environment. I had the impression that it was the first time Robert made a connection between stories and real life. Moreover, all the concepts (directions on the maps, arrows showing directions of the flights, distances, miles, directions of the wind and other) , that were included in the chapters now made sense. They became scaffolding for understanding.

That connection, Robert made in the first minutes of the flight somehow not only clarified the story for him but also made life more… predictable.

We had a great flight, this one and the next three.

Comments:

1.The Jet Blue  flight  attendants were very helpful.  Although during the flight we didn’t need any special treatment, the friendliness of the crew made a positive impact on us all. 

2.Of course there were  small differences between Herman’s aircraft and ours.  For instance, there was no shrimp salad or any warm food on our flight.  Maybe that was for the better.  Robert doesn’t eat shrimps.  Not to mention the fact that Herman the Fly tried all the dishes before they were served to passengers. Besides, the variety of snacks provided by our Airline served us all well.

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by krymarh on November 20, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by krymarh on November 20, 2012

https://krymarh.com/2012/11/20/from-coast-to-coast-with-herman-the-fly/

Intercontinental Flights. Experienced, Not Learned

In August of 2010 Robert, Amanda, and I boarded Jet Blue plane for a flight  from Boston to San Jose, CA. It was Robert’s first airplane trip since August of 2001.  He had already flown three times to Poland to visit his grandmother.  Those flights in 1997, 1999, and 2001 differed significantly from each other.

The first trip in 1997,  was very difficult for all of the  members of our family. Other passengers, however, were not affected or less affected than they would had been by any typical baby, toddler, or preschooler. We managed (with the help of airlines) to arrange our seats in two rows. Jan and Amanda in front of Robert and me. If Robert kicked the seat in front of him it was Jan or I (when we switched) who mildly suffered. Mildly, because Robert was still very small.  It was much harder to make sure that Robert stayed seated. As I said before, there were reasons why Robert was called Little Houdini. Keeping him seated was quite an endeavor, despite the buster seat we had with us.  Both ways were equally challenging. I  don’t remember fondly stopping somewhere in Europe to change planes. But the matter of fact, Robert required so much of my attention that all other details of the trip are blurry. I don’t remember, for instance if we flew to Brussels or Amsterdam to change planes.  I remember that the airport was dreary, smelled of marijuana, and didn’t have right kind of fries for Robert.

The flight on a way to Poland in 1999, was rather uneventful, although my husband and I were both tense expecting the worse. The worse came on the flight back to US. Maybe Robert did not want to part with his grandmother, his loving step grandfather, the old orchard, and the neighborhood children, who treated him like he was a part of their group. Something which has never happened in America before or after.  Maybe, he ate too many of  his  barbecue chips, we bought to sooth him during the trip.  A year later we found out that those chips caused Robert’s severe stomach pains.  Maybe, the new antihistamine we gave him (Benadryl instead of Novahistine) caused unpredicted reaction, but Robert was screaming a lot, going to the restroom a lot, smelled bad, and kicked the seat in front of him a lot.  And that seat hosted a young, extremely patient man, who didn’t even once turn back to us to signal his discontent.  When we arrived in Boston, the drug sniffing dogs turned their noses from us in obvious disgust.  We felt so beaten  up that we did not say a  word in the cab that brought us home.

I thought I would never take Robert again on a long  flight, but his grandmother missed us all.  She missed Robert. We missed her.  So we dared to fly again in August of 2001.  Robert knew where he was going, he knew what to expect, and more or less he knew how to behave. Moreover, somehow he came to his own conclusion that he should follow his sister’s lead, whenever he left the house.  Between 1999 and 2001, Amanda became his role model.  This time, Robert loved the airplane. He was both excited and mellow.  He wanted his window blind up so he could watch the sky.  The flight attendant wanted it down, so we worked on the compromise.  The blind was two inches up.  Enough for Robert to see and enough to satisfy flight attendant.  It was a beautiful trip with a few soothing flights.  Yes, there were other children on the plane, who cried or even screamed.  I felt for the parents, I knew what they were going through, but I was not one bit disturbed by the noise. As bad as it sounds, I didn’t feel the slightest discomfort. They were not my children and I did not have to do anything about to calm them.  Such a relief!

I would fly with Robert anywhere, anytime! Or so I thought.

Then, two weeks after our return from Poland to JFK, 9-11 happened.  New security measure took place.

I recalled the incident, which seemed insignificant at the time, but became important later, in a new, post 9-11 world.

As we waited, before our flight, at the gate at JFK , we let Robert run in the rather empty space near our seats.  We did not notice any doors.  But although indistinguishable in color and shape from the surrounding wall, the doors were there.  Robert  noticed them and  opened them. The alarm sounded. Loudly.  The woman came out,  checked what had happened, gave us a sort of scolding,  and left. Her reaction was rather mild. It was still August 2001.

I imagined, what reaction could we expect if Robert opened that door after September of 2001 and my resolve to travel diminished so much that in 2009, I chose driving from Boston to San Carlos, CA over flying.

But although it was a wonderful road trip, I knew I would not repeat it without having another driver with me all the way to California and back.  We had to fly.

So after nine flightless years, in August of 2010, Amanda, Robert, and I boarded a Jet Blue plane on a flight from Boston to San Jose, CA.

But that is another story and another post on this blog: From Coast to Coast with Herman the Fly

When I look back on those journeys, I am glad that we took Robert with us when he was just 5 years old, and relatively small.  It was difficult for us, but we could manage.  It was a priceless exposure  to traveling by plane.

Maybe it would be better to take him on shorter flights before the long ones.  Maybe we should take him sooner. I am not sure.

At one or two of those flights we had a DVD or a computer game we could use.   I am not sure, however, if that made a difference.

We should not have  used a new, over the counter medication on the trip.  We should stay with only zyrtec, since novahistine was already removed from the market.

I am not sure what else we could do. I know we had to travel.  I am glad we did.

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by krymarh on November 13, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by krymarh on November 13, 2012

https://krymarh.com/2012/11/13/intercontinental-flights-experienced-not-learned/

First Question

During the last two years I tried to teach Robert to ask questions. Not an easy task given Robert’s issues with pacing, timing, omitting sounds, compressing syllables, and a few other characteristics of his speech. To learn and practice mechanics and concepts behind questions I used   two No Glomour Sentence Structure books. One for Interrogative Reversals and one for Wh-Questions. I followed with Nashoba’s “WH” Workbook.  Currently we practice using worksheets from Teaching Kids of All Ages to Ask Questions.  

Of course I do other things as well.  I keep a few items in a small sack, place my hand inside, and say,”I found something.” I wait for Robert to ask, “What is it?” I take the object out, show him and answer, “This is…”   I hide items in the house, knowing that Robert has to find them and put them in a right place.  He starts looking without asking , but then he gives up and comes to me, “Drawer.”  he says.  I model, “You want to know (softly) where is the drawer (loudly).”  Robert repeats, “Where is the drawer?” I tell him, “Under the bed.”

This exercise allows to practice not only questions but also preposition, another concept Robert has difficulties with. “Phone”, Says Robert.
“You want to know WHERE IS THE PHONE?” I ask.  “Where is the phone?” asks Robert. The answers might wary, “In the bottom drawer.” “Behind the bench.”” On the top shelf of a bookcase”.

But as of today, Robert has never asked “WH” questions spontaneously, without prompting or without  rearranging the environment.

That doesn’t mean that Robert doesn’t ask without prompting.  He asks.  He just doesn’t use “WH” words.

Not once when he puts away laundry, he brings to me a piece of clothing and asks, “Amanda?”  I answer, “No, it is mine.” Robert hangs the shirt in my closet.  Robert asks for information or confirmation using just one word.  Of course, the person being asked has to know the context of the question and has to know Robert.

Yet, nine years ago, Robert managed to ask perfect question without using even one word.  He was already 11 years old but that was his first spontaneous question.

My friend and I were sitting on the opposite sides of the kitchen table drinking tea and eating something. I don’t remember what that something was, except that the food was placed on a few small plates.  My friend drank tea with raspberry syrup.  I drank tea with lemon and sugar. Robert was watching the table and as soon as the dish was emptied, he picked it up and carried it to the kitchen sink.  Soon, all the plates were gone and only two glasses with tea and two teaspoons were left.  My friend kept her teaspoon in a glass.  My teaspoon was  on the table, next to the glass.  (Yes, I drink and serve tea in glasses, not cups.) Robert approached, looked at both glasses,  picked my teaspoon, and holding it just above the glass made a stirring motion in the air.  At the same time, he looked at me with two question marks in his eyes.

“Yes, I said, You can take it.”  And he did. He took the teaspoon.

I still marvel, how considerate and tactful he was.  Without one word he managed to ask, “Do you still need this teaspoon to steer the sugar in your tea and if not,  could I take it?”

I sometimes claimed that Robert was born without language and that his teachers and I were implanting singular language concepts in him.

That day, nine years ago, I realized I  was wrong.

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by krymarh on November 12, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by krymarh on November 12, 2012

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The Miracle of Mrs. Scott. When Muscles Don’t Work, The Heart Does.

“Robert needs an energetic, young male as his aide.” Said the teacher from the Collaborative program.

“He requires a young, strong male.” Reiterated  the special needs administrator from the same program.

“Robert should have a strong, young man as his one-to-one aide.” Agreed the special needs administrator representing  public school district.

It was the consensus reached during a meeting held  in March of 2006.  Robert’s behaviors  related to autism and to his OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder)  demanded that he had an aide who was an energetic, young, strong male.

And so Robert’s aide was an energetic, young man.  Yet, by the end of 2005/2006 school year Robert was expelled from the Collaborative.

Well, “expelled” is not a right word.  Robert could not be “expelled” without involvement of the state’s department of education.  For some reason, nobody wanted such intrusion. Robert was not “expelled”, he was just not allowed into the summer extension of the program and not accepted into the program for the next school year.

Having an energetic, young, strong man as his aide did not work for Robert. His behavior was so difficult that, based on his profile written by the lead teacher from the Collaborative, he was considered a student  impossible to control or manage.  No wonder that no school showed any interest in teaching such a creature. For the  next four and a half months, I tried to find a place that would accept him even for a limited time.

Finally, in the last week of October, maybe because of the mediators’ arguments (I don’t know what they were), maybe because of the letter I wrote to the former commissioner of the state’s department of education, the public school agreed to accept Robert for two hours a day in its life skill classroom at the local  High School.

Moreover, the district already had an aide for Robert.

The aide was not a strong male.  The aide was a fragile woman.

The aide was not young. The aide  was a mother of four adult children.  She was a grandmother to many more.

She was Mrs. Scott.

At first, I felt confused and wanted to protest.  If Robert was a monster, the school painted him to be, how could the administrators choose someone not able to restrain him when such need would arise?

Then I remembered.  For the last two years, I, personally, never felt a need to restrain Robert.  I too, was an aging woman, physically not strong enough to deal with Robert’s tantrums.   I not only managed Robert’s behaviors, I succeeded in helping Robert to learn and to be.

So, despite my doubts, I kept my mouth shut. Mrs. Scott became Robert’s aide.

The Monday, following the last meeting I started driving Robert to school and picking him up after two hours.

Not even ten days later, when Robert got off the van, he noticed that he (I?)  forgot his school bag.  That created a potential for a disaster. Robert, given his OCD could not  go to school WITHOUT a school bag and he could not return home WITHOUT going into  the classroom.

Faced with this conundrum I expected a long  stalemate of whining, frowning, angry sounds, and maybe even slapping his own cheeks in distress.  Except, Mrs. Scott was there.

She was a mother of four, she was a grandmother to more than four.  She felt for him, she understood his distress.  She patted gently his cheeks and kept repeating, “It’s okay.  It’s okay.  Mom will bring the backpack later.  We go to school.  Mom will bring the backpack.  It’s okay.  It’s okay. ”

I saw my son’s  confusion disappearing.  His tension was melting.  He gave Mrs. Scott his hand and calmly walked with her to school.

A

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by krymarh on November 11, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by krymarh on November 11, 2012

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Three Rejections

1. BY AN AGENCY

In the spring of 2006,  I received a flier about a 4 day long, spring vacation  program for children with autism. It came from  the autism support organizations we were part almost from the inception. I was not sure if Robert would have had enough support to attend all the four days, but I believed that he could go with a small group of his peers to the Big Apple Circus. After all, he went there with me and his sister a few  times.  He loved it and he behaved appropriately.  Going with a small group seemed like a natural next step.  So I called the number on the flier  to register Robert for that outing. As soon as I said Robert’s name, I heard a silence.  It lasted so long, that I thought I was disconnected. I hung up and redialed.

“How did you learn about this program?” I was asked.

“From the flier.”

“You shouldn’t get the flier.”

“How come?  We have been members for years.”

“You shouldn’t get the flier. ”

“This is a program paid by grant for children with autism.  Robert has autism.”

“This is not for Robert.  You shouldn’t get the flier.”

2.BY A PHYSICIAN

The same spring  I tried to transfer Robert’s allergy shots from the Children’s Hospital to a local allergy office. Weekly trips to medical area in Boston were tiring and time-consuming. I found a local allergy doctor who agreed to cooperate with the specialist from Children’s Hospital in regards to Robert’s treatment and I made an initial appointment.  That day, like many other days, Robert was miserable with his running nose , result of the hay fever. He was constantly reaching for tissues and looking  for places to dispose them.  Since there was no waste basket in any of the two waiting rooms, I kept taking the dirty tissues from Robert while simultaneously filling the office registration form. As I approached the counter to pass the form back to the secretary, Robert noticed a  waste basket! In a fraction of a second, he removed all the dirty tissues from my open purse, ran BEHIND A COUNTER , and threw all the tissues in the only waste basket he could find. I couldn’t help noticing the shock on the faces of the three secretaries.  Someone has invaded their space! Since,the rest of the appointment went uneventfully (at least in my eyes) I didn’t make much of that silent scorn.

A few days later, when the vaccine was already transferred, I received a call from the allergists’ office. I was given explanations, too convoluted to understand and too tortuous to  reconstruct them on this blog,  why Robert couldn’t be served in that practice.  I was clearly assured that a refusal to provide medical services to Robert didn’t have anything to do with his trespassing in a quest to find a wastebasket.

“It is not because he has autism.” I was assured. “There are other reasons.”

Maybe there were other reasons, but none of them made any sense.

3. BY THE SCHOOL((s)

“No, Robert cannot attend Collaborative ‘s summer program”. Said the program’s lead teacher  in the middle of June, 2006.
Although I knew that Robert was hardly tolerated by this teacher, I was surprised nonetheless.  Just two and a half month earlier I participated in  a meeting, attended by more than 10 people from the Collaborative, from local agencies, and from public school district.  Robert’s behavior was discussed. He broke a window in the room he was left alone because of his behavior.  I am not sure what this prior behavior was.  Somehow, that detail escaped my attention.I know it was not an aggression.  It could be a self-injurious behavior.  It could be screaming. I don’t know.  He was separated from other children, left in the huge room, a part of a rundown, modular unit. He bang on the window.He broke the glass.  He didn’t hurt himself.   He was suspended for a week and now a meeting was held to discuss the next step. Since from the teacher’s prior attitudes expressed in her multiple phone calls home, I had deduced that she had had a hard time dealing with Robert, I suggested, I asked, I  begged many times to let me explore  different schools.  It was clear to me then, in end of March of 2006, that the program didn’t work for Robert and that he would not be tolerated much longer.  So I asked, “Please, consider other programs. Please, send his folders to other programs.  Let me check them, before the school ends, so he is not left without a school.”

Under Massachusetts’ commonly approved practices -if not laws- I could not visit any program without the public school consent .

I repeated myself ad nauseam, as humbly as I could, “Please, let me see other programs.”

“There is no need for that.” Stated the lead teacher.

“It is too early for that.” Said a person from the  Commonwealth’s (State) Department.

“Oh, the Collaborative is doing a good job. They know Robert, they like Robert.” Affirmed the administrator from the public school district.

“I like Robert very much.” professed the teacher.

Two and a half months later the same teacher said, “No, Robert cannot attend the Collaborative’s summer program.

“But the summer program is written in his IEP.”  I replied.

“If it is, it has to be ANOTHER summer program. Our summer program is not for him.”

For the next four and a half months, Robert, fourteen years old at that time, stayed at home.

BUT:

1. I found another agency, wide open to Robert.

2.I found another allergists in the town of Natick, and for almost two years Robert was receiving allergy shots over there in a wonderful, calm atmosphere.

3.For four months, I taught Robert at home to discover how much more he could learn with appropriate instruction, and how easy it was to improve his behaviors in and out of the house.

In the end all those rejections were beneficial for Robert, but I cannot say that I still don’t feel the pain, they caused.

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by krymarh on November 11, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by krymarh on November 11, 2012

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What About Rabbit?

A couple of months ago, I wrote about  Robert’s quest to find  his identity among Hundred Acre Woods’ crowd.  I concluded that after trying on and experimenting with personalities of Pooh, Piglet, and Eyore, Robert jumped into the skin of Tigger, which fit him perfectly. This energetic, bouncing, flapping arms, getting into trouble  character was  so enchanting and attracting so much attention that I didn’t bother to look past Tigger.

If I did, I would find Rabbit.

As soon as the school bus drops him in our driveway, Robert is busy fixing everything I managed to mess up during his absence.  He starts with the car by adjusting the positions of  all the seat belts  to make sure the  buckles stay on top of vertically stretched belts.  As he enters the house, he first runs up and down, checking all the rooms for unwanted changes and makes up  a mental list of all the things that would require fixing. After taking off his shoes, removing worksheets from his folder and placing them on the dinning room table, Robert  checks  if  the purse hangs on the proper hook and if the car keys are inside.  If not, he starts his search. By now, knowing me rather more than less,  he quickly locates the keys and then turns his attention to the missing cell phone. He finds it charging on the kitchen bench, and let it be there.  At least for now.  The smell of bathroom cleaner sends him a signal that both bathrooms need his intervention, and so for the next few minutes, he makes sure that toothpaste, toothbrushes, soaps, shampoo bottles and everything else returns to their proper places.  Only after he finishes with all of that, he returns to the kitchen to find out what is there for him to eat.

When we return from overnight trip to his grandmother in New York, Robert unpacks the car. He places all the medicines, the leftover food, and the toiletries exactly where they were supposed to be kept. The he fills the washing machine with dirty clothes.  He does everything so quickly, that before I finish drinking tea to unwind after 4 hours of driving, everything seems to be in place.

Except, the bottle of liquid detergent. It is empty.  Robert poured all of the soap in the washer.
Oh well..

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by krymarh on November 3, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by krymarh on November 3, 2012

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He Is Not Ready Yet

Nothing sounded more rational, convincing, and more depressing than  the opinion, “He is not ready yet”, expressed  many times by specialists on teaching, on cognitive development, and on language. Many times, my suggestions  that a topic, a skill, or a concept be introduced to Robert must have sounded insane because  they were immediately rejected by listeners, as the skills, I wanted  Robert to learn,  seemed much above his performance level.  The truth is, they appeared  unreachable to me as well.

The alternative I was facing, however, was not pleasant. I had to choose between teaching Robert what ‘he was not ready for’ or not teaching him at all.  Of course, I was familiar with so-called “prerequisite skills”.  But the conundrum was, that teaching prerequisite skills seemed as impossible and /or as difficult as teaching the skill itself.

Only after I jumped, head first, into teaching something new, I was able to  learn how to teach and how to address in the process the prerequisite skills.  Some of those prerequisite skills (or rather parallel skills since they were taught simultaneously) clarified themselves to Robert when they were connected to more advanced concepts.

Unfortunately, the specialists didn’t feel willing to do the same.  I remember asking two speech pathologist to work with Robert on gathering some information about his peers (or one peer) by filling a worksheet from Sabrina Freedman book “Teach Me Language”.  It would be a great opportunity  for Robert to practice asking  questions and initiating contacts with peers.  The answer I received was, “He is not ready yet.” And so, he has not become ready for the next four or five years.

When I started practicing with Robert conditional phrases which started with “ifs”, I didn’t share information about this  activity with Robert’s speech pathologist.  I knew what she would say and I knew that her words  would have discouraged me from trying.

Instead, I approached the conditional statements without any preparation and by trail and error I chose one method as the most promising.   When I  assessed the skill as “emerging”,  I sent the workbook to school.  As far as I know the speech therapist never continued and the book disappeared.

Whenever I hear someone telling me about my son, “He is not ready yet”,  Icecome sad as I know that  I have encountered one more person not ready to teach Robert.

..

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by krymarh on October 24, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by krymarh on October 24, 2012

https://krymarh.com/2012/10/24/he-is-not-ready-yet/

The Hardest Punch

The speech therapist and I were walking through the hallways of the middle school building. During the school year 2005/2006, modular classroom behind the main building, hosted the collaborative classroom Robert was attending.  The speech therapist and I were talking about Robert’s language. What  could be done to help him communicate his feelings.  That was not the first time we walked together from the classroom to the parking lot. I liked those short trips  because I learned more during those walks than I learned during many hours of workshops on autism I had attended in the past.  The speech therapist shared with me  ideas on word recall (a huge problem for Robert), on supportive role of signs in easing speech, on programing and using an assistive  technology device, Chat PC, and many other related topics – each of great importance to Robert. As we approach the glass door, the speech therapist stopped, looked at me in a sort of uneasy way and said,

“IT IS NOT FAIR TO A TEACHER TO HAVE TO WORK WITH SUCH A  STUDENT LIKE ROBERT.”

I don’t remember what I answered.  I know that I didn’t scream at her.  I know that my heart stopped in confusion, while my brain tried to reconcile this sentence with my prior experiences with the person who said that.  I waited a few seconds hoping that she would correct herself.
But she didn’t.  She meant what she said. I know that I answered something meekly and politely although I don’t know what it was. But I didn’t protest…

It was not an easy school year for Robert.  It was equally hard for me.  Robert joined this program in February of 2005 and seemed to do well.  He also did  well during the summer, although the program was led by another teacher.  But the school year 2005/2006 was a nightmare.

I was asked later by the former special education director why DID ROBERT CHANGE so much from one year to another.

I answered  that Robert didn’t change at all. But I didn’t elaborate.  I did not say that everything else changed around him.  In winter of 2005 Robert was welcomed to the program that only had two other full-time students and one part-time student.  One student was expected to leave by the end of the school year. The teacher leading this program was supported by two full-time, experienced aides and one aide who joined the class for a part of the week.  The speech therapist was joining the class, and she  often led the group.  In winter of 2005, the program was on a brink of collapsing.  The administration actively search for more students.  So Robert was more than welcome.

In 2005/2006 the class reached its capacity with seven students.  The experienced aides moved up to the more independent positions and new aides came in. The previous aides were actively helping the teacher, the new ones sat  next to the students looking more stiff than sculptures of Egyptian pharaohs.

While in the previous year, all aides seemed comfortable  walking with Robert to the classroom when I met with them in front of the school, in the following year,  each and every aide scurried away pretending not to see Robert walking next to me.  Not even once, they said “hi” to Robert and me, not to mention assisting  Robert on the way to the classroom.

The previous year the children sat next to each other around two connected tables. But that year, each student had his/her own desk for most of the school day.

The previous year the classroom was a part of the main building of the middle school, now it was placed behind the main building in rundown  mobile classroom.

Everything changed: classroom, school aides, students, mode of instruction.  In a  classroom with seven students, Robert presence was not as welcomed as it was previous year.

Everything changed.  Robert did not.

It was not fair to Robert to be subjected to all those changes he was not prepared for or taught to deal with.

It was not fair for Robert, to have a teacher who considered herself and/or  was considered by other to be a victim of such a student like Robert.

It was not fair for Robert to have a speech therapist who said, “It is not fair ….”

I

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by krymarh on October 15, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in Teaching Out of Autism
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Posted by krymarh on October 15, 2012

https://krymarh.com/2012/10/15/the-hardest-punch/

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