Autism and Relationships in Adolescence

In December, I chose to share some thoughts about friendship skills of students with ASD in preschool and elementary school.  As students move into secondary school (grades 6 through 12), the nature of their relationships change.  Puberty becomes a factor not only in physical development, but in social-emotional development as well.  And just as physical maturity varies wildly in this life phase, so does social-emotional maturity.

Most neurotypical (NT) tweens will form strong bonds with a select few peers.  This may be a nuclear group they retain from elementary school during the transition to middle school, or it may be a mix of peers: some from the "old" school, some from the "new" school, and others from extracurriculars (sports, faith-based groups, etc.).  Some may venture into "romantic" relationships, and even that will be a spectrum.  As they near the end of middle school, there will be those who fall "head over heels in love", forsaking their friend base to explore this new relationship category.  Others may dabble, but (appropriately) don't take these early romantic entanglements too seriously.

While parental engagement in an adolescent's social life is still necessary, children may begin to rely more on peer guidance for relationship management.  And for students on the autism spectrum, they may have precious few friends in middle and high school.  This may be by design; decoding unwritten social rules is exhausting.  Perhaps maintaining a couple key connections taps the available social resources for your student with autism.

Zachary Riggins, The University of Alabama

Just as parents of NT children seek to influence relationships in their adolescent's peer groups, those who care for students with ASD should also continue to guide and explain social relationships.  People with autism often miss the nonverbal communication styles that become increasingly important in secondary school.  Consequently, they may not respond appropriately.  Their inadvertently inappropriate response may offend a peer without proper understanding of autistic neurology.  And, in extreme cases, may draw the attention of authorities.

Besides the popular approaches to socializing such as video modeling or Comic Strip Conversations, you might consider laying down some ground rules.  Quantitative guidelines such as "2 text messages per day, per friend", or "1 phone call every 3 days" might help your teen establish boundaries that are healthy both for him or her and the friend.  Don't be afraid to use visual reminders of guidelines, such as sticky notes or checklists.  And be very careful about allowing adolescents with autism onto social media outlets where their social understanding (or lack thereof) can be exploited.  Squag is a great website for tweens and teens with autism (and their siblings) to start learning about personalizing a place on the Web using a safe, secure platform.

While it is important to encourage some independence in socialization for adolescents, it is imperative, for the well-being of our children, to remain actively involved in the development of healthy social-emotional skills.  Thank you to the speech language pathologists who are are purposefully working with students to be sure these skills -- which we know to be pre-employment qualities -- are nurtured!

The Social Butterfly Effect

This week's post is the kind that will make you science types cringe.  I'm going to get all metaphorical with your physics and play on words held by theories because I like the way it sounds.  So there.  But stick with me.

Last week, I gushed about the touchdown play my son's team orchestrated for him during a recent flag football game.  Let me tell you how that ten-second huddle will lead to the meaningful employment of an adult with autism 20 years from now.

First, a little something about the butterfly effect.  The general idea is that the flap of a butterfly's wings can impact weather patterns somewhere else in the world.  The thought of the gentleness of this silent flight rousing a tempest espouses chaos theory talk that's way over my head, but I can grasp the impact on atmosphere.

In sociological terms, we think of the ripple effect.  Someone touches their community with a charitable act, and the outgrowing concentric circles create pay-it-forward waves of goodwill.

ripple effect © by leafy

Think of that touchdown play as something larger than passing a ball.  Consider the egos that were set aside in order to build another's up.  Take a moment to realize the cooperation, the belief in the underdog, and the flexibility these teens exhibited.

Managers -- when you're putting a team together at work, don't you want to choose the players who know how to work together and focus on each others' strengths instead of attacking weaknesses?  Don't you want to reward the adaptability that leads to the desired outcome?  These are the qualities of leaders.  And the employees who clinch the deal and look back with gratitude at their colleagues who helped put it together are the ones who earn respect and work with humility.

When your student with autism applies for a job someday, he may interview with the quarterback for my son's flag football team.  And that young man will think of the day he huddled his teammates behind that line of scrimmage, and gave a kid with autism a chance to be the team hero.  He'll remember how little they as a team had to change to make a world of difference for my son.  And the difference my son's joy made on that 8th grader's heart will encourage his adult self to hire your student with autism.

All because a butterfly flapped its wings.

The Social Currency of Extracurriculars

During intramural flag football last week, my 13-year-old son with autism scored a touchdown.  But it was so much more than that (as if that weren't enough of an accomplishment!).  It was a snapshot of what every inclusion proponent dreams of.  Two teams of 7th and 8th grade students played, my son's team with enough members that they had to sub several players in every four plays (or so).  But let me give you some context first, which likely applies generally to middle and junior high schools.

Since there aren't enough resources in our school district to provide support personnel for students with disabilities, it's hard to find them in activities beyond the school day.  Yet that's exactly where they need to be in order to build rapport with typically-developing classmates.

There is little opportunity for socialization at school outside the classroom.  With teaching time at a premium, educators of middle school core curriculum classes have enough time to do a bit of community building at the beginning of a term, but that's about it.  Then, just as students with ASD are getting comfortable enough with their physical circumstances to learn about their classmates, it's time to jump into learning.

What about socializing at lunch, you ask?  Have you been in a middle school cafeteria?  It's about the most awful sensory environment imaginable.  Many students with autism have to devote their entire well-being to keeping it together in order to eat.  And I'm sure I don't even have to tell you about the bus rides to and from school.  If students are on the general ed bus, they're likely anxiety-ridden on the way to school and exhausted on the way home.  Plus, in both environments, there is likely a lack of adult supervision, which means no safety net if the student with autism makes a social misstep (or worse yet -- the neuro-typical students with whom he or she is attempting to communicate become disrespectful of the outreach).

And the social currency in middle school is the extracurriculars: sports, clubs, councils.  This is where students express themselves in a context of what they've chosen and enjoy, and where they're noticed, for better or worse, by their peers.  These are the stories they tell their friends in text messages and at lockers.  This is where, when we support our students with autism, they can become heroes.

So I'm glad to be there as a support person for my son when he wants to play flag football.  I will admit that I remain cautiously optimistic about good outcomes for these opportunities.  When it comes to competitive performance, my son has two modes: horrible, negative self-talk or animated, celebratory "smack talk".  The former sounds whiny and the latter, boastful.  We (the entire educational team at school, from the special education teacher to the speech-language pathologist) work on moderating these extremes outside the games, along with providing visual explanations of the rules and positions involved in the sport.  We also talk about what it means to be a good teammate.

Clearly, this last piece is catching on this year.  All these years of peer education and character building have laid a foundation for this touchdown moment.  My son has made a positive enough impression to be accepted onto a team, and the members have sized up his abilities.  They've taken a couple cues from the way adults interact with him, but at least a couple of them feel comfortable to work it out on their own.  My big 5' 7", 165-pound 8th grader was content to be a lineman for the first half of the game, but was clearly jonesing for an opportunity to catch the ball.  So his team set it up.  And the other team saw it.

The first play failed ... miserably.  The quarterback tossed a soft sideways pitch to my boy who caught it, made a few hesitant leaps forward, and threw it clumsily back at an opposing teammate, who luckily couldn't catch the wobbling ball.  The second attempt was better planned by the quarterback, who huddled everyone together briefly at the line of scrimmage, but made very sure my son knew what to do.  The snap to the quarterback ... the QB drops back ... my boy runs a few yards out and up ... he receives the pass!  But this is the coolest part -- the QB and the linemen start running ahead of my boy to make a path for him along the sideline; and the other team sees what's happening, and a couple of the chasers lose steam.  As everyone is cheering for him to make it to the goal line, a boy comes perilously close to snapping my son's flag from his belt, but tumbles off out of bounds behind him instead.  My son stood ecstatically in the end zone, jumping for pure joy, while everyone celebrated his accomplishment.

And as I was thanking his teammates and the other kids for orchestrating the triumphant play, one of the girls from the other team said to me on the way back down the field to receive the punt, "That boy who fell is my brother.  He was really trying to get him.  That touchdown was all him."

I know middle schoolers don't want their parents around at school, and they all want to find their own way.  But I'll tell you what: I am so thankful to be the mom of a boy with autism.  Because if I weren't, I wouldn't have had to chance to see what a hero all our kids can be.

Lead by Example

The past few days have offered Denise and me wonderful opportunities to communicate Good Friend's Awareness-Acceptance-Empathy message.  As parents and professionals, we absorbed the teachings of dozens of speakers at the Autism Society of Wisconsin Conference.  The closing keynote speaker on Sunday, Nicole Beurkens of Horizons Developmental Resource Center, offered one of my favorite "a-ha" moments of the three-day run: Making meaning of information is critical.  We are quick to offer information to people and eager to see what they do with that information.  But if they aren't able to attach appropriate meaning to that input, then the output will seemingly fall short.

During our presentations at both the ASW and WASC JAM (Wisconsin Association for Student Council Junior and Middle School) Conferences, Denise and I emphasized how important it is to give middle school students relevant information about autism so they can be aware of why peers with ASD experience the world differently.  But awareness is not enough, as we all know.  Because if we don't make meaning of why we need to understand the differences, then acceptance won't come easily, and empathy may not be an outcome at all.

Ellie Trewyn, narrator of our award-winning film Choosing To Be a GFF (2011), along with Jacob Schamens, another of the film's stars and the older sibling of a brother in middle school with autism, were critical to creating meaning for the 5th through 9th grade students who attended our WASC JAM Super Sectional presentations yesterday.  Throughout the presentation, these high school freshmen were able to tell their peers how their perceptions of autism and bullying had changed as a result of participating in Good Friend's development and production of the film, how important student leaders are, and what they've been able to accomplish in their own peer groups as far as acceptance goes.

In the hotel atrium following their WASC JAM Conference presentations are (left to right) Chelsea Budde, Ellie Trewyn, Jacob Schamens, Denise Schamens, and Dani Rossa.

Ellie's stories highlight the importance of meaning.  She said that while she's spoken with her close friends many times about her connection to the film and the cause, they were astonished when she took the initiative during a recent school lunch period to help a distressed friend with autism.  Ellie was confused by their amazement over her gesture of kindness, assuming that any of them should and would have done the same thing.  Her message to the students was clear: Do the right thing, no matter what your friends think. Being a leader means showing others the right thing to do, hoping they'll follow, but not caring if they don't.

We appreciate students who lead by example.  We have one more week to accept nominations for our Good Friend in Education Award.  Send Denise a short email about who you know who's demonstrating acceptance of autism.