Golden on a Diamond

No one has ever accused me of being conventional when it comes to attempting to engage children, students, clients, or patients. And for at least one more day of my life, it appears as though this shall hold true. Today I managed to be a father AND an expert all at the same time, and the results were truly dynamic.

Tommy’s annual IEP meeting is to be held next week. Because of some of the goings on in the past year, we are taking active steps to ascertain what he can do so that we can steer his services in the best possible direction to meet his needs at the meeting. Thus, following in the footsteps of my esteemed wife, I dropped by his class to witness him in action and attempt to win buy-in from the staff through my excellent skills and intimate knowledge of all things Tommy.

Opportunity knocked during P.E. time during a particularly unique game of Tee-ball. One intrepid Hmong warrior with Down’s Syndrome clearly grasped the concept of competition, as everything he did was with 110% effort and, for him, with supreme focus. Very quickly, I discovered that with Tommy this was not so much the case. He appeared quite disinterested in the whole concept of team sports, preferring instead to alternate randomly between gazing heavenward in wonderment, introspectively inspecting his fingernails, and clapping simply because he likes the percussive sound of it. Great, so much for interaction. Then the brilliant P.E. teacher asked if I would like to take a turn at the tee to see if Tommy could be enticed into taking part a little more conventionally. Would I! Ha!!!

I strode confidently up to the plate, and a relative hush fell over the field. Yep, it looked like most of the other students were in awe of me (Hey, how often does a parent come to spend time with them at school?). “Hey, TOM!” I yelled out to the 2^nd base man, who hadn’t noticed the change of atmosphere and was presently inspecting each of his fingernails with the concentration of a monk. “Yo, look over here!”

His hand slowly dropped and his eyes rose to the familiar voice. “Shelby?” There we go. “Yeah, look over here. I’m going to hit the ball now. GET IT! Okay?….. OKAY?” …. After a long pause, he responded in his sing song way. “Okaaaay.”

It was my intention to get the ball near to him so that he would be forced to engage in the activity. In this case, ‘near’ turned out to mean pegging him squarely in the chest from 50 paces! It’s a GOOD thing that wasn’t a regular baseball, let me tell you!

You could have heard a pin drop in the grass; everybody (including myself) was shocked. Mind you, for different reasons. Staff were thinking, “Oh no! Is he hurt?! Is this parent gonna sue us for letting him bat?? But it’s his own kid…” I, on the other hand, was thinking more along the lines of, “Wow! Not bad for my first at-bat in 15 years. I never knew I could do THAT!!” (Tom was clearly not hurt; that ball was so light I’m surprised it even made out that far)

Now I REALLY had Tom’s attention. His eyes jolted wide open, and he stared at the white orb in front of him in puzzled wonderment as if to say, “How the heck did that get there?” Improbable circumstances had conspired for the perfect opportunity. “Hey TOM! Pick up the ball and get me OUT!” I yelled as I made a mock effort of sprinting to First base at the pace of a land tortoise with a Benadryl overdose.

Tom’s head raised at my familiar voice, then slowly lowered back to the ball as his voice trailed off, “Out?….” … It wasn’t working. Suddenly he came to as the whole field erupted with cheering, yelling, and kids jumping up and down. His eyes brightened. “OUT!!” he yelled. Then he snatched up the ball, barreled over to me in the midst of my tortoise impression worthy (I’m convinced) of an Oscar, and did just that. He was clearly proud of it, too.

It was the first time he’d ever done anything besides hit the ball and go around the bases randomly. Conventional? Nope, but name me anything else have worked that well?

Larry Boy needs Help!

One of Tommy’s stocking stuffers was a Veggie Tales game for his Game Boy. I purchased it on sight months ago because I was sure it would be the ultimate coup: What could be more mesmerizing than the marriage of the game play elements of Super Mario 3 with Veggie Tales characters AND MUSIC!? So imagine my disappointment when he spent a whole 5 minutes looking at it before shelving the now less than ‘perfect’ gift idea I’d come up with all by myself.

A couple days later, I rescued the game from its virtual trash dump and fired it up in a derelict Game Boy to see what the problem was. Within seconds, I sensed a presence looking over my shoulder at my embarrassingly brutal skills. I was almost instantly ‘stuck’ in the puzzle because I hadn’t bothered to read the instructions or view the tutorial. Tommy even started to laugh at me. How humiliating! After much trial and error, I discovered how to ‘push’ the movable block so I could stand on it to jump to another platform thingy. What a feeling! I had just started to say “Ha, look at THAT!” to my tormenter when, WHOOSH!! As quick as you please, he snapped the game out of my hands and booked it down the hall.

I was both shocked and momentarily annoyed because I wanted to see what the next challenge would be. Tommy has never, ever done anything like that to my knowledge. I shouted after him, “Wait! I was playing with that….” But Tommy only giggled with glee at the funny trick he’d played on me. You know, that is something people have done to him his whole life, and he clearly enjoyed the shoe finally being on the other foot for a change. I was ‘safe’ for him to do that to.

It then also occurred to me that this is why Tom had stopped the game so quickly; he’d gotten stuck there as well. Ah, at least I was able to help him, and now he was playing the game! (So, no $18 down the tubes for nothing) A little while later, he came back down the hall chanting, “Shelby? Shelby?”… He burst into the room and nearly knocked me off of my chair. Thrusting the Game Boy into my hands, he finished the tirade with, “Help!” Ah, so NOW he needed my help again? I felt strangely warm and fuzzy inside.

It turns out that Larry Boy, the Super Hero cucumber protagonist of the game, can shoot toilet plungers out of his ears! (Who knew?) They’ll stick to the ‘targets’ on the ceiling, allowing him to swing back and forth before launching himself through the air. I’m not even going to admit how long this took me to figure out, but Tom kept getting frustrated that I was letting the timer count down to zero without making the required forward progress. Finally, Larry Boy flew through the air onto the right platform! And once again, WHOOSH! Away went Tommy and his Game Boy. I now felt sort of used and abused, but still warm and fuzzy nonetheless. …

Over the past few days, this has played out again several times. I am absolutely positive Tommy knows how to move that cucumber properly. I mean, that boy can make those vegetables dance all over the place so fast it makes my head spin! But in a few select levels, and always in the same place on the level, along comes Tommy with his, “Shelby? Shelby! Help!” business. By fluke perhaps, this initial mutual interaction offered something Tommy has perhaps never done before; working together with another soul toward a common goal. And thus far, he can’t get enough of it. Yeah, I get used and then abruptly left without so much as a ‘thank-you’. But you know, I can’t seem to get enough of it, either.

Full 'o Beans

Today had an interesting beginning. Well actually, most days have an interesting beginning for me, but this one was particularly spirited. I guess that’s what you get when you combine an eager telephone and an equally eager autistic boy at the same time.

Tommy was being extra vocal to start with, calling out “Leonie Leonie Leonie” repeatedly and without letup (only he pronounces in more like ‘Waynee’). Then my cell phone rang. I didn’t get to it in time but saw that it was my parents. Whilst attempting to wash Tom, who was in the shower, I attempted to call them back. But in the midst of calling, our Home phone started to ring, so I hung up and ran for the home phone. It rang only once, so I attempted the parents on the cell again and got through. The parents wanted to clarify something on an L.L. Bean gift certificate for Leonie, which we wisely discussed in a different room away from active ears (or so I thought). But I was still on the phone when I returned to Tom.

Well! Once Tom saw I was on the phone, he started up his “Waynee Waynee” ruckus once again and started reaching for the phone. I don’t think my Dad got much out of the conversation, but I did give it a try. It turned out to be a rather short exchange, due mostly, I believe, to my Dad being deafened by Tom. After hanging up, Tom had some choice words. “Waynee… Eo, Eo, Weeeen… Eo, Eo, Beeeeeeen!” Guess he overheard me use the words Leonie and LL Bean in a sentence. Amazing since he doesn’t know what LL Bean is.

Call and shower now ended, it was time to get clothes on. But once again, the cell phone started up. And once again, Tom started gesturing for the phone and saying, “Waynee Waynee Waynee…” This time it WAS Leonie, so I handed it to Tom:

Tommy: “WAYNEE!”

Waynee: “Yes, Tom.”

Tommy: “Pugetti Saw!”

Waynee: “???? Spaghetti sauce? Do you want spaghetti?”

Tommy: “Pugetti Saw, FRIDAY!”

Waynee: “How about spaghetti for supper… at… 5:30, Tom?”

Tommy: “Su..pper… Fi-thirtee! Pugetti Saw!”

Waynee: “Okay, We’ll have spaghetti for supper. Bye bye, Tom.”

Tommy: “Buh Byyyye!”

There, that ought to take care of that business! Now I was running late, so deftly handed Tom off to his mother and bee lined it for the shower. Yet, no sooner had the water struck my back when Tom burst through the bathroom door chanting “Shaobee Shaobee Shaobee…”, waving the (again) ringing cell phone in hand. Booking it after Tom with loud protestations was Michael, but there was no deterring him from his goal. One sight of the big white nude marshmallow stopped Mike dead in his tracks, but not Tom! With a loud and triumphant “WAYNEEEE!!!”, he handed me the phone as I stammered my appreciation. His mission completed, Tom turned on his heel and strutted proudly out, shutting the door behind him with a confident clunk. So there I was! Alone once again, dripping, clad with nuthin’ but denuded dignity and a dinged up Nokia, and what can ya do?! At least Tommy was right, though. It WAS Waynee on the other end of the line again.

You can’t get mad about it because Tom really does like us. I know this for sure because, in addition to giving out lots of hugs, our boy calls us “Waynee and Shaobee” (NOT “Whiney” and “Weenie”). Thank goodness for small mercies!