Packed together like that torn up ground and ice

THIS: A 16 year old boy with Aspergers recently stabbed and killed a classmate in a school bathroom.

Fluffy is thin skinned. He feels things very deeply. He also has an explosive temper, at times. The pain, confusion, and deep wounding he feels when he thinks he’s been wronged or treated badly washes over him and he is submerged, for a time.

Last weekend, we went to the new home of a local Waldorf school for an open house. The building was lovely, bright, inspiring. All the rooms were beautiful, especially the Kindergarten room, the largest and most fascinating for me with chunky maple blocks and tree blocks and hollow blocks and a lovely kitchen corner and the sand table and a gorgeous arched bench used for storytelling. I wanted everything in the room. I wanted Fluffy to be in that room with the other kids. I wanted his little pair of shoes to keep a place on the edge of the dear blue circletime rug alongside the other colorful pairs belonging to his classmates.

I saw a woman there I know peripherally, someone I haven’t seen in at least two years. She has twins ready for Kindergarten who were there with her, peering into my eyes, asking questions, wanting to build things with Fluffy.  How ARE YOU doing? she asked me, pointedly, it seemed to me.  I wasn’t sure what she meant, exactly. Had she heard something about my son? Did I look a fright? Was she just feeling terribly emotive? I answered that we were doing great. Are you thinking of coming here? No, I said, not for a while at least. Are you thinking of this for the twins? Oh, yes! They are so ready for it! They are just so engaging! Wherever they go! They make friends with everyone! Or something like that and it was true, from what I could see. They’re so much like their father, she said, smiling. Yes. I used to think I could learn about the parents through the children. I used to think it was that simple.

We kept it short for Fluffy. There were delicious snacks in the front room and toys to play with in each room. It was not crowded and the building was bright with natural light. But it was hard for Fluffy, I could see. He was pinging and careening around until he found the sand table in that last room, the K room, and then he settled in for some sand rocket play with Dave that seemed to ground him.

Soon after, we left through the door that led to the outside play area. Every classroom had such a door so the kids could come in and out of their own classroom without having to line up and wait and trudge through long hallways. Winter had finally arrived the day before and it was freezing. The ground was torn up as the landscaping was incomplete and blocked in, the school only in use for a few days. It was hard everywhere, wood chips frozen, sand mounds like rocky boulders. There were two other kids plays in a strip of ice, an older girl taking a running start and then falling to her knees to slide the distance, her younger brother repeatedly hitting the surface with a big stick, trying to crack through.

Fluffy was drawn to the ice but didn’t quite know how to organize himself. He gets like that, sometimes, as if he has been in his body only a short time and isn’t sure how everything works, as if the earth is a boat on a rising wave and he’s waiting for his sea legs to kick in. We tried coaching him to join the sliding ice game but he didn’t respond. Instead, he stood in the girl’s line of play and wouldn’t budge. The little boy continued his work with the stick, bang bang, closer and closer until he accidentally bumped into Fluffy and hit him in the foot with his stick.

Fluffy hit back and hit again and began to push. He was holding a stick too at this point, and my fear, as I slipped on the ice to get to him in time, was of that stick and the ice and the little boy’s eye. By the time I reached them, the boy’s father had scooped up his son and was saying over and over, are you okay are you okay, never looking up at Fluffy or us. I said the usual things about how hitting isn’t okay and please say you’re sorry to the boy and he didn’t mean to bump you and other things, like, oh, look at that? and here’s another block of ice, I wonder if we can break through this.

But the boy was on his mind. And later, after making his way near him again, the boy hit him on the foot with his stick, softly, on purpose this time. Fluffy exploded, arms and legs everywhere and this time, we had to pick him up and move him away, which only furthered his anguish, his feeling of being at the mercy of an unjust world.

I think of his fury, the intensity, the density. I think of the longing it seems to come from, the desire for connection, the urgency and confusion about how to start over, to be friends. We were on the other side of the play area and the boy was still around. I notice with a sinking feeling that he was moving toward the wooden boat play structure, as we were. Dave and I had been talking about how one can start over, move past the rough patch, how sometimes people can get off on the wrong foot and all it takes is a moment of starting new. Fluffy said, two wrongs don’t make a right, which suddenly paved the way for him. He latched onto that, saying he had forgotten that and that maybe his forgetting seeped into the little boy and then the little boy forgot too! He brightened and climbed on to the stern of the boat and began quickly explaining this theory to the boy, the little boy, the not quite two year old boy, all the way on the ship's bow.

I think of him trying to talk it out with the boy, the boy’s silence, the dad’s silence, our coaching, the ice all around us, as he clammored after him on the boat, in and out of the covered cabin where the steering wheel lay, wooden, smooth, immobile. Finally, Fluffy said simply, he wouldn’t hit the boy next time he saw him and the boy (after some coaching) said the same and Fluffy’s face, tearstained, relieved, proud, beamed into the stiff air.

And I think of the 16 year old boy who stabbed his classmate and immediately said, I did it, I did it. And then, Is he okay? I don't want him to die.

These are very different stories separated by many miles and many years and I know, a boy died and that is beyond tragic but I ache for the boy, the 16 year old boy who said, Is he okay? and I feel haunted by it, by the whole thing, by his innocence and rage, packed together like that torn up ground and ice.

Comments

[Loubouin Shoes]

Your article let I have learned a lot.

[Karla MG]

Hi. I've been reading your blog for a while now. My intermittent explosive, traits of Asperger's, traits of ADHD 7 year old has so many similarities. The accompanying sensory integration and the "more than traits" things we keep seeing with him just compound it all... the rage, the innocense, the intensity, and the deep anguish and apologies when he finally does realize. And then we add the intentional, well planned behaviors, that in his mind make perfect sense. This post is just so eloquent and thought-provoking...I'll be pondering it for some time to come!

[Thelxi Gladstone]

Being unable to play, so standing in the midst of it, almost as a silent protest is something Ben does often. And yes, he's lashed out and yes, he's been punched because of it. Your story is my story to the letter, though I certainly could not have expressed it so eloquently. We'll get there. I want it now, but we'll get there.

[melinda]

well I can totally relate to all your feelings......and worries......fears. When Noah was younger he had a very very difficult time with lashing out if something like the above that happened to Fluffy would happen to him. He was not verbal much at all and got so overwhelmingly frustrated at anything that upset him or he could not communicate about to others. Needless to say this caused all sorts of problems for him in the public school setting. We had to watch him like a hawk everywhere he went......any play areas....parks...etc...because we never knew when he might "react" and freak out for a bit. It is so difficult not to be able to predict anything but the unpredictable happening.

As he has gotten older he has gotten better....because he is now more verbal and has learned other ways to communicate and rid himself of some of his frustrations. BUT....if I even ask him to repeat something he is saying to me twice he can lose it.....and I mean lose it! He will occasionally even try to push me or lash out hitting me or trying to bite me. These are rare.....but sometimes it is his initial reaction. AND he too is soooooo naive when it comes to hurting someone or the seriousness of some of his actions...etc. Noah actually likes to be banged into and that sensation so he could not understand why other kids did not enjoy him body slamming into them. He still does not get that.

Anyway.....I had not heard about the 16-year-old yet....that is scary and makes me worried that more will demand our kids be sectioned off into areas by themselves for fear something like this will happen again....when the truth is it could be anyone's child losing it for a few moments and making a fatal mistake that would change their lives forever. We just have to do the best we can. I have chosen to NOT put Noah into a public school environment ever again if I can keep from it. He just does not do well there and it is too much for him to handle. Hang in there.......it is scary but we all know you are doing the best you can! {{{{{{{HUGS}}}}}}}}}

[kim]

Oh, God, I totally understand how terrifying that is. You are such an amazing mother, you really are. You are my constant inspiration and strength, I know Fluffy's going to keep passing through the stages and he will be okay.

Loving.

[Kristen]

Oh my. I think I'm still computing this and don't know what to say, but the whole thing makes me hurt.

[kristina]

There's too much in this post, Kyra----too much---just as so often there is too much in our kids, for themselves to handle, at least in the case of Charlie. I used to think mainstreaming was so important, was _the_ goal----as he has gotten older, and I see how he struggles to cope with his anxieties and, yes, rages (and he can learn to, I have learned, as in his asking "I need break"), I think that being in a self-contained classroom has many benefits, for Charlie---being in a place where he can feel and be and keep safe, and everyone around him too.

Hug to Fluffy and all of you.

[MommyGuilt]

I'm shaking. I'm scared, I'm sad for the dead boy's family, my heart breaks for the family of the Aspie, and I'm terrified for the Aspie himself. I see SmallBoy fly into rages like Fluffy's whenever things don't work/run/go the way he wants them. I just can't fathom him doing something like that...but, that's the mom in me, seeing my child as learning everything I teach him, as able to stop himself in a rage...clearly, we know that's not the case.

These kinds of stories, sadly, are the ones that make people (Ex) discriminate against children/people on the spectrum (SmallBoy)...because they've heard one bad thing or only bad things and never ever looked any further.

We need to get out there and raise awareness so that people aren't afraid when they hear "austism" or "asperger's".

My heart is breaking for these families.

[Laura Cottington]

I got chills when I read this today. I understand, feel, empathize with everything you wrote. Oh, Fluffy, I can just feel how you felt. I have been struggling in my head earlier today to write about our morning in relation to the young man who did the stabbing. I am too frustrated, as I read others blogs, in the autism community who are arguing about it. You my dear friend, have helped me make the most sense in what I have been feeling. I hope I can put my drafted post up sometime, as I don't want to offend others who gloss things over. I am moved.

[Ann D]

My youngest has these eruptions of rage at school. Sometimes he just screams/swears; other times he hits. It's so frustrating and heartbreaking because although the other kids cut him a ton of latitude (they get that he's "different"), but they're getting older and more and more they want him to "get with the program"). The school is amazing. I worry what will happen when he has to leave after Grade 6. We don't know where he will go next. Going back to his old school is not an option EVER, PERIOD. (If I say anyting more about it, I'll be the one swearing.)

[Zoely]

kyra, all i can say is this: your writing and writing and never stopping shines here. reading this as just a reader, it is so gorgeously written. you reach right off the page and touch the reader and that, the touching, the communicating, i think is the real reason for writing to exist. i am awed by the talent you possess.

[Cathy]

The most horrible things in the world are possible, but so are the most wonderful. Hold onto hope.

[Vicki Forman]

Incredible. Just lovely.

[Mamaroo]

I have been thinking a lot about the 16 year old boy too. I have been thinking about the kids that I taught in highschool and how I could see the rage, the hurt, the not knowing how to make friends in their eyes and how they were so misunderstood by so many of their peers. It IS all very haunting, and sad.

All you are doing for Fluffy now will make the difference in how he continues to grow and understand his world, it already has.

[Christine]

Oh Kyra, that was so incredibly beautiful. And sad. And it goes right to the heart of many of my fears. I had to stop reading in the middle and come back to it. Now I think it will stay with me.

At least until Spring :-)

[susan]

It is the saddest thing, I could not stop thinking about both 16 year old boys when I heard that horrible story. You used the right word - haunting. I think of my own daughter, and of her doing something horribly wrong and not understanding.

And I am sorry the open house didn't go that well! I have had many many many moments like that and I know how it feels. It feels crappy.

best,
Susan

[mom-nos]

I can't breathe. I just. can't. breathe.

I'm with you, my friend.

[diane]

you made me cry.