Smart Cookie

photo from flickr.com by Millie

 

By the time Chase started middle school my file of paperwork regarding his health and education could create a how-to manual: How to Grow your Child from Seed. It’s an entire volume of clinical studies: doctor records, school reports, and special education plans. I won’t throw them away because our Chase is a fascinating fellow. I’m always looking for ways to understand him.

Now I’m reviewing one document, which summarizes the many evaluations Chase had prior to age 13. One study from second grade brings back difficult memories. Mildly retarded.  Before this study, I believed his delays were due to autism—that autism was his only issue. I was wrong. Along with an intelligence test, a nonverbal test was given. Results confirmed two issues: autism and mental retardation. 

There had been some discussion about middle school, whether or not Chase was ready—physical versus mental age. I had been in denial about my son growing into a man. I tried to ignore the clues, but eventually I had to answer the question, Where did that mustache come from? 

A psychologist had concluded that Chase’s placement in a 7^th grade special day class appeared to be appropriate. Fifteen students in all made up his class. I met their teacher, Ms. Hanson. A patient woman with a plan, she had developed a positive reinforcement program that involved cookies for good behavior. Perfect. What kid doesn’t like cookies? 

Chase’s favorite subject had been math. He knew his multiplication tables by heart, but he lost track when it came to problems with two and three place numbers like 146 X 17. We tried division too, a good review for me, but not so much for Chase. The concept was too advanced. I started to realize the extent of his disability when I helped him with homework; he had trouble retaining information. We solved problems one day and he forgot how the next. This was frustrating at times, but we kept at it until his worksheets were complete.

One day I asked Ms. Hanson, “How can this be helping Chase? He doesn’t seem to understand.”

“As long as he’s willing to try, why not? Every day he wants to take home extra worksheets.”

“You mean more than what is required for homework?”

“Yes. He seems to enjoy the practice.”

I didn’t let on how much time I had spent helping him. While we talked, my eyes drifted around the room and settled on a package of cookies left open on a counter. “Ms. Hanson, does Chase earn extra cookies for the work he turns in?”

“Sure. All the kids do.”

I left the classroom feeling duped. My son was one smart cookie. He was using me to help score extra treats.

Halloween Friends

Greg, Chase, Jim, and Sean on Halloween

One year my sons dressed up as their favorite video game characters, Mario and Luigi, for Halloween. Chase, my oldest son is autistic and had become obsessed with the game developed in 1985. Two heroes, Mario and his younger brother Luigi, try to defeat creatures popping out of the sewers below New York City. What’s not to love?

My husband, Dave, known for his infinite patience, had spent hours teaching Chase to play the game, and Chase, like his younger brother Jim, conquered one level after another to win points. But this post is about the boys and their good friends in the picture. Chase, age nine, and Jim, five, wore white painter’s caps with the letters, M for Mario and L for Luigi, marked on the front. Knight, Greg Felten, and Dinosaur, Sean Felten, set out that night to hunt for treats.  

Dave and I had joined a support group for children with disabilities, and once a week we met in the evening at a nearby school. There were 5 families that attended the sessions on a regular basis. Steve and Mary Ellen Felten became our close friends. Their son, Sean, had Down’s syndrome. While parents met in one room, the children played in a classroom nearby with supervision. A volunteer facilitator led our group and it didn’t take long for us all to open up about our stressful lives.

In one instance I told the group that I felt burdened, having to explain Chase’s odd behaviors. I didn’t know what to tell people. Should I explain how my son was affected by autism? Should I apologize when his disruptive behavior was out of control? One solution that stuck with me and, if needed, I still use today, Just say simply, Chase has problems. That’s what we do. You don’t need to apologize for your child or explain anything. It was a simple solution, one I needed to hear from a parent who had been there. Over the course of about a year we attended meetings and learned a lot from each other. 

So I’m thinking this Halloween I will give Mary Ellen a call. Although her family moved down to Paso Robles, we remain friends. I feel like our families bonded like pieces in a puzzle. All of us had much in common. Steve, a winemaker, enjoyed working with Dave on his homemade wine. Mary Ellen, who went back to college to finish her degree late in life, inspired me to do the same. We shared many Halloweens and family birthday parties, football Sundays and summer barbecues. We often talk on the phone and still share the challenges and successes in our childrens’ lives. Raising a child with a disability was not something I could do alone.