novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- there's the day autistic people think in shapes and colours. they stick to schedules, to routines. this morning i walked into the second classroom to find my student sprawled on the floor crying and bemoaning his upturned breakfast schedule; somebody forgot to do something before something else was supposed to happen, and here was my tiny boy, clutching a tiny plastic open-mouthed hippo, repeating in a stretched voice everything that was being said in the room around him. nate you want to sit up? NAAAATE YOU WANNNNNNT TO SIT UP SIT UP SIT UP SIT UP UP what happened to him this morning? why is there a blob of hair gel on the top of his head? HIS HEAD HIS HEAD BLOB MORNING HEAD WHY nathan let's sit on a chair and sing bingo. we're singing bingo. LET'S SIT UP LET'S SIT UP SIT DOWN SIT DOWN DOWN BINGO SIT UP SIT DOWN b-i-n-g-o, bingo was his name-o i got him to calm down after teaching him a black-eyed snakes song about cheerios while we went for a walk around the pond near the school. he laughed at me, his tiny face squinting in the new sunlight, his feet bare on the wet pavement because he takes off his shoes and sometimes his socks whenever he has a behaviour 6:29 pm - 05.20.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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