It's The Little Things

One of the things which LR's teachers brought to our attention was that he seemed to have some difficulty respecting other people's personal space; he tended to put his face very close to another child's face and then didn't understand when the other child got upset. While this is hardly the most dire problem a child could have, it's also not the best way to win friends.

Being a good father, I naturally blamed myself. I have severe myopia and if you look in the dictionary under "coke-bottle glasses" there's my picture. With my glasses off, I'm able to focus on things which are close up very well - okay, my focal point is about two inches in front of my face. Starting when LR was a baby, and continuing all the way up until last year, I used to take off my glasses and come in close to his face where I could see him clearly and kiss him and talk to him and generally be affectionate. I was convinced (and still am to a large extent) that this is why he has a problem understanding personal space; for as long as he can remember, he's been taught to associate having his face very close to someone else's as being affectionate.

Whatever the cause, we felt that this was something we could work on. As with everything else, the best approach to take with him was a verbal one. We began an intensive campaign of "LR, I love you but you're standing too close." We would then stretch out his arm as far as we could and explain "If you can touch me, then you're standing too close." Not perfect, and not true under all circumstances certainly, but overall it works as a pretty good rule of thumb; mostly, it's fairly easy to learn. Over time, he began to get the hang of it. We noticed that we had to tell him this less and less often. He may never truly understand why he needs to do this. But he doesn't have to understand, he just has to do it.

Yesterday, I slipped up a bit. I started to lean over to kiss him and without thinking, took off my glasses, leaned in really close, kissed him on the nose and then looked at him for about two seconds without backing up first.

"Daddy. You're too close!"

Wow. I never thought I would hear him say that.

Four-year-old: 1
Daddy: 0

Knock, Knock! Who's There?

Well, it finally happened. LR's two weeks' shy of turning four and he's discovered Knock, Knock jokes. We had a Knock, Knock scare about six or eight months ago, but it never really went anywhere. At the time, he didn't really understand what he was doing and all we got was the punchline: "Knock, Knock!" "Who's There?" "Orange you glad I didn't say banana?" He would then giggle a lot and walk away. Okay, we could live with that; at least he wasn't making us go through that particularly endless joke. (For anyone not familiar with this joke, just consider yourself lucky and move on with your life).

Now, he still doesn't entirely understand what he's doing, but he knows that it's supposed to follow a specific formula and that it's supposed to be funny. The problem, of course, is that he still has a four-year-old's sense of what is, and is not, funny. Now, I absolutely appreciate the fact that he's actually making these jokes (and I use the term loosely) up on his own and I applaud his creativity. I do. But I also have to sit through them. So far, they are all variations on a single theme and he's repeating them endlessly with all the tirelessness that you'd expect from any preschooler who's discovered a new interest.

"Knock, Knock!" "Who's there?" "Daddy." "Daddy who?" "Daddy YOU!" [followed by hysterical giggling].
"Knock, Knock!" "Who's there?" "Mommy." "[Sigh]Mommy who?" "Mommy YOU!" [more hysterical giggling].
[Repeat the above ad nauseum.]

It's going to be a very long year.

New Article Re Hyper-Sensitivity to Emotions

A groundbreaking study suggests people with autism-spectrum disorders such as Asperger's do not lack empathy – rather, they feel others' emotions too intensely to cope.

People with Asperger's syndrome ... are often stereotyped as distant loners or robotic geeks. But what if what looks like coldness to the outside world is a response to being overwhelmed by emotion – an excess of empathy, not a lack of it?

Thus starts a fascinating article regarding new research into Autistic Spectrum Disorders. Judging from the comments on one Asperger's Forum, this research really strikes a chord with people who have children with Asperger's or who have been diagnosed with an ASD themselves. Given how much this resonates with me, I'm not surprised.

As the article touches upon briefly, many people with Asperger's or Autism have sensory perception problems. These can include hypersensitivity or hyposensitivity to light, sounds, touch, etc. Given the prevalence of such problems in conjunction with Autistic disorders, the suggestion that such people are also hypersensitive to the emotions of those around them makes a great deal of sense. (It's also hardly shocking to suggest that people who are hyper-aware of others emotions might have a problem understanding and learning the subtleties of non-verbal communication, a hallmark of many people diagnosed with ASD).

Obviously, my personal experiences with my own son are not proof of anything, but these suggestions make far more sense than many other things I've heard. I also know that my son is highly sensitive to loud noise and especially to strong emotions. Whenever I lose my temper and raise my voice at him, he covers his face and tries to hide behind his hands.

Maybe now I know why.

A Parent's Perspective

LR has always had a great ear (naming instruments used in a song, getting word pronunciations in English and in other languages exactly right, etc.), and he's always enjoyed making music. But up until very recently he refused to sing or play music in unison with anyone else, nor did he ever show any real interest in trying to play a tune with any of his instruments. Now, I never expected anything elaborate nor do I even know that other three-year-olds like to do so; I'm just saying he never did it.

So, I was very pleasantly surprised the other day when he began playing Frère Jacques the other day on his rhythm sticks. I was particularly impressed that I recognized it without him having to tell me what it was. We played it together for a while and he just kept improving. Of course, once Mommy got home he was no longer interested in showing off. At least, not right then.

The next morning, a weekend, my wife was awakened by the lovely sound of our son playing a recognizable version of Frère Jacques.....on his cymbals. Once she calmed down from her three-foot jump into the air, she told him what a great job he was doing (what a trooper). Like any good mother, she promptly told a number of friends about his accomplishment. One of these friends, obviously a parent of young ones herself, quickly wrote back and got right to the heart of the matter:

"What in the world could you possibly have done to someone that ticked them off enough that they gave your son cymbals?!?"

The Things We Do

Well, the poor Munchkin's sick. I've had a cold since the end of last week and apparently he caught it. (Although it probably came home with him in that petri dish they call a preschool). Last night he began tugging at his ear and told me it was hurting. Of course, this was about two minutes after the doctor's office closes. He was up most of the night crying on and off despite some attempts on our part to help with Tylenol. At least he got to sleep in Mommy & Daddy's bed.

Went to the doctor yesterday. Normally, this would be ample cause for major anxiety on the part of both parent and child. Luckily, our pediatrician is so incredibly good with him that he actually likes going to see her. No really! As far as he's concerned, a trip to the doctor means pushing elevator buttons, playing with a cool toy in the waiting room, getting read a story and playing with nifty crinkly-paper on the examining table before the doctor comes in, and then getting to play with the doctor. Granted, he hasn't gotten a shot from this doctor's office yet and his viewpoint may change quickly and drastically when he does, but in the meantime I'm definitely counting my blessings.

Anyway, the Munchkin has a "moderate" ear infection (I guess that doesn't sound too bad). He got a panda sticker and an antibiotic. In the past, the couple of times he's needed an antibiotic it's always been Amoxicillin. This usually comes pre-made with what they claim is a cherry flavor but which tasted like used bubblegum to me. No matter, LR loves the stuff calling it "Yummy Amoxicillin." (Yes, he really can routinely get out five-syllable words perfectly clearly and without hesitation).

This time the doctor wanted him to have something a bit stronger. The fact that this new stuff was only one dose per day and didn't need to be refrigerated made it an instant hit with Mommy and Daddy. Unfortunately, this time it came pre-made in what was apparently a not-so-yummy berry flavor. It took a trip back to the pharmacy for a pseudo-cherry flavor, a few drops of food coloring from Mommy in order to match the color of Amoxicillin, and then two hours of coaxing in order to actually get the dose into the sick child. In fact, I was reduced to telling him that this really was Amoxicillin; "Can't you tell from the color and the taste, sweetheart?" This from the Daddy who is constantly reassuring his son with "LR, you know I don't tell you things that aren't true."

But I'm going to have to leave the angst and the guilt for another day. Right now, I haven't slept since Monday night and all I know is that between some judiciously-timed Tylenol and some fabricated Amoxicillin my son is out cold and he's even in his own bed. I intend to enjoy it.

That's My Boy

Well, after yesterday's incredibly depressing entry I decided to lighten up. I came across a blog entry the other day. The blogger explained that he had run across a 50 question, multiple choice test that is supposed to help diagnose adult Autism Spectrum Disorders [ASD]. Obviously, if one is truly concerned about anyone having an ASD they should be contacting a medical professional, not taking an internet quiz. But, that said, he was surprised to see that "it seems like a thumbnail description of your average geek." (Before anyone gets all worked up because he called your child a geek, he makes it abundantly clear that he too is a geek).

Apparently, this observation doesn't even come close to something resembling a new concept. (See: The Geek Syndrome at Wired.com). However, "it's new to me" so I suppose that counts for something. [Those of you who don't remember NBC's bizarre attempt to alter the meaning of the word "rerun," by claiming that if you personally hadn't seen it then it was "New to you!" can read about it here).

Hmmm....I know I had a train of thought in here somewhere. Ah, right! The test. Basically, the test is pretty much what I described above. You can take the test either at Wired or at the Pie Palace .

Of course, given that my wife and I are concerned, perfectionistic, and rather obsessive parents we both took the test as soon as we found it. Basically, it scores your responses to each question and then spits out a number. This is your Autism Spectrum Quotient (AQ). It's on a scale of 1 to 50. The average score for people in the control group (i.e., people who do not have an ASD) was 16.4. Conversely, 80% of the people who had been diagnosed with an ASD scored 32 or higher.

I took it. I got a 26. My wife took it, she got a 31. I can't imagine where he gets it from.

Worst Father in the World

I know that LR is exactly the same person as he was two weeks ago. Our going to a psychologist and hearing from someone else that our son has strengths and weaknesses that fall into a pattern making it probable that he has Asperger's or something else included in the Autistic Spectrum Disorders (ASD) category changes nothing. As I said in my first post: "Our son is still the exact same wonderful little person that he's always been."

And I mean it. I know it in my head and I even know it in my heart. So why do I find myself analyzing his behavior trying to figure out if this or that little thing is related? Why do I suddenly care more than I did before what other people think of his behavior? I know it's a cliche to say that "Anyone who doesn't appreciate him for who he is isn't worth wasting our time on. It's their loss." But many times cliches are cliches simply because they're true.

I love every single part of whom with all my heart.

But I still can't stop worrying about his behavior and what it might mean. And I still can't stop worrying about what other people think. See? Worst father in the world. Maybe I'm just being human. I hope so.

Too Sweet for Words

LR went on a field-trip with his school the other day. They went to a local farm, had a hayride and picked fresh strawberries. Why didn't my school do cool things like that?? Anyway, that afternoon, when I asked him if he wanted to eat some of them he said "Yes" and insisted that I wash five of them. I knew there was no chance of him eating five strawberries. While he's remarkably good about eating a wide variety of foods, and about trying new ones, getting him to eat anything in quantity has always been.....um, trying. Being a good Daddy (And one who's learned the hard way about picking his battles; this one didn't even come close) I proceeded to wash five of them figuring I could always eat whatever he didn't. That was apparently the plan all along. He categorically refused to eat more than one, saying that the rest were all "for Daddy." I thanked him several times for sharing. But, despite being an incredibly sweet gesture, I didn't think too much about it because one of his best qualities is that he will almost always offer to share whatever he's eating, even chocolate.

But tonight, after we got him to sleep, I realized that we had forgotten to give him more of his strawberries. Time was very much of the essence because they were all very ripe to begin with and apparently four-year-old fingers tend to squish very ripe strawberries. But my wife corrected me. It turns out that she had offered them to him more than once today and was turned down each time. Why? "They're Daddy's strawberries. I picked them for Daddy."

He may not know it yet, but he's got a "Get Out of Jail Free" card for at least a week.

Being Polite is Never a Bad Thing

We have, of course, been trying (and trying) to teach LR manners over the course of his short life. This recently bore surprising fruit.

I was on the phone and LR came in from the other room. He walked right over, said "Excuse me Daddy," and then stood there waiting for me to acknowledge him. For a moment I was a bit stunned, because this occurrence was about as likely as Bill O'Reilly moving to Massachusetts and marrying Barney Frank. Once I collected my thoughts I asked my friend to hold on and said "Thank you very much for saying 'excuse me,' what can I do for you sweetheart?" Surprisingly, he had already turned around and was halfway out of the room by the time I asked him this. I tried again. "LR, did you want something?" He turned and said "No. I burped in the other room so I came in to say 'excuse me.'"

It may not be what I expected, but I'll take whatever I can get.

Analyzing Myself to Death

I took a quick look at my last post and realized something. We always considered LR's hair-splitting legal arguments as very amusing and indicative of nothing more than a bit of a stubborn streak combined with one heck of a good vocabulary. (I may be wrong about the vocabulary, but the other three-year-olds I know don't have the word loveseat in their vocabulary and they certainly can't distinguish it from a sofa; half of my adult friends can't do that last part!)

But now I'm constantly over-analyzing every single thing my son says or does to see if he really does (or doesn't) meet some of the diagnostic criteria for anything on the Autism Spectrum of Disorders. So now, instead of simply enjoying his retorts I spend my nights worrying about whether or not the examples I gave are actually a "symptom." Many tests for ASD include questions asking whether your child is "overly literal." So which is it? Can anyone possibly know for sure? At the end of the day, does it really matter??

I'm trying to convince myself that it absolutely does not matter in the slightest. I'll keep trying that for the next few days and let you know how it turns out. Although I think we all the answer already.

As an aside, when your little one comes back with a great line (intended or otherwise), it does get more than a little difficult to reprimand them while you're trying to keep yourself from giggling. C'mon, don't try and give me that little superior look disparaging my parenting skills; you've all been there and you know it.

The Ups and Downs

Our son, LR, has always had incredible verbal skills. When you combine a "good ear" (for music, sounds, anything), with an ability to mimic sounds well enough to easily end up in the principal's office for doing teacher impressions, and attach them to an amazing memory you end up with a child who knows one heck of a lot of words. He had even begun learning how to read when he was about 3 1/4 with a natural ease that was just wonderful to watch. Words became just one more toy on his shelves that he wanted to take down and play with.

For some reason, about 5 or 6 months ago, he just stopped. Completely "cold turkey." He would sometimes still want his letter and word oriented videos, he would still, sometimes, be willing to tell me what sounds individual letters, but overall he was clearly just not interested. The number of books he wanted me to read to him also declined.

Then, the other night, my wife started to read a bedtime story to him and he took the and simply began reading it. Well. Very well. He certainly stumbled over the big words (like "especially;" heck, I know adults who would stumble over that one), but he just asked for help whenever he needed it and then went on. He ended up reading her the whole book!

While he definitely needs some help in some areas, it's nights like that that help me get through some of the other days. Thankfully, nights like that are definitely in the majority.

And So It Begins....

Well, it's official. We met with the psychologist yesterday and it seems that our 4 year old son almost definitely has Asperger Syndrome, Pervasive Developmental Disorder, or some other equally horrible sounding problem falling somewhere in the area of "Autistic Spectrum Disorders." What this basically boils down to is that our beautiful, brilliant, loving, and generally adorable child is going to have a more difficult life than he would otherwise.

It's funny. Up until recently, it would never have occurred to us that his being brilliant would count as a strike against him. While it's not something used to make a diagnosis, above-average intelligence tends to correlate fairly well with Asperger's. (And no, the intelligence assessment is not just the typical "my kid's the smartest one in his class!"; we had his IQ tested while he was being assessed and his verbal IQ is well over the 99th percentile).

I am well aware that this is not a death sentence and, unfortunately, far worse things happen to parents and children every day. But in no way can I think of this as a "good" thing.

At the same time, nothing has actually changed. Our son is still the exact same wonderful little person that he's always been. Even better, now that we have a better idea of what his strengths and weaknesses are (and we all have our own) we are in a much better position to try and help him. Working with the psychologist and his incredibly caring teacher, we can begin using those strengths (incredible memory, incredible language skills, and overall high cognitive ability) to help him work through his weaknesses. As an aside, if every teacher in the world was half as caring and passionate about their students as his is, the world would be a truly amazing place. Every day, I thank G-d for bringing her to us just as we're learning how badly we need someone like that right now).

So....He's having a problem understanding that his friends don't like him talking to them with his face only 6 inches away from theirs? Okay. We just have to get him to learn this. He may never truly understand why this is the case, but there's no reason at all that he can't be taught this just as easily as we all try and teach our children that there are "some things you just don't do." He's having a problem understanding how someone feels based on a subtle facial expression? Okay, we can help him to begin to simply memorize that "when someone's eyebrows are like "this," and their mouth is like "that," and their eyes are like "that," it usually means that they're feeling angry. (For example, I've been told that adults with Asperger Syndrome are sometimes sent to classes very similar to the ones that police officers are sent to in order to learn body-language, e.g., to help them know when someone is lying).

We know it's not going to be easy for any of us. But not only does he have good support from both his family and his teachers, he truly wants to learn these things. He's also engaging enough, and caring enough, that other children like to be with him, usually enjoy playing with him, and are almost always willing to cut him some slack when he's just "not getting it."

We're truly blessed to have him. And I sincerely believe that anyone else who allows him into their life is very definitely richer for having done so.