Differing Perceptions

Having taught children with special needs for more years than I care to remember, I have developed a highly attuned ‘ASD-dar’, which means that I can usually spot a person with autism at a hundred paces. I’m not sure what it is exactly, just a sense of their movement, body language and response to a situation or environment.

Lovely, lovely Kentwell Hall

Last week we visited Kentwell Hall, a large stately home that was holding a Tudor re-enactment. My stepson and his family take part, and we had a fascinating day. We had lunch in the Stables Cafe, and the minute we started to queue, I recognised the familiar scream of a child in distress. A boy, aged about 8 or 9, was clearly unhappy about the choice of food on offer. Of course, the more he screamed and kicked, the more the food eating public stared, and the more embarrassed his parents and sibling became. The staff were really helpful, and managed to find something that he would eat happily, but the intervening minutes were fraught with difficulty for his poor family. The fact that I understood their dilemma did not help them at all, but I did have a different perception of the situation from most of the other people around, which enabled me not to stare or grimace or tut. My husband questioned the wisdom of bringing a child with autism to such an event, but when we saw him later, he was happily munching Wotsits and enjoying looking at the piglets in the farmyard. If his parents had made the decision not to bring him along, he would have been robbed of that enriching experience.

The next day, I had a similar experience to those parents. I went out with my friend who is doing some holiday respite for one of the pupils in my class. (Okay, I know it’s not my class any more, but that’s still how I think of it!)

Listen Sam, the bamboo's rustling

We went for a walk in a country park and visited a local garden centre, on the promise of a cake and drink in the cafe.

Can you see the fish?

All was fine, but Sam does have a number of sensory processing difficulties, which mean that he occasionally shrieks, very loudly. In a country park and outside the garden centre this could almost be ignored, but it suddenly became very noticeable in the cafe, where people were trying to enjoy their lunch. My friend is adamant that she will not apologise for Sam’s behaviour - he has a perfect right to visit cafes and shops, regardless of his special needs. That being said, I was very conscious of his screeches echoing in the prefabricated building, and was willing him to be quiet. Disapproving looks abounded, and I could well imagine how his family would have felt in this situation.

Much as we love Sam, he is not our family, and we are therefore distanced from his behaviour in a way that his family can not be. In fact, if anything, I was inordinately proud of him. He coped with waiting until we had our food before he ate his cookie, he did not make a mess, and was even persuaded to keep his trousers on when he spilt water on them. Only just, but he did it!

So proud!

My point is that, because I know Sam, I knew how hard he'd worked to keep it together in a situation that he was less than comfortable with. The general public no doubt had a completely different view on his shrieking and trying to take his trousers off!

Parents and educators of young people with autism are desperate to raise awareness of what their different perspective on life means in the real world. I find it challenging to go into a restaurant that I am unfamiliar with, and I like to think I am a well rounded individual with above average social skills. Just imagine what it is like for someone who is unable to imagine and predict what somewhere is going to be like, without the adequate support to help them. It’s no wonder that children with autism present with challenges if they’ve been told that they're going to a cafe, but that cafe doesn't sell chips or pizza!

Every situation can be seen from a variety of viewpoints - the family who are mortified that not only have they not predicted this particular set of behaviours, they have also failed to prepare their child successfully; the public, who look on wishing that someone would deal with the screaming child, and wondering what on earth his parents are thinking of; and most importantly the child themselves, who is anxious and hungry but only really likes white bread and chips, when salad and quiche are all that is on offer.

People with autism need to learn to cope in the wider world. They need to be supported to face a variety of situations, some of which they will find anxiety inducing. This in turn is likely to lead to some form of challenge. If the boy at Kentwell had brought his own packed lunch, he would never learn to cope with the reality of preferred food not always being instantly available. If Sam does not experience going into cafes and shops, he will never get to practise a better way of dealing with his sensory needs than shrieking. This will not only limit his experiences, but also those of his family, who love and value him, and want to include him in as much as they can.

Bounce, Sam, bounce!

Be tolerant. Try not to judge. Don’t stare and tut. Just get on with your day, and have some empathy for others who are doing their best to cope in impossible situations. After all, if Sam can practise not shrieking and keeping his trousers on when they are wet, then you can practise thinking about how you can perceive what you are seeing from someone else’s point of view.