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Beach Days

It’s something of a cliche that autistic kids adore water, but you know what they say: a cliche is a cliche because it’s true.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve gotten to join several families on beach outings, and it’s always a wonderful experience. It’s fun to compare the experience of two clients in particular — two nonverbal autistic 9-year-old boys with very different personalities. 

The Flapmaster General is a “hummingbird” child — always in motion, full of energy, exuberance, curiosity, and, often, frustration with the rest of us who obviously can’t keep up with the world as he experiences it. He is desperate to communicate with the people around him, too. He uses a handful of spoken words now, clumsily and inconsistently, and is rather more capable with a speech device, although still only with very straightforward requests.
Flapmaster can spend hours happily playing keep-away with the waves, darting and dashing, giggling and shrieking, following each receeding wave down as close as possible before scampering back to dry sand just barely ahead of the incoming surf. It’s one of the few situations in which he can truly run as much and as quickly as he likes. 

I run with him, giving him his space but staying near enough to grab him if he tries to go into the water, or seems likely to crash into other people, or takes it into his head to go jump on someone else’s sand castle or steal their toys. (This particular day, he actually approaches another child and asks for “my turn” with the kid’s bucket and shovel. I am pretty impressed by this. However, since I can’t always just ask strangers to give him things, I take him to go fetch his own toys instead, and he seems happy with this solution.)

It’s a blazing hot day, and the Flapmaster scorches his feet on the hot sand when I take him to the bathroom. I should have thought to go find his shoes first. He firmly declines to step back onto the beach after this, so I, feeling guilty for my part in getting his feet hurt, offer to carry him instead, to much laughter and eye-rolling from the rest of his family, who think I spoil him. Which I do, whenever I get the chance, because he is an awesome kid who deserves to be treated like royalty on occasion.

On the boardwalk, he flaps excitedly at the seagulls for a long time, jumping and fluttering as though he too might take to the air at any moment. And then, to my great surprise, he selects a nice park bench and sits, just sits with me, holding my hand, for the longest time I’ve ever seen him be still. He is so relaxed, so happy.

Lest you think it’s all idyllic, I will mention that there was a fair bit of stress and drama on the long ride home, but what do you expect on a day trip with 4 kids in one car? In the end, tears were dried, spills were mopped, and various stops were made to solve various other problems, and all was well if rather behind schedule.

The trip to the beach with the boy I call Soundtrack was a very difficult experience. Just me and him and his mother on a grey and somewhat chilly day at a local beach. Soundtrack is even less verbal than Flapmaster, but a good deal more vocal, with loud exclamations amidst his verbal stimming, in addition to whistling, humming, and occasionally imitating bird calls. He isn’t as fond of direct interaction with people, either, but he’s affectionate in his own way.

​While his mother rests, Soundtrack and I play in the surf. Loud cries of joy burst forth amidst his usual humming as the waves crash. I encourage him to yell as much as he wants here where the wind and water scream with him. (He gets shushed a lot at home, understandably given that there’s a baby in the household). He has a strong voice, and people occasionally look over at him in surprise when he hollers. One girl about his age looks at him nervously. “Don’t worry,” I call over to her cheerfully, “he’s just excited!” Her frown clears and she goes back to playing.

To the dismay of many parents, a recent change to my company’s respite care rules states that I cannot be responsible for a client in water more than a few inches deep (ie, the shallowest possible wading). The liability concern makes sense, of course, and the ocean here is a very different one from the sheltered bays I swam in as a child. Most of these kids, in my experience, have a healthy respect for that danger, and aren’t actually likely to go in deep enough to get into trouble… but that’s somewhat beside the point. 
Soundtrack loves to jump in the wet sand. He often prefers me to stand behind him holding both his hands, as he plays. What he actually wants, really, is for me to wrap my arms around under his and lift him, “jumping” him over the waves as you would do with a small child. He is not, however, a small child — he’s quite a solid and large child and I could barely do this with him when I  met him a year-and-a-half ago. I make various attempts to explain this, but that doesn’t stop him from jumping up and expecting me to take his weight on the way back down. I do my best not to drop him too hard or pull any muscles… but I also try to do what he wants to the best of my ability, because he’s smiling, and that’s something I don’t get to see very often. 

As for being restricted to wading, clever kids know how to find loopholes in any rule, and Soundtrack is no exception. And he plans on getting the full ocean experience even if he isn’t allowed in any deeper than his ankles. First, he drops to his knees in the shallow surf so that he can see the waves at eye level. Then he lies on his belly in the “seal” position and does “the worm,” rippling his body up and down so that the incoming waves can wash under and over his body. Lastly, he turns about so that his feet face the ocean, and lies there kicking, “swimming,” as it were, in water 3 inches deep. I can’t help but laugh… but I’m impressed as well.

Later, his mother joins us in the water in order to take him a little bit deeper. With the water at our knees, she and I hold him between us, and finally he can pull his feet up and float on the waves. Next time she says she might try teaching him to boogie board, because I pointed out to her that he spent quite a while watching another kid on a board– and Soundtrack doesn’t look at people very often, much less watch them as though they interest him!

These experiences make me smile. I may come home exhausted, sore, sunburnt, or having been kicked and pinched multiple times… but when you come right down to it, I got paid to go to the beach, get some nice healthy exercise, and watch kids I care about enjoying themselves. Sometimes, this job just plain rocks.

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Categories: Disability Rights
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