Honesty as truth speaking…

Yesterday, we had a support worker from a respite program come to our house for an interview.

We are members of an organization that offers this summer service (a support worker comes to take Frances out into the community for a few hours each week) as well as monthly opportunities to socialize at well-planned events.

As it turned out, we had met our support worker before, last year, at one of the few events that Frances had actually wanted to attend.

We had gone to a planetarium, and while waiting for the evening show, Frances had met London (about 17 years old) and stayed by her side. They were fast friends.

Frances even opted (unbelievably) not to sit with me during the show and to sit beside London instead.

London arrived at our house on time, and I showed her to the dining room.

Frances had arranged with me beforehand that she wouldn’t have to take part in the interview, but, as London and I spoke, Frances came in to the dining room.

“Hi, Frances! It’s good to see you again…”

Frances took a seat at the table.

“We had such a great time last time we met!” London said.

Finally, Frances spoke: “I think I vaguely remember you.”

πŸ˜‚ πŸ˜‚ πŸ˜‚

I love her honesty! Since Frances really does want to make friends and has such a difficult time doing so, we are working on learning when not to be so strictly honest (since she will not lie).

I wasn’t worried, tho’: London is familiar with this possibility when some people with ASD, Aspergers, and autism interact. Besides, many people find her honesty to be a refreshing change.

I have to say that, when she was really young, and we didn’t have a diagnosis, she would not have even acknowledged that London was speaking to her.

Greetings appeared in stages: at school, teachers insisted on speaking to Frances and greeting her. For years, Frances was not responsive.

When she did start to respond, it was usually indicated by a change in her position or moving her head away.

By the time she was around 8 years old, she would mutter a “hello” without looking up and without stopping if she were moving.

At 11, Frances may respond with a “hello” or “hi” or she may respond with an observation (that is or is not relevant to the situation). If it’s an observation, there will be brutal honesty. Either way, it is a response!

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Something to consider…

Frances has officially finished Grade 5. Her report card was excellent, and her teacher described her as “witty and sassy and delightful.”

Frances’s teacher and I actually discussed my child’s humour which she described as dry beyond her years. It often does catch me (and her teacher) off guard.

Take, for instance, the other evening. Frances and I were watching one of our favourite documentaries about a specific tornado — which she takes very seriously — when, during the segment of interviews with people who experienced the destructive event, her brows furrowed and she asked:

“Why do they keep putting ‘Survivor’ under their names? It’s not as if they could have used dead people…”

I’m so glad I wasn’t eating at that moment because I would have choked!

Anyway, she truly meant no disrespect — it was merely that the editing of the video had struck her as illogical and, therefore, funny.

And, well, I am still laughing…πŸ˜‚

Um, no…But yes, absolutely

Frances: Sarcasm β€” isn’t that just lying? (Nov. 17/17)

People with ASD can experience difficulty with figurative language. What I have discovered is that “not understanding” can, in a sense, mean “just getting to the bottom line” of the matter with Frances.

Ordinarily, she has difficulty interpreting euphemisms, idioms, gestures, etc. Here, her struggle appears to concern purpose or utility: Why would one use sarcasm? Why does one, oftentimes, use sarcasm as humour? In other words, why is it considered to be funny?

It’s really amazing that, even though she struggles with non-literal language, she is very witty and understands figurative language when it is her own, when she, herself, produces it.

For example, when she was newly six years old and was feeling unwell, she once said:

I’m feeling as sick as a tornado can be loud…Is that a lot? (May 28, 2013)

Frances has always kept me on my feet — in more ways than one — and always at least one step away from knowing everything about her.

She’s absolutely fascinating — I am her mother, after all — and her ability to get straight to the heart of any matter is just one more thing that impresses me.

J. Alfred Proof-rock

I’ve mentioned this fact before: when she was two, almost three, Frances would ask me to read to her at bedtime whatever I happened to be reading for myself at that time.

Thinking she might fall asleep faster if I read the Aeneid by Virgil — because I, myself, would — I started the epic poem. To my utter surprise, she enjoyed it. My plan really wasn’t working.

So, then, I thought about T.S. Eliot and started reading The Waste Land. I moved on from there to The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. In doing so, I began a nightly routine that lasted for several years.

It has been a long time since I last read Prufrock to her, but she clearly still remembers it as, the other day, she quipped, “Where’s the proof-rock? Get it, Mum?” She giggled and giggled.

She has a wonderful sense of humour that, I think, won’t be appreciated by everyone. I doubt that the children in her class have heard of T.S. Eliot yet.

Happy New Year!

I haven’t written anything in this new year mostly because — at some point in 2017 — my life became insanely busy.

Pink Cup Sister, who has a learning disability and a social anxiety disorder, now has the symptoms of a severe tic disorder. This disorder includes vocal, phonic, and motor tics, the latter of which pose such safety hazards as uncontrollable self-injury and episodes occurring where falling is a possibility.

Unfortunately, I have uncovered a health concern of my own as well involving my vision/optic nerves.

Now, Frances and I have always had an amply full schedule of appointments that has kept me very busy; with the added appointments of Pink Cup Sister and of myself, well, let’s just say that appointments are now my full-time job.

But that’s okay — it means that things are getting taken care of, challenges are being identified and overcome, and matters are being addressed in general.

And, fortunately, amid all the worrying and the hurrying, there are some moments that catch you off guard, ones that leave you breathless and utterly aware of how much there is to appreciate.

Perhaps you won’t be surprised to learn that it is often my children who gift me with these moments; in the case of Frances, the gift is often in the form of questions that allow me a glimpse of how amazing her brain is.

The other day, while I was taking her to school, the following:

Her: Did you ever realize that, if everyone just followed the rules, there would be no drama in the world?

Me: You are SO right!

We then, giggling, ran through the zebra crossing while stepping only on the black stripes, just because, and I felt light and giddy and free of concerns about the year ahead in that moment.