End of an Era, Beginning of Greater Things

Today, we put our son on the bus to school and sent him on his way. A simple enough thing, something every parent goes through at some point in the lives of their children.

But when your child is autistic, it's a different story. Duncan's only 4 1/2 years old and he's headed off to special needs preschool. So he's going a year earlier than most kids, to get a head start on the skills he'll need to go to regular kindergarten next year. It makes perfect sense to me in my head. He's going to get some great training from his teacher, much better than even the fantastic counselor he had did when he was at day care.

But here's the image that sent me off to work today: seeing my little son, who looks so big when he's sitting among other kids his age (he's pretty darned tall for his age, most people think he's in first grade), looking so scared and small on the seat of that bus as he headed off to school. He didn't cry, he just looked at us not understanding why we weren't going with him. We waved to him and smiled as he rode off.

After we put him on the bus I had to excuse myself to the bathroom to compose myself to be strong for my wife and daughter, who's still only almost two and doesn't go to school any time soon. Not an easy thing to do... I feel so guilty about leaving him.

Duncan was the only one on the bus at that point other than the driver, since he's the first to be picked up. It made it easier to put him on, probably, because he got to pick where he wanted to sit. But as I put the harness on him, all I could think was I need to go with him. I want to see where he's going. I want to tell him it's going to be all right.

He knew something new was up, obviously, because we've been preparing him as best we could. New school clothes, talking about going to school, new books about going to school, and asking him if he's excited to go. But it wasn't real to him, you knew it was just something else to talk about.

Last Friday he got to go to the school to meet his teacher and see the classroom, and also for the teacher to interview Jenn and get to know what she can expect from him. Special Ed is a bit more focused in such regards, and Duncan will be one of two autistic children in the class. She asked everything: what his tantrum triggers are, what calms him, what does he like to do, what does he dislike, the whole nine yards. Jenn said it was a very detailed interview which made me feel good.

So I'm glad that he knows where he's going and that the people there know about him. Duncan's a very high-functioning autistic - he can be very social but doesn't always get the intricacies of human interaction, like seeing if someone's okay when they're crying, or holding a conversation about what he did that day, etc. And he has a few of the triggers where his senses get overwhelmed - mostly noise-related, like fireworks, hand dryers in bathrooms and the like - and he shuts down and panics. But those are few and far between and we know how to deal with it when it happens.

His speech has a few issues - some issues with clarity, and some issues with what's called "echolalia" where he quotes movies, TV, other people, etc. a lot (almost ad nauseum sometimes), though usually in context. For instance, when I was trying to tell him and his sister to come to the table one night for dinner, he looked at me and quoted from the movie Treasure Planet, saying "Stop giving orders." Pretty funny.

It also causes him to misuse pronouns a lot because he quotes whole passages instead of breaking down the indivual words. So if he wants to hang on my arm like a monkey, he tells me "May I hang on my arm please?" because I tell him to "hang on my arm."

One thing that's always been remarkable to me is how the autistic people I've met individually have had a real good grasp of their challenges. I worked with a young man, named Brian, with Asperger's Syndrome, a condition on the autistic spectrum, who was one of the best detail-oriented data entry people I ever met. But he was obsessed with movies and game shows. The first time I met him, Brian told me about Asperger's Syndrome at great length and I was very impressed with how handled himself. He rambled a bit and went into some detail that I probably didn't need, but he wanted to make sure that I understood what was going on.

And another time, when I was trying to get some work done and he stopped in my office to tell me about one of his favorite movies, I told him "Brian, thanks, but I need to get some work done right now" he apologized and moved on, totally unoffended and totally okay with being told. It was very impressive.

And Duncan's not even as severe as Brian is. The school system folks think this is probably the only year that he'll need full-time special ed, though he probably will need a counselor going through school on occasion to help him handle the challenges he encounters. So this is a big, important year for him.

In my head, I know he's going to be okay. His teacher is going to take great care of him. He's going to have the opportunity to master the challenges he has in his life under the care of people who are going to help him as much as they can.

But in my very emotional heart, I am remembering two things:

The look he gave us as he went off to school on his bus this morning...

And the hug he gave me last night before going to bed. He asked me to give him a big hug, and after I picked him up and put my arms around him, he said into my ear "You are my son." And I looked at him and told him "That's right, Duncan. You are my son." Then another big hug and it was off to bed.

My son started school today. And it's the beginning of him growing into the great young man I know he's going to be. But that doesn't make it any easier to see that little boy leaving on the little bus.