Up in the Community

Today I took Liam and Zoe to their second drama workshop, with my fresh new eyes from the Autism Summer Conference. This group sounded promising, as it has the word "community" in its title and the director assured me that inclusion is one of their goals.

It started out with people of all ages in one room, presenting monologues they were working on. Liam squirmed in his metal folding chair and babbled to himself quietly. I took him out for a break. When we returned and he noticed yet another person getting up to speak, he cried out, "I don't want to go up there and talk! I don't know what to say!" Everyone laughed, including me. Zoe was exceptional, sitting quietly through every monologue, although I know she was bored to tears.

The second part of the workshop is for the kids to split off from the teens/adults and do some improv work. Liam did ok with that, although he needed some prompting and some physical support from me to be able to sit on the hard floor. Him being able to sit still and quietly is something I'm learning to let go of. I think Martha Leary would say his body needs support--it may not be something I can demand of him. The other kids basically ignored him, except for one bratty little girl in pajamas, who exclaimed, "Ewww, I'm not touching that ball now", after Liam rolled on it and touched his tongue to it when it was his turn to hold it. He went to the mirror (the workspace is a dance studio and he loves the multiple mirrors) and put his arms out to touch his image. "Uh, that was weird, " the pajama brat said, "He just hugged himself." Her mom shushed her and I fought the urge to say, "Yeah? Well, he thinks YOU'RE weird for wearing pajamas in public." (Which was true; he asked me about it.) He participated in the activities, with me prompting and translating.

The third component is a movement workshop with this German woman who is quite talented and experienced. She has an authoritarian, yet gentle approach that these kids are not used to, but is quite effective. I spoke to her about Liam briefly after last week's class and she had asked us not to interfere, but just let him be. She tried to engage him a couple of times in a dance, but he preferred the company of the fire extinguisher in the corner. There is a ballet barre there that he leans on. She paired the kids up (except Liam) and walked them through a simple story told with movement. After watching the kids walk through it a few times, I took Liam outside with me and we talked about the story, which I knew he heard and understood.

The other groups presented their dances and I told the teacher, "Liam would like to try it with me as the princess." She said of course. The hardest part was getting him to touch the fake rose he was supposed to use. He was afraid of getting pricked by thorns. Once we got past that, he did it perfectly! Everyone clapped and we even did it again for the adults. I just had to whisper to him once to get him started. I think everyone was surprised. They hadn't thought he was capable of remembering and following simple directions.

This is the hardest thing about autism--not autism itself but other people's perceptions of it; of Liam. The parents look at me with pity and the kids look at Liam with confusion or disgust. They don't know how smart he is, how funny, how creative and perceptive. "He's my son!" I want to scream at them. "Even if everything you think were true, would it kill you to just accept him?" Of course, if I was not Liam's mom and I saw a kid rolling around on the floor babbling while the other kids sat still and listened. . . I have to admit I wouldn't expect much from that kid. So I don't scream at them. I don't yell. I don't even lecture. I just keep showing up with my son, waiting patiently for the moment he will dazzle them the way he dazzles me.