Two Aspies Are Better Than One

Yesterday was my last day of mentoring for the current school year. And since LM is already out of school, I asked him if he wanted to come along with me-- you know, to help.

"Why?" He asked. He always asks such awesome questions.

"Because LPB has Asperger's just like you! And I thought you'd like to meet him-- he doesn't have very many friends."

This got LM to thinking. He's a champion of the underdog, after all, and I knew I'd reel him in with that little tidbit.

"Okay."

When we got to the school and caught sight of LPB, my little man walked right up to him. Shy is not a word in his vocabulary.

"Hi! My name's LM, what's your name?"

LPB didn't answer at first, but then reluctantly proffered his name. LM then stuck his hand out to shake (the wrong hand), and LPB took it (with the doubly wrong hand) and I smiled down at their awkward exchange. This was gonna be fun.

We sat down to play a game together and I marveled at these two boys. One would say something, the other would completely ignore it, and neither seemed offended by this trend. I thought to myself, "Sheesh-- why bother with conversation at all?" but for some reason unbeknownst to me, this style of communication was working for them.

The game soon morphed into a sort of imaginary scenario in which game pieces became bombs and all hell broke loose. I don't know when or how it happened-- but they were totally tracking with each other.

"Pretend this is their ship and they are going to attack the enemy."

"This one's army is about to bomb the bad guys!"

"I'm sending a spy to see what the enemy is doing."

Sometimes they'd listen and go along with the other one's idea, but more often than not, they played in a sort of parallel manner rather than actually intersecting. And yet, they managed just fine. (Neither of them talked to me one iota, by the way. I could have gone out for coffee and wouldn't have been missed.)

At the end of our hour, LM and I left, and you know what? He hasn't mentioned LPB since. And I'm pretty sure LPB hasn't given LM any thought either. Aspies....

The LPB

A hug! He gave me a freakin' hug! (You'll have to pardon my French, but it's completely apropos considering it's my Aspie mentee we're talking about here.)

A hug may seem like a simple enough affair, especially for those of you who know LM and just how huggable that little dude is. But not all Aspies are as touchy-feely as my LM. The LPB has never gotten in my personal bubble before, so a hug was completely unexpected.  But here I am, starting with the end of the story....

Today was a bit different than usual. When I got to the school The LPB informed me, "I've got my coat on, so we're going outside today."

What? A break in routine? Game on! But, still, I had to double-check. "So...no K'nex today?"

"No-- we can't play K'nex outside."

Oh. Duh. If only Aspie logic was more prevalent in the wide, wide world. Only problem is...I hate going outside. I go outside for three reasons: to get in my car, to take a jog or walk when I'm fed up with my treadmill, or when somebody makes me (which isn't often because, let's face it, I'm a grown-up now). I don't like to go hang out in the great outdoors. Blech! Yet, it's not all about me, is it?

But first we had to eat lunch. And I noticed The LPB eyeing my juice. "You...uh...want my juice?"

"Yep," he said, grabbing it and handing me his chocolate milk.  "We'll trade today." He then made short work of my apple-berry blend.

"You wanna see somethin' fun?" I asked, a wicked gleam in my eye. "But we gotta wait until those Kindergartners pass by first," I whispered conspiratorially. We watched the little guys traipse past on their way to the lunch line, trying to look as innocent as possible. When they were out of sight, I blew up the juice pouch and set it on the floor. Then I stomped on it; hard. What I was trying to do was send the straw flying across the room. But what happened in reality was that a spray of juice rocketed over the carpet, the straw staying firmly in place. (Guess I should have made sure the pouch was empty first. Oops.)  I know I should have been mortified, but we laughed our heads off. I'd never seen him laugh before.

Then we headed outside, whereupon I learned my fate for the rest of our time together. I was to become a bomb deactivator. I have no employable skills in this area, but I accepted the job regardless. (Don't let anyone tell you Aspies don't have imaginations. They just have...different ways of actualizing their imaginary worlds than us neuro-typicals.)  The LPB has a very literal, logical imagination. For instance, when I took out my keys and said, "Wait a minute! I have a bomb deactivating tool! Look!" he stared at my keys and stated, "those are keys."  "I know they're keys! But we're pretending!"  Hey, if he was taking me outside my box, I certainly wasn't going to let him stay all comfy-cozy in his.

I also learned that to play in LPB's world means to do everything he tells me to and to keep my ideas to myself; he doesn't want or need them.

"Hey! I think I see a suspicious-looking building over there! Must be a bomb nearby!"

"No, that's just a storage shed. There's no bomb in there."

"Oh." And so on.

But by the time we went inside, I'd learned a thing or two about saving the elementary school from bomb-laying evil-doers. We marched inside to meet his class, all lined up in the hallway. We were smiling and rosy-cheeked from running around the field in search of bombs. And that's when he hugged me. I was saying goodbye, and didn't even expect him to acknowledge it. let alone initiate physical contact.

I won't see him next Monday (President's Day), but that hug will last me until our next "appointment".

K'necting

After nearly a month away (winter break and yada yada), I was able to meet with my Aspie mentee today.   Boy, did I miss him!

Today there was no "get to know you period" like last time, he came out in full force with a proclamation immediately upon seeing me.

"Did you know that the first letter of my name," and here he pauses for dramatic effect as I hold my breath in excited anticipation for the revelation to come, "is a letter from the alphabet?"  I have to admit, the news is less than stunning, but I play along.

"Whoa!"

"Actually, every letter in my name is from the alphabet!"  He looks mighty pleased with himself.

I put my finger to my chin, tapping in thought.  "You know what?  Same here!  And guess what else?  Our names both start with the same letter!  Cool, huh?"

He couldn't care less.  Didn't even dignify my statement with a response.  One thing you have to realize about many Aspies is that they're very interested in their own revelations, and couldn't give a rip about yours.  (Unless your revelation is that you'd like to take them out to ice cream, give them money, etc.)  This makes me smile, however, because this perceived egocentrism is one of their many qualities that I find rather endearing.  But I know not to waste time trying to get him to recognize and respond to my jibber-jabber.  I'll save that for when I have something really important to say.

Instead, we move on to the main event: K'nex.  This boy is a Lego and K'nex junkie, and being that my mentee (hmmm, the kid needs a blog name!  Henceforth I will refer to him as "The Little Polar Bear" or The LPB) is very routine-oriented, I doubt our 45-minutes together will ever veer much from this activity.  That's okay with me.  After all, I'm learning a valuable new skill.  Hey, have you ever tried to build anything out of K'nex? It ain't easy.

We take out the robots we built the last time we hung out.  "They want to watch us build something else."

"Okay," I say.  "Should they stand together to watch?  Are they friends or enemies?"

The LPB looks at me as though I'm an idiot, which of course I am.  "They're friends because we're friends!"

"Ah-hah!"

And apparently, being friends means I have to share my lunch with him.

"Are you going to eat those?" he asks, pointing to my little bag of Pirate's Booty.  They'd been sitting there for a while as I busied myself with the K'nex.

"Would you like some?  I'll share!"

He digs in.  We sit side by side for the rest of our time, building and chatting, tearing down and building again.  I gently probe him for details of his social life.  He asks me nothing except to "pass the Pirate's Booty!" every now and then, or to inform me that I've just put the wrong piece in the wrong spot.  Sometimes, I push back on his social awkwardness just a tad.  I mean, what's the point of having a mentor if they don't teach you anything?  And as we grow closer, I'll push a little more, but for now I want him to know that I accept him hook, line and sinker.

When we're finished, he has no issues returning his tray (like last time).  It's already business as usual.  I smile at him, "Thanks for hanging out!  I'll see you soon!"

He doesn't say good-bye.  But I didn't expect him to.

A New Friend

Our church partners with an organization that matches elementary school children (from disadvantaged backgrounds) with an adult mentor.  When I heard that the school was in need of a mentor for a 2nd grade boy with Asperger's...well, it was irresistible!  I started today.

If you've met one Aspie, you've met...one Aspie.  They're all a little different, so I wasn't expecting this particular fella to be a carbon copy of my LM.  But there were so many similarities I felt an immediate connection to the kiddo.  (It's quite possible he'll be a great new source of quotes, in fact.)

For instance, when asked (per a questionnaire) whether he speaks a foreign language he replied definitively, "Yes."

"Oh?  Which one?"

"Cat.  'Meow'," he demonstrated.  He wasn't kidding around.

"Great news!" I exclaimed, "I speak Cat, too!"  But we conversed in English the entire time, as we are both more fluent in our native tongue than that of the feline variety.

When I first met him he wouldn't look at me (familiar!) and when I asked him questions he didn't respond (familiar!), but as soon as we sat down and began building our robots out of K'nex, the floodgates opened (familiar!).  So I decided to probe him to find out if he was aware of his diagnosis.

"Hey, guess what?  I have a little boy just a year older than you-- he has Asperger's.  Have you...ever heard of that?"

He didn't even look up to acknowledge my question, he was too busy connecting his tiny building pieces together, but eventually he mumbled, "Nope."  He was completely uninterested in hearing more, and I know the futility of trying to press on regardless.  So, unfortunately, this is a subject we'll have to avoid.

When it was time for me to leave we took his lunch tray back to the cafeteria to return it.  We walked in and stood in a line of kids waiting to do the same thing.  Suddenly he stopped, shoved his tray in my hands and shouted, "I'm not returning it!"  His eyes wild and wide.

"You're not?" I asked, confused.  This is pretty routine stuff, after all, and most Aspies are big fans of routine.  He started to run off, leaving me standing there with his dirty tray.  I hastily threw it on the pile (knocking a small girl in the head in the process-- oops!) and rushed to catch up to the little guy.

"Why didn't you want to return your tray?"

"I'm scared!" he shouted at me, angry.

"You're scared of what?" I asked, determined to get to the bottom of this.

"The Kindergartners!"

I withheld my giggle and probed further.  "So...the Kindergartners are scary?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"I don't know them!"

Aha!  "So, you're scared of people you don't know?"

"Yes!"came the firm, yet calmer reply.  He was upset, marching back to his classroom in a major huff.  Those dang Kindergarters had really upset his routine.  Normally he doesn't encounter them at lunch, but being with me had changed his schedule.  Good to know....

"Thanks for hanging out with me today!  I know you really wanted a boy mentor," I offered as a parting statement, "so is it okay that I'm a girl instead?"

"You know...I was just thinking of a girl mentor.  I was thinking of you."  He didn't look at me.  If he had, I might have cried.

He stepped into his classroom and didn't look back.  I already adore him.