Airplanes & Autism

Despite knowing the “fundamentals” such as colors, shapes, counting, the alphabet, writing his name, and reading chapter books on his own, kindergarten wasn’t exactly a smooth transition for my oldest son.  

While the academic skills were easily mastered, he was somehow lacking in the "social skills" category. After starting school, my once happy boy was more like a soldier on a mission. Boarding the school bus each day was the start of his mission, which only ended when he disembarked at the end of the day. 

As a means to better understand his aloof mannerisms, and hopefully

peel back this protective barrier my son put around himself, 

I started asking him some key questions at the end of every school day. Once he returned home, I would sit next to him and ask about his day at school. More importantly, I asked about his classmates. 

Who sat next to him in class?

What was their name?

Who stood next to him in line?

What was their name?

Who talked to him during recess?

What was their name?

No matter how varied my questions were, day after day, my son’s response was always the same. Silence. Despite my persistence, he refused to answer my questions. Mainly because he didn’t know the answers. He truly didn’t know the names of anyone in his class. It was as if they didn’t exist, at least not to him.

Day after day, I repeated these questions hoping my son would eventually acknowledge the other students in his class. This pattern continued on through Kindergarten, 1st, 2nd, 3rd & 4th grade. It was a slow, frustrating process, offering no signs that I was making any headway. Until I got a random call from my son’s 5th grade teacher, stating that we needed to meet asap to discuss some "concerning behavior". 

Since his kindergarten days, my son had been diagnosed with both ADHD and Asperger’s Syndrome, which now falls under the Autism umbrella. Because of this, my son had a team of 4-5 specialists at school. On the day of the call, not only was I summoned to attend the meeting, but so were various members of his team. After juggling everyone’s schedule, we finally arranged to meet the next day

. 

I felt a pang of uncertainty as I paced the empty classroom the following day, wondering what “concerning behavior” my son was exhibiting to prompt this emergency meeting, of sorts. A few minutes later, a member of the team arrived, interrupting me in my thoughts. She greeted me warmly and explained that the other members of the team were called away and wouldn’t be able to attend the meeting. It would just be the two of us. We chatted briefly before the teacher walked into the classroom, with a hurried apology.

Knowing that time was of the essence before the students returned to class, the teacher jumped right into the matter at hand. With annoyance spilling off of his words, he recounted how my son and his friend made paper airplanes and flew them during class instruction. He went on to explain that one of the paper airplanes landed in the overhead lights, which meant another interruption as the janitor was called into class to remove the paper airplane from the light. After the teacher finished sharing the events as he saw them, I asked him to verified the details once again. The team member and I looked back and forth at each other, as the teacher confirmed the facts. Almost on cue, we both started laughing.

Now, I’m sure my son’s behavior must’ve been very frustrating for this seasoned teacher, however, this team member & I heard something in the teacher’s retelling that we felt was worth celebrating. My son had a friend. I waited years for my son to be aware of those around him, only to learn from his 5th grade teacher that he finally had a friend.

Acting like a typical boy, he and his friend got into some innocent mischief and we couldn’t have been more thrilled. While my son never flew paper airplanes in class after that, a pivotal moment took place from that paper airplane and a friend. A friend that helped my son step outside his protective barrier, and finally acknowledge those around him. 

I’ll forever be grateful for paper airplanes and friendships that see beyond our barriers.