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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
Showing posts with label Symptom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Symptom. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, June 1, 2009
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.
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.
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