It’s Not Okay You Won

I’m embarrassed to admit that until recently this was the generic game script that was on the device. It was an inexcusable oversight.

Why?

Because Billy at the age of 20 should not be told or expected to be happy that he lost. That’s ridiculous. Have you ever heard any sane adult say “give me a high five- I won!” I don’t think so and neither did Billy. So when this exact scenario played out and Billy was asked to give the winner a high five, he refused. He shook his head no. Right on Billy! First the script is not developmentally appropriate. And second your family ancestors are competitive, scrappy winners. Autism does not rob you of your boisterous, hearty, competitive spirit. It’s in your blood. It’s in your genes. Billy’s great grandfather known as Bull Edwards was a competitive star football player and was inducted into the Football College Hall of Fame.

In many ways, Billy reminds me of Grandpa Edwards. They enjoy physical jockeying. They share a maverick spirit and they both have a winning smile and chuckle.

The moral of this story is don’t lock your loved one in time.

Update the scripts. Keep it current. Keep it real.

Never to diminish the importance of good sportsmanship here’s the new script

Who takes a break like this?

Most breaks look more like this:

Let’s face it. We live in this high octane, megawatt connected culture. Besides if you did put your feet up on the desk, you’d surely be reprimanded.

So how do you make sense of this arcane concept when there are no adult role models and the Mayer-Johnson photo is less than helpful?

Gymnastics made the difference. When Billy was 10 and started taking gymnastic lessons with Patrick, his first inclination was to run to the trampoline, scream, run to the sugar packed refrigerator in the coach’s lounge or head for the great outdoors. Through visual schedules, visual systems and props outlining each basic step of a gymnastic move and most importantly Patrick’s sense of humor, patience and ability to model each move, Billy slowly took a shine to gymnastics and Patrick. Billy’s relationship with his coach and his ever increasing understanding and working knowledge of all the stations, equipment, routines, and level of expectation required enabled Billy to progress from a bewildered kid in the gym to a composed and determined athlete. What we didn’t anticipate was that Billy would become a skilled gymnast whose level of execution demanded more focus, energy, composure and risk. The twice a week workouts were getting increasingly difficult. In order for Billy to complete successfully the circuit, he needed to take breaks.

Initially we showed him the Mayer-Johnson symbol for taking a break. But Billy knew the schedule and wanted to proceed without missing a beat. As Billy bullied his way to the next station, he became more frustrated. He could not execute the tasks with the same precision. Nor could he endure the level of repetitions required.

So one day Patrick took another course of action to help Billy pause periodically in practice. Patrick signaled a break by simultaneously counting out loud and using his fingers to visually mark the number before going to the next station. With every sinew tilted toward Patrick and the hand count, Billy barely tolerated the gymnastic breaks. For Billy, self-pacing was not an intuitive concept. With time and practice, however, Billy became aware viscerally of how much easier it was to execute a move if one took a break. Connecting with his body’s concrete physical changes became the reason for taking a break. Billy now understood the intrinsic value of taking a break because he experienced first hand the physical limitations of his body when fatigue, sweat and rapid breathing became his reality.