Gleaning Wisdom From Wall-E

I finally got around to watching Wall-E with my son this week. For anyone not familiar with the movie, Wall-E is an animated movie put out by Pixar last year to rave reviews. The movie takes place in the far future where Wall-E, a cleaning robot, is attempting to clean an Earth long since covered in trash and deserted. He meets another robot named Eva, hijinks ensue, and they end up falling in love, saving the Earth, and all of humanity.

This movie sounded perfect. LR loves cartoons (there's a shock), learned all about Earth Day recently, and was given a toy Wall-E robot a while back which he loves (albeit mainly because the toy winks at him). What I had not taken into account, mainly because I didn't think of it, was that a child who is currently struggling with reading other people's emotions might have a problem figuring out precisely how the animated robot might feel.

His difficulty came from a number of sources, not the least of which is the fact that the robots rarely speak, they have neither noses nor mouths, and no eyebrows (although one of the main robot's eyes do change shape as if she did have eyebrows). The only emotional cues are body language and robotic beeps. Suffice it to say that while I loved the movie, I basically spent ninety minutes giving my son a running commentary on what each of the characters was feeling at any given moment, why they were feeling this, and how I knew. Granted, this is probably excellent practice for him, and precisely the kind of activity I should be doing with him, but it's hardly a good way to enjoy a movie.

Are most children this bad at this, or is this "a symptom?" If other kids do have this problem (and I assume they all have at least some problems learning body language) is four the right age for it or should he have already picked up on most of this by now? I have no idea. I guess it's just one more thing I have to go out and learn.

A Changing Perspective

Last Friday, I wrote a piece about my son's seemingly endless imaginary friends. Afterward, I realized that I hadn't included the story about his first imaginary friend. Yes, the piece is already fairly long as is, but still. This used to be one of my favorite stories about him. That's when it hit me. I really don't tell this story anymore.

LR discovered imaginative play later than his friends. Despite an extremely active curiosity about absolutely everything, his interest never ventured into the realm of "What if?" We were therefore both very happy when, one morning seemingly out of nowhere, he told us that he had a friend named Goldy. Knowing full well that he knew no one with that name, we quickly asked about her. He explained that she was a goldfish and that she was invisible. We said "Cool! Where is she?" and he gave us a look that I hadn't expected (hoped?) to see until his teens. Any parent would recognize it instantly. It's the one where he doesn't say a word but is thinking so loudly that he can be heard down the block. "Could these people really be this stupid?" This was immediately followed by a verbal response in such an incredibly condescending tone that, once again, I would have sworn that he was fifteen. "I don't know where she is. I can't see her. She's invisible."

Frankly, that makes pretty good sense and we quickly forgave him for the attitude. At the time, this was pretty much the cutest thing we had ever heard. We knew that he had an excellent vocabulary, but we were particularly impressed by his understanding of the precise meaning of the word "invisible." After all, if something's truly invisible then he wouldn't be able to see it.

Once I began reading more about Asperger's, however, my perception changed. Rather than indicating a superb command of the language, this little exchange began to seem more like a symptom. As the National Institute of health explains: "[C]hildren with Asperger syndrome tend to have good vocabularies and grammar skills. But they usually have other language problems, such as being very literal..." That pretty much sums up the whole thing, doesn't it? It certainly appears to provide the best explanation for his "superb understanding of vocabulary."

Somehow, this story just doesn't seem so funny anymore.

It's Great to Have Friends -- I Think

LR was still home today. But the monotony was occasionally broken because he had a friend with him. No, we did not recklessly expose another child to an ear infection and week-long diarrhea. This friend was an invisible baby bird. This particular choice seems to have been inspired by our not-so-exciting encounter with a baby mockingbird on Wednesday. (I'm still kicking myself that it didn't occur to me to take pictures until three hours after I let her go).

I know it's completely normal to have an imaginary friend; our son has an invisible menagerie. Today, it was a baby bird. Earlier in the week it was several animal friends from the t.v. show Little Bear. Another day it was a number of animal friends from the t.v. show Ni Hao, Kai-Lan. The rest of the time it is usually invisible incarnations of his friends from school; I'm sure they'd all be amazed to find out how often they're "visiting" LR.

I have no problem with any of this, although it can get a bit confusing as to exactly who is here on which day and my getting such things wrong is treated as a mortal sin. My problem arises from the way in which he interacts with them. While he is generally able to tell me where they are, he categorically refuses to speak to them directly. In fact, he insists that he cannot hear them at all and he therefore relies on me to provide a running commentary from them about different things he may be doing or watching. I cannot begin to describe just how quickly these "conversations" wear thin. "What's the bird think about this picture?" "Does he like my super bouncy ball?" "How does he feel if I lose it?"

Now, my understanding of imaginary friends, while admittedly very limited, is that they are most often used to work out some fear or problem in their lives. As one psychologist explains:

Imaginary companions are an integral part of many children's lives. They provide comfort in times of stress, companionship when they're lonely, someone to boss around when they feel powerless, and someone to blame for the broken lamp in the living room. Most important, an imaginary companion is a tool young children use to help them make sense of the adult world.

In my case, this actually provides me with a fair amount of insight. The vast majority of the questions my son asks about his imaginary friends are about emotions. "How does my friend think that boy in the book feels?" "What does my friend think about that girl who accidentally spilled her paint?" LR is trying desperately to comprehend emotions. Exactly which feelings make up which emotions; when do people feel certain emotions; what body language and/or facial expressions convey specific emotions. It's not that he doesn't experience these emotions, he has a great deal of empathy and gets very upset if someone else is sad, but he is having difficulty in reading other people's emotions.

And that would appear to be why he insists that only I can hear them, that I have to tell him what they think/feel. He is constantly trying to monitor his own emotions and reactions to things, and to understand the emotions he sees displayed by others. When his friends "comment" on these things he is able to compare their answer to his internal thoughts/feelings and he can use them as a learning guide when he truly does not know how someone is feeling.

It is extremely difficult for any child to fully understand the concept of "putting ones self in another's place" until they have gown through the five to seven year shift. They simply don't possess that cognitive ability. For children with Asperger's this problem is significantly worse. Pretty much by definition, they have a problem learning and understanding the non-verbal cues in social relationships; this includes those cues, such as facial expression and body language, that help one to determine another person's emotional state.

As annoying as these seemingly endless, one-way conversations with invisible people and animals can be, I am astounded that LR seems to have come up with what I think is a rather ingenious method of trying to learn these cues.

I should probably consider myself lucky that, at least for the moment, he does not expect me to have his Chinese friends (e.g., the ones from Ni Hao, Kai-Lan) speak to him exclusively in Mandarin Chinese. I suspect that day is coming.

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.

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.

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.