Choosing Partners Isn't Easy
Hunter has had multiple breakdowns at school lately, and looking at the external factors, they seemed to be centered around small group activities.
He broke rule number 5 (leaving the building without a teacher) when they had to choose partners in PE.
He yelled at his "best friend" today because he didn't want to partner up with Hunter.
He told me he wants to swing on the swings by himself, because he doesn't like to run on the playground with the boys.
But tonight, I had a little glimpse into the future of having a child with Autism.
As children age, they start to notice the little groups sectioning off. Even Paige, my social butterfly, had a heart-to-heart with me last night because she doesn't feel like she has a "best friend." I see myself in her so often- she is often the observer, taking in the whole environment, and feels a little shy or awkward to join a group of people already in conversation or playing a game. She told me that sometimes she walks around the playground on her own, because she "doesn't know who to play with."
As I started rattling off her friends' names, there were plenty of friends for her to play with, but she thought everyone had already buddied up and she couldn't join the group.
Tonight, Hunter was just lying in bed, waiting for me as I put Peyton to sleep. I could tell something was wrong, so I climbed in bed and held him tight, waiting for him to talk. He didn't say much, so we read a couple of books and then I turned off the light.
"Choosing partners isn't easy, " he said as we snuggled after a minute.
"What do you mean, buddy?"
"It's hard to find one."
Heart. Breaking.
We talked about the situation from earlier today, where he yelled at a friend for not picking him as a partner. He said, "I guess 'F' is not my best friend anymore. He is mad at me." I explained that just like in the social story we wrote this afternoon, we can have more than one friend. We can choose different partners, and we are STILL friends! He could not grasp the concept.
"I don't ever have a partner."
"I don't have any friends."
"I feel left out."
And tonight, we have reason 1,248 that I hate Autism.
Last year he was oblivious to the groups of kids forming; to the playdates that happened after school; to the buddies that stuck together.
This year, he can tell me everyone's friends. When I suggested he ask A to partner, he said, "No, she's friends with L." He has never, not once, been asked on a playdate with a friend from school.
I can't form friendships for him. I can't make the other kids like him, when in all honesty, they are often scared of his unpredictable behavior. I can't be there on the playground to play tag, or shoot hoops, or swing next to him.
Tonight I told him I would always be his partner.
Forever.
Tonight, I need an answered prayer....
God can answer in three ways:
He says yes- and answers your prayers.
He says no- and gives you something better.
He says wait- and gives you the best.
Praying that my sweet boy finds a friend- a best friend- that can look past the differences, the inflexibility, and the awkwardness to see this little boy who is desperately yearning for acceptance.
He broke rule number 5 (leaving the building without a teacher) when they had to choose partners in PE.
He yelled at his "best friend" today because he didn't want to partner up with Hunter.
He told me he wants to swing on the swings by himself, because he doesn't like to run on the playground with the boys.
But tonight, I had a little glimpse into the future of having a child with Autism.
As children age, they start to notice the little groups sectioning off. Even Paige, my social butterfly, had a heart-to-heart with me last night because she doesn't feel like she has a "best friend." I see myself in her so often- she is often the observer, taking in the whole environment, and feels a little shy or awkward to join a group of people already in conversation or playing a game. She told me that sometimes she walks around the playground on her own, because she "doesn't know who to play with."
As I started rattling off her friends' names, there were plenty of friends for her to play with, but she thought everyone had already buddied up and she couldn't join the group.
Tonight, Hunter was just lying in bed, waiting for me as I put Peyton to sleep. I could tell something was wrong, so I climbed in bed and held him tight, waiting for him to talk. He didn't say much, so we read a couple of books and then I turned off the light.
"Choosing partners isn't easy, " he said as we snuggled after a minute.
"What do you mean, buddy?"
"It's hard to find one."
Heart. Breaking.
We talked about the situation from earlier today, where he yelled at a friend for not picking him as a partner. He said, "I guess 'F' is not my best friend anymore. He is mad at me." I explained that just like in the social story we wrote this afternoon, we can have more than one friend. We can choose different partners, and we are STILL friends! He could not grasp the concept.
"I don't ever have a partner."
"I don't have any friends."
"I feel left out."
And tonight, we have reason 1,248 that I hate Autism.
Last year he was oblivious to the groups of kids forming; to the playdates that happened after school; to the buddies that stuck together.
This year, he can tell me everyone's friends. When I suggested he ask A to partner, he said, "No, she's friends with L." He has never, not once, been asked on a playdate with a friend from school.
I can't form friendships for him. I can't make the other kids like him, when in all honesty, they are often scared of his unpredictable behavior. I can't be there on the playground to play tag, or shoot hoops, or swing next to him.
Tonight I told him I would always be his partner.
Forever.
Tonight, I need an answered prayer....
God can answer in three ways:
He says yes- and answers your prayers.
He says no- and gives you something better.
He says wait- and gives you the best.
Praying that my sweet boy finds a friend- a best friend- that can look past the differences, the inflexibility, and the awkwardness to see this little boy who is desperately yearning for acceptance.
Comments
Post a Comment