Confessions of an autism soccer mom
When it comes to mainstreaming your autistic child, is there a better litmus test than soccer?
If my son can enjoy the social component of being part of a team, if he can muster the athletic coordination it takes to pass and kick the ball, if he can appropriately process the echoing sounds of kids running and coaches yelling and balls bouncing in a large gymnasium, then doesn’t that mean all those sleepless nights of worrying will finally be over?
That is why for the past ten Sunday mornings, my husband has taken Brooks to the Y for a friendly, neighborhood soccer class, and that is also why we don’t listen when the last thing Brooks says before they walk out the door, every time without exception, is “But I don’t want to go to soccer.”
The reason we don’t listen is that Brooks has a long history of not wanting to do things: he didn’t want to talk, he didn’t want to feed himself, he didn’t want to be in the same room with other kids. And my husband and I have a long history of gently prodding him into the unwanted experience and then continuing the exposure until he starts to enjoy it. The hundreds of hours I have spent dragging him to Gymboree classes and bookstore readings and kids’ concerts have definitely paid off. So it seems like a no-brainer that my husband and I should keep doing what works.
But there are two problems with this approach. The first is a new problem: Brooks is getting older. It’s one thing to ignore a toddler’s protests—it’s quite another when a increasingly verbal 5-year-old describes to you exactly what he doesn’t like, and asks you point-blank why he has to do it. And the second is a an old problem that’s been around ever since he was diagnosed: How far can we push him without sacrificing his self-esteem? If this is simply too challenging for him at the moment, which may very well be the case, then why are we torturing him by having him face his deficits in front of us and his peers week after week? Should we instead be taking a break from soccer and working on something else? Or should we design a more appropriate intervention, like having his physical therapist work on ball skills with him one-on-one?
Brooks definitely benefited from this particular soccer program: see his grin when he accepted the trophy? And he was able to participate in and enjoy the practice drills. We learned long ago never to underestimate what Brooks would do for chocolate, but even the promise of S’mores ice cream did not motivate him to join in to the short games that ended each class. The unpredictable nature of all those kids running wild forced Brooks to the sidelines where he could manage only to observe while chewing on the neck of his shirt (a self-stimulatory behavior that he uses to cope with stress).
I wish we had the luxury of being able to concede that Brooks is simply one of those kids who isn’t into sports and that it has nothing to do with autism. Although this is a possible scenario, given Brooks’s history, it’s unlikely. Because of autism’s pervasive nature, and because intervention needs to come sooner rather than later to be most effective, our feeling is that it’s too dangerous for us to categorize any challenge as a typical one, even though it may well be.
As much as my husband and I would love to proclaim: “Brooks plays soccer!,” with all its delicious connotations about how far he’s come, the truth is that we’re not there yet. And we’ve decided not to continue the class into next term. He’s going to have to deal with team sports at some point, but he doesn’t have to do it now, not when he’s only 5 and he’s just moved to a new apartment and he’s just started kindergarten in a new school. We take these things case by case: we’ve made our decision, and we’re okay with it.
I say that now, but in the mail yesterday there was a brochure for a kids’ basketball league. Which I know will inevitably lead my husband or me animatedly asking Brooks: “How fun would it be to meet a whole bunch of new friends and play basketball?” Here we go again…
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At some point he will “hit the wall”: The joy of being around others will be replaced by the realization that he isn’t enjoying the game in the same way other kids are enjoying it. I’ll give him five years before he’s refusing to leave the house for good.
Comment by Jack — December 10, 2008 @ 2:14 pm
Marni: I follow your posts here on Insideschools, partly because I live in the same neighborhood as you do and frequent the same parks/playgrounds (though we’ve never met in person), but in large part because I find your essays very inspiring. I am always touched by what amazing parents you and your husband are. Your son is unbelievably lucky to have you as his parents. Your posts open up a world to me that I never knew existed. Anyway, I just wanted to post some words of encouragement to you and your family.
Comment by Anonymous — December 10, 2008 @ 2:39 pm
Jack, wow, and why so fatalistic? Isn’t it possible that there’s a middle way? Why must it be one extreme or another? All kids, whether typical or special needs, develop on their own calendar. Some are born socialites, some are hermits, but most reside somewhere in between. Why paint the future with such a broad, negative brush?
Comment by Helen — December 10, 2008 @ 3:32 pm
Marni, I love your posts. Will is also 5, with Asperger’s, in a fantastic NEST program at PS 32, and thriving…but we are so far from enrolling him in organized sports. As in, perhaps never. He’s SO uninterested, though Dad is an avid soccer player and all-around super-athlete.
I really hear you, though, about keeping on trying things until they become fun. With Will, that transition can happen more quickly than we anticipate. It’s unpredictable.
And Jack’s gloomy comment put a damper on my evening. Because I can certainly see Will housebound in a few short years. Even now it’s a struggle to get him to the local playground (though when there, he loves it!) After a bad track record of dragging the toddler/preschooler Will to music classes, readings, concerts, etc. with uniformly horrible results, I think we’ve kind of given up already…
Comment by Will's Mom — December 10, 2008 @ 9:38 pm
Marni, another very affecting post, specifically because I have the same issue with my son. While he doesn’t necessarily protest to playing soccer, it’s never been something he loves, can’t wait to go to, understands, etc. But, I, like many other parents, want him to be so ‘normal’ it almost hurts.
So, he keeps going and next semester, I gave him the choice of soccer or basketball and, gee, basketball won. Shocker.
I’m also giving him piano lessons. Maybe we’re all barking up the wrong tree.
Comment by Rayna — December 10, 2008 @ 10:00 pm
I have been following your posts but this one I am concerned over. My so called “normal” children HATED soccer. They hated everything about it from being accidently kicked, to the kids running wildly, to the boredom of waiting around while the game kept stopping. Your son may just not like soccer and it may have nothing to do with his autism. Have you thought of enrolling your son in an individual sport. Something like gymnastics, swimming, track or karate. These sports have structure and they allow a child to be an individual within a group setting without an excessive amount of socializing.
Comment by Anonymous — December 10, 2008 @ 10:34 pm
Do you know about the SNACK, the special needs after school program? They have soccer. Perhaps “Brooks” would feel more comfortable doing that. It would still provide socialization and a team sport. Just a thought. You can always try again.
Comment by Nancy — December 11, 2008 @ 12:48 am
Marni, I absolutely agree with you about soccer. “Brooks” being anything like his cousin, has an ample dislike from the fear of having 30 kids running at him if he is lucky or unlucky enough to have the ball. The reality is that you don’t know the reason for his dislike, but just because you break from soccer does not mean you break him from socially interacting with peers.
“Brooks” is such a fantastic person, you can’t help loving him from the second you meet him. He has grown leaps and bounds and will continue to do so. Keep doing what you are doing and keep believing in yourselves and in “Brooks”. From one 6 year old parent to another, they are exhausting but so worth it.
Love ya… Tracy
Comment by Tracy — December 14, 2008 @ 2:00 pm