Leftovers
By Ann Densmore
Editor's note: The opinions expressed herein are those of the author exclusively.
By Ann Densmore
Editor's note: The opinions expressed herein are those of the author exclusively.
Some children with autism feel like “leftovers” when they enter a playground. Older children tell me that they listen to playground talk, but by the time they figure out what their friends are saying, they're gone. It feels like a person arriving at the dinner table and there is nothing but leftovers. They pace the playground alone.
I've worked with children with autism for over thirty years. Yesterday, I was in a sandbox with a three year old boy with autism. He was tapping his sand pail with a tree leaf, and was singing sound combinations. A peer approached him, and asked, “Why are you tapping that thing?”
Noah has no speech, except for sounds and song. He looks up at his friend. As his friend reaches to take the leaf, Noah screams.
His friend says, “I'll show how to make a cake!” I watch.
The friend scoops up sand, pouring it into the sand pail. Noah watches the grains of sand fall. He smiles. His friend pours more. Noah scoops up a few grains and pours them in the pail. They look at each other. The sand falls, reaching the top of the pail. Noah giggles.
There is no exchange of words, but there is communication. Noah shrieks with laughter. He jumps up and dances around the pail. He kicks it over. The sand spills. His friend laughs.
I say, “Oh, bummer. It's gone. Let's make another cake.”
The three of us pour more sand in the pail. It hits the top. I turn the pail upside down. With both hands, I lift up the bucket and the “cake” appears.
Noah says, “Ahhhh. It's a cake!” Tears come into my eyes. He uses a subject, a verb, and a noun!” I wait. Noah looks at the cake and lifts his boot.
His friend places his hand on his boot, saying, “No. It's a cake. Look!” He uses a leaf, pretending to eat a piece of cake. Noah looks at his leaf. He flaps it on the top of the cake. His friend stretches his hand toward Noah.
Noah looks up and places his precious leaf in his friend's hand. His friend stands the leaf on top of the cake.
“Look, Noah. It's a candle.” I say.
Noah jumps up and dances around the cake without stepping on it. The entire preschool class comes over to watch Noah dance. The tiny red fall leaf stands tall on the top of his cake, swaying with the wind. His friend sings Happy Birthday as fifteen classmates join in. Noah sings the last line with them, “Happy birthday to you!” As the song ends, he throws his body on the cake.
His friend says, “That's okay. Let's make another one.”
Noah scoops up a handful of sand, watching the grain fall into the pail as he sees his classmates surround him.
He shouts, “Make another cake!”
Noah is not a leftover that day.
Excerpted from: Helping Children with Autism Become More Social: 76 Ways to Use Narrative Play (Praeger, 2007)
I've worked with children with autism for over thirty years. Yesterday, I was in a sandbox with a three year old boy with autism. He was tapping his sand pail with a tree leaf, and was singing sound combinations. A peer approached him, and asked, “Why are you tapping that thing?”
Noah has no speech, except for sounds and song. He looks up at his friend. As his friend reaches to take the leaf, Noah screams.
His friend says, “I'll show how to make a cake!” I watch.
The friend scoops up sand, pouring it into the sand pail. Noah watches the grains of sand fall. He smiles. His friend pours more. Noah scoops up a few grains and pours them in the pail. They look at each other. The sand falls, reaching the top of the pail. Noah giggles.
There is no exchange of words, but there is communication. Noah shrieks with laughter. He jumps up and dances around the pail. He kicks it over. The sand spills. His friend laughs.
I say, “Oh, bummer. It's gone. Let's make another cake.”
The three of us pour more sand in the pail. It hits the top. I turn the pail upside down. With both hands, I lift up the bucket and the “cake” appears.
Noah says, “Ahhhh. It's a cake!” Tears come into my eyes. He uses a subject, a verb, and a noun!” I wait. Noah looks at the cake and lifts his boot.
His friend places his hand on his boot, saying, “No. It's a cake. Look!” He uses a leaf, pretending to eat a piece of cake. Noah looks at his leaf. He flaps it on the top of the cake. His friend stretches his hand toward Noah.
Noah looks up and places his precious leaf in his friend's hand. His friend stands the leaf on top of the cake.
“Look, Noah. It's a candle.” I say.
Noah jumps up and dances around the cake without stepping on it. The entire preschool class comes over to watch Noah dance. The tiny red fall leaf stands tall on the top of his cake, swaying with the wind. His friend sings Happy Birthday as fifteen classmates join in. Noah sings the last line with them, “Happy birthday to you!” As the song ends, he throws his body on the cake.
His friend says, “That's okay. Let's make another one.”
Noah scoops up a handful of sand, watching the grain fall into the pail as he sees his classmates surround him.
He shouts, “Make another cake!”
Noah is not a leftover that day.
Excerpted from: Helping Children with Autism Become More Social: 76 Ways to Use Narrative Play (Praeger, 2007)
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