...stand alone...

Our town library has recently adopted a Lego Club program.  Previously, we had to travel quite a bit farther to a different library in our county system to attend their once-monthly offering, and the travel time always cut into my dinner prep.  So it's quite nice to now be able to just pop down the road to our library instead. The fact that it's one of his most-favourite places is the icing on the cake.  I know every time we walk in the doors, he'll be fine.  No high-alert autism-parenting needed!

 Several years ago he and I sat down one afternoon after yet another in-store meltdown, to compose a list of his favourite and least favourite places...and why they were so determined.  At the top of his least favourite places?  WalMart.  Bad smell, crowded, buzzy sounds, and ouchy lighting that hurt his head were his reasons.  What a lightbulb moment that was.  I always get a headache and nausea when I go into WalMart.  Every single time.  I literally have to rush in, grab the few things I can only every get there, and rush back out in under 5 minutes if I want to avoid symptoms.  Now I know why!

Anyhow, among his favourite places....in fact, topping the list...was the library in town.  He told me the lighting is just right, the sound is just right and he likes the way the books smell.  Plus, the window seat is both comfy and hidden, so he can curl up with Henry and a pile of adventures, while disappearing into the woodwork. Add in the playground in back? So great his 6 year old self named it The Super Playground...which we still call it now!  Given all that, you can probably guess that we spend as much time in this happy place as possible.  I check the website at the start of each month to see what program offerings there are and sign him up as soon as registration opens.  The librarians there all know him by name and favourite book searches.  In fact, there's one librarian who beats him to the punch every time...calling up the list of books he usually inquires about before he even gets to her desk.  They've each taken me aside at various points to comment on his growth and improvement.  One of my intangible treasures is a whispered conversation in the stacks several years ago, when his favourite librarian gleefully told me he made eye contact with her for the first time. She was positively giddy!  So sweet!

Yesterday evening, we swung by for the second session of the new Lego Club.  Thankfully, it was a light homework night!  The turn-out is good for a new program, though the autism-parent in me is nervous for the day it really takes off.  Crowds and the volume they tend to create are both major triggers for him.  I usually wait back a bit these days at the beginning, checking out the new fiction arrivals before sneaking into the program room to observe.  There was a time, not so very long ago, when he simply would not participate without me and deflected all the decision making in any project onto me.  In the past year or so I've become much better at removing myself from the equation, and he has gradually put his feelers out...

So in I snuck, right behind his back, and made my way to the very corner where the window seat was partially blocked by an easel.  From there, I could sit quietly and watch as he constructed.  All the other tables were full...four or five children and/or parents all dipping into the community bin for Lego bricks.  Their projects spreading out across the table, running into one another and onto the floor.  Little arguments here and there, as children vied for some suddenly uncovered piece in the bin. The quiet compromises of their parents in hushed tones and gently firm hands.  

But over at the back table, there was but one pair of hands dipping in and out of the bin.  One pair of hands feverishly constructing, destructing and rebuilding.  My son sat alone in the middle of the broad expanse.  Seemingly oblivious to the presence of others, or the sound of their chatter.  Henry sat in the chair next to him...purposely seated in such a way as to get the best view of the project underway.  I looked at the other tables and listened to the buzz of conversations, then back to his table where he worked steadily in silence.  

My son is an independent sort of fellow.  Given his druthers, he'd choose isolation as his workspace every time. Even when that's not an option, he finds a way to create it for himself...tuning out the world completely.   Social gatherings overwhelm him.  Group projects unhinge him.  Sometimes even my involvement in a task sets off a chain reaction of frustration. Cooperation and compromise are not in his toolbox.  

I sat in that corner, unobserved myself, watching the projects slowly come together.  I watched my son complete his task without ever acknowledging the world around him...without ever joining in on the group's activity.  I smiled now and then as I watched him adjust his creation...shoulders tensing in frustration and lowering when he solved his problem.  I can read him like a book.  His frame full of clues.  Never once did I feel the need to get up and go to his side.   He didn't need me.  He had it well in hand.  He could stand alone.

So he did.  He sat alone at the table and disappeared into his own world while he created.  He sat alone at  the table and disappeared into that world populated with Transformers and Creepers and Henry and Katja and Mami.  He sat alone, but he wasn't.    

~Leanna