Everyone has his own way of coping with adversity. Some people stay and duke it out while others try to reason their way through it. Still others just turn tail and run when the situation gets rough. Of course, there are those who cannot seem to decide whether they want to stay and fight or flee.
Nathaniel has been having a really rough time in first grade. We're still trying to figure out if he is just too overwhelmed by the number of children or if there are other circumstances that are affecting his behavior. We want to be able to help him learn how to cope with the world in which he lives.
It appears that every phase has its ups and downs, just as with any typical child. Add in the Autism spectrum and more hurdles are set in place for the race. At first it was the sheer ability to communicate effectively with him. With hard work and two years of speech therapy, that has drastically improved. Now, he is having to learn how to deal with the information he does process from others, and it isn't always easy.
This year he has been put in a larger classroom for part of the day. Up to this point, he has been in the secluded class with 5 to 7 other students and two teachers. He had difficulties in those classes that he has slowly but surely learned to address, though not perfectly. Because of his great strides with communication, he is now in a partially integrated class. This is a good thing, we were told, a way to ease him into the regular classes eventually.
Every time he goes into a larger class, something happens and he explodes in one way or another. One of the most difficult times for him seems to be physical education. For some reason, the activities in that class really tend to bring out the fight and then flight tendency in Nathaniel. I'm not completely certain if it is because the teachers do not truly comprehend the fact that certain triggers are more forceful than others or if they just want to make Nathaniel face them.
Either way, I think it would be much more beneficial to introduce Nathaniel to some games slowly. Take flag football, for instance. Pardon me for saying this, but for a child who truly needs his own space and who feels violently upset about having his personal space invaded, flag football is not something to just thrust upon him with a couple sentences of instructions, at least not in a full size p.e. class. I have no qualms about Nathaniel learning to play this game, but because it involves taking something away from him, I personally believe it would be better to introduce him to the game with a small group of 4 to 6 children, describing in detail that the game does mean that someone is going to take a flag away from him. Once he gets accustomed to the game with a few people, then go ahead and let him play it on a larger scale. If I had known beforehand what game they would have him play, I could have told them to prepare for the kicking, the hitting, the fussing, and, eventually, the running past the teachers, into the hall, and out the exit door away from school.
Unfortunately, there have been numerous times this year in which my oldest son has attempted to run away from school. It's not the first time he's run away from home, either, nor from church. In fact, just about two weeks ago, he gave us another scare. Only this time, it wasn't just to us. I'm not glad it happened, but in a sense I am not sorry he ran. It allowed some of our acquaintances and close friends to understand the depth to which we mean when we say we have to keep an eye our children at all times. His actions that night also caused a greater support system in the sense that others are now aware of some dangers that arise with ASD children.
It was Wednesday evening and he had had a rough day at school. One of the boys in his math class was consistently touching him, invading his space, and he was having a hard time all around. His senses were in overload so I was not at all surprised when he was sent to sit with me in the choir for a little while to calm down . The second time seemed to do the trick, as he was able to gather control and go back to his classroom. I walked him down and he seemed to enjoy himself before I slipped back out to the music room.
When church was over, I went to pick up the kids to take them home. There was only one problem. Nathaniel was nowhere in sight. He had managed to slip past the adults and out the door. I went to the car, but no Nathaniel. I went to the playground and called him, but did not find him. I walked over to the gym and nobody had seen him. Playground, sanctuary, woods nearby, children's wing, gym: all were void of my missing child. By this time, several adults were helping me look for my son and I was trying not to let panic set into my heart.
A good fifteen minutes later at least, I had the gut feeling to return to the playground. It was a last ditch effort, hoping beyond hope that maybe we missed him. By this time the lights were off and it was pitch black. I called out to him twice to no avail. I walked around the small fenced enclosure and called some more, making my eyes see what was near impossible. I had already been praying in my head, but at this point I spoke into the darkness, "God, please! Help me find him."
I called one more time and heard a catch of breath that did not belong to me. I stopped and called again. "Go away. Leave me alone," at last I had found him! "I want to stay here," then he hissed angrily at me and fought to get away as I felt out and reached his arm. Nathaniel continued to protest loudly as I held him and told him how much I missed him and that I felt bad when I couldn't find him. I led him from the playground toward the car as he initially attempted to escape my grasp and run back to the swings.
I called out to let the pastor and the choir director know that I had found him. They were, as was I, greatly relieved that I had recovered my son. As dark as it was and with as much time that had passed since the last time anyone had seen him, the situation could have ended much, much worse.
This particular incident served as a wake up call, not necessarily for myself, but for those around me. For my readers who also have children on the Autism Spectrum, you have gone through things similar to this on a regular basis as well. Perhaps you have friends and acquaintances who may technically be aware of things you go through with your children, but they don't feel the insistent, ever present eagle-eyed necessity that you know can be the difference between life and death for your children. It took my son disappearing, quite quickly, for a good while, for some in my circle to understand the vigil we constantly keep.
I suppose I have my moments of flight as well. Those days when my husband comes home and I am just tired of the vigilance probably happen more often than the typical mom. I am grateful for the respite he gives me occasionally to get away from the commotion so I can gather my wits about me, renew my strength, and stand ready to fight the next fight for the sake of my children.
I guess the real key is in striking the balance between fight or flight. That Wednesday, when Nathaniel struggled with me, I had to hold firmly. It was not easy to stand firm with him. He may be only 6 years old, but he's less than a foot shorter than I am. My foot will, albeit uncomfortably, fit in his shoe now. He is getting stronger as well. But if I had just let him run off, he could have gotten hit by a car, kidnapped, or been hurt by numerous other imaginable things. So I held, firmly but lovingly, until my son was ready to come of his own accord. I hope for the day when he no longer feels the need to run away but to be able to run towards us, toward safety, when he feels threatened beyond his ability to cope.
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