I worked for many years, with a boy who is autistic. When he was about 15, I spent a summer taking him bowling on a weekly basis. He struggles to control his body. He doesn't speak (he's said a couple words on rare occasion, and half a sentence once, but it took everything in him, and hasn't happened since). People tend to think he's not very bright. If only they paid attention.
Often, people with autism have a hard time with expressions, but he is good with them. I can tell when he's happy, sad, mad, amused, amazed, annoyed, is thinking something along the lines of, "no-duh!", or disagrees. He laughs at my sarcastic humor. He gets sad if someone implies that there is something wrong with him. If I explain something about science, he is intrigued. It is always on his face when he disagrees with me.
When we'd bowl, I'd help him hand-over-hand. Bowling alleys often have assistive equipment such as a ramp. I could have him wheel the ramp to the lane, line it up, place the ball on top, and push it. But instead, we'd walk over to the ball, I'd direct the correct fingers into their holes, and hold his hand there, then place my left hand under his left hand and help him lift it. We'd walk to the lane, pull the ball back, and throw. I'd let go of him, and he'd spin in circles, walking away, twitching his fingers in front of his eyes, and I'd turn him to look, announce how many he got, and congratulate him- every week. If I gave verbal cues to pick up the ball, his hand would hover over the ball, but he couldn't figure out how to get his fingers into the holes. One time, I tried to coach him into throwing it, and he turned and threw it at me, not intentionally.
Then one day, the last week of summer vacation, when it was his turn, we started to walk to the ball. He turned and gave me a new look. That look, full of determination, clearly said, "Watch me." I said, "Okay. I'll watch." He put his fingers in the holes, picked up the ball, and walked to the lane. He got there, and looked perplexed, turning back to me. I helped him with the rest, and rejoiced, telling him a million times, how awesome that was, and telling his family what he did.
That year, he started at a new school. They told me that they take their students bowling weekly, so I excitedly told them what he could do, hoping they'd continue it with him. They told me that they would stick to using the ramps. It's easier on the teachers.
I have moved away, but when I visit the area, I visit him. He hasn't wanted to go bowling; there's a change in his breathing that suggests he's stressed at the suggestion. Just my visit with him is a little hard. He chooses to come with me, but I think the sudden change in routine is hard, so we stick to simpler things like grabbing fast food and going for a walk at the park. Yet I always suggest bowling, and remind him that I know he's good at it. Maybe one day, he'll take me up on it again.
Often, people with autism have a hard time with expressions, but he is good with them. I can tell when he's happy, sad, mad, amused, amazed, annoyed, is thinking something along the lines of, "no-duh!", or disagrees. He laughs at my sarcastic humor. He gets sad if someone implies that there is something wrong with him. If I explain something about science, he is intrigued. It is always on his face when he disagrees with me.
When we'd bowl, I'd help him hand-over-hand. Bowling alleys often have assistive equipment such as a ramp. I could have him wheel the ramp to the lane, line it up, place the ball on top, and push it. But instead, we'd walk over to the ball, I'd direct the correct fingers into their holes, and hold his hand there, then place my left hand under his left hand and help him lift it. We'd walk to the lane, pull the ball back, and throw. I'd let go of him, and he'd spin in circles, walking away, twitching his fingers in front of his eyes, and I'd turn him to look, announce how many he got, and congratulate him- every week. If I gave verbal cues to pick up the ball, his hand would hover over the ball, but he couldn't figure out how to get his fingers into the holes. One time, I tried to coach him into throwing it, and he turned and threw it at me, not intentionally.
Then one day, the last week of summer vacation, when it was his turn, we started to walk to the ball. He turned and gave me a new look. That look, full of determination, clearly said, "Watch me." I said, "Okay. I'll watch." He put his fingers in the holes, picked up the ball, and walked to the lane. He got there, and looked perplexed, turning back to me. I helped him with the rest, and rejoiced, telling him a million times, how awesome that was, and telling his family what he did.
That year, he started at a new school. They told me that they take their students bowling weekly, so I excitedly told them what he could do, hoping they'd continue it with him. They told me that they would stick to using the ramps. It's easier on the teachers.
I have moved away, but when I visit the area, I visit him. He hasn't wanted to go bowling; there's a change in his breathing that suggests he's stressed at the suggestion. Just my visit with him is a little hard. He chooses to come with me, but I think the sudden change in routine is hard, so we stick to simpler things like grabbing fast food and going for a walk at the park. Yet I always suggest bowling, and remind him that I know he's good at it. Maybe one day, he'll take me up on it again.
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