My eight-year-old
grandson, Peter, has autism. He is bright, creative, quirky and full of
surprises. He attended second grade in a public school this year, and he
proudly tells people he is now in the third grade.
The end of the
year assignment in his second grade class was a public speech. Each student was
to introduce him or herself in three minutes. They could use a manuscript.
Peter is one of
those chosen children who actually love to write. He wants to be a writer when
he grows up and has already written and illustrated over 20 “books.” So producing
the manuscript for the speech offered no problem.
The difficulty
came with the other guidelines, chief among which was eye contact. Peter was
supposed to look around at people as he spoke. He was instructed to make
contact with his audience of second grade peers. He would be graded on this.
Eye contact has
been problematic for Peter since infancy; it’s part of autism. He’s actually
done quite well and has learned to occasionally look people in the eye as he
speaks with them. He’s gotten used to us saying, “Peter, look at me.” But it’s
never become quite natural.
And he doesn’t
multitask. Give him a job to do, with clear instructions, and he can pour
himself into it with passion. Thus, the more than 20 “books,” and the boxes of
art work. But giving a speech and making eye contact with an audience are two separate
tasks for him, and one task too many for it to be easy or natural.
But Peter
determined to get it right, so he and his mom came up with a plan. Kristin, my
daughter, penciled dots in his manuscript, one after each two sentences. The dot
was a clue for Peter to lower his manuscript and look at someone in the audience.
They decided on 5 seconds as a good amount of time for the look. Then they
practiced. And Kristin videoed the practices on her phone so they could learn
from them.
That seems like a
lot of work for the second grade.
Peter is also
visually impaired, so he had to hold the manuscript close, right in front of
his face. Although he had the speech memorized, he wanted to do it this way.
After all, the teacher said to use the manuscript.
So, face well hidden,
he stood and began to loudly, clearly read the introduction. Then, briskly he
lowered his arms and stared straight ahead, in this case at Kristin. When Peter
stares, it’s serious. It’s fierce, concentrated and without the blink of an
eye. As I watched the video, I could imagine him mentally counting to five.
Then up went the manuscript and he loudly read the next two sentences. He reminded
me of a robot as he again lowered the manuscript, shifted his head to stare at
another person for five fierce seconds. Then up again for the next part. Repeat,
repeat, repeat, right to the end. Kristin admirably harnessed her temptation to
laugh.
As I said, he was
determined to get it right.
And he must have
done so, because he passed into the third grade.
Maybe the end
product wasn’t quite natural, but I admire his determination and perseverance.
I pray that life, mainly other people, will be kind to Peter--whether he avoids
eye contact with them, or stares with ferocity. And I pray they listen to what
he has to say.
In the early
morning hours, I try to make eye contact with God. I confess that it is neither
natural nor easy. Sometimes I use guidelines developed by others who’ve learned
to do it well. Under their instructions, I may practice a certain number of
seconds of concentrated gazing at the light. Then down again for a quick dip in
the Scriptures. Up again to gaze (or meditate, if that’s the right word).
Repeat, repeat.
I wonder if I look
to God a bit like Peter. I wonder if I have some form of spiritual autism.
At any rate, I
sense great patience and kindness coming to me from God’s heart.
And, yes, an occasional
chuckle.
The shout, “Read
me! Read me!” is not just about this blog post. It’s encouraging you to buy,
read and, hopefully, enjoy my new poetry collection, Close to the Ground. The
presentation of the book brightened my experience of this year’s yearly meeting
sessions (NWYM).
