Autism and Childhood Understanding of Being Different
Not Like the Other Kids
Autistically Different
I recently had an interesting little conversation with my mom about when I attended kindergarten. The conversation began with her asking me if I remembered a particular teacher. I did not because I had a different one. Then she says, “You had the dreaded Mrs. Higa.” Her choice of adjective caught my attention, and, intrigued, I asked why she phrased it that way. She said that this particular teacher had a reputation for being really stern and impatient.
At first, I couldn’t recall my general experience in kindergarten. But after hearing her recountal of those days and letting it sink in, memories of those times began surfacing for me. I think the reason I didn’t remember at first is because I was pretty good at banishing unpleasant experiences from my mind when I was that age, especially ones that I couldn’t totally understand. It’s not that I was traumatized by this class, but I did have a knack for removing myself, in a way, during stressful situations, dwelling on them as little as possible later on (probably to retain my sanity).
My mom was working at the same school, and was actually approached by my teacher’s aide because they were concerned about how the teacher was dealing with me. Apparently I didn’t speak to anyone for a couple months, and wouldn’t participate in class. I guess every time I didn’t participate the teacher placed a frowny face next to my name on the white board. And she tended to get exasperated with me. If I wasn’t doing what I supposed to be doing she would get angry, and it was likely that I’d be sent to the corner or roughly grabbed and forced to do it…such as the time she had everyone go to the front of the room and write their name on the whiteboard: when it was my turn, her commands got me as far as the whiteboard but I couldn’t get myself to pick up the marker and write, even when she said I couldn’t sit down until I did so; so she finally came over, shoved the marker in my hand, grabbed my other one to make me pull the cap off, then painfully gripped the one with the marker and angrily wrote out my name.
I wouldn’t even participate in the pledge of allegiance. She could sometimes get me to stand up with the rest of the kids and place my hand over my heart, and sometimes not…but no reciting. Of course, she thought I was being a brat. (But really….the things adults get agitated about….as if not saying the pledge of allegiance is a personal afront to them.) I do recall not seeing the point of it and not feeling personally drawn to do it at all; it felt weird to me. That’s why I didn’t stand or place my hand over my heart— I didn’t have any intrinsic motivation. I didn’t necessarily do stuff just because it pleased the adults or because “that’s just what you do.” So then…I got to be subjected to being yanked up from my chair and roughly positioned into how I was supposed to be. At least the aide could tell that I didn’t have a rebellious spirit.
Plus, of course, the whole socially involving myself thing — which can be downright confusing and intimidating for those on the autism spectrum — played a role. I felt a degree of uncertainty underlying every little move I made, practically. How was I supposed to just jump into all this, and why were all the other kids this confident about involving themselves and this certain in how they did so? All these dynamics and expectations I wasn’t used to, all these people I hardly knew. I was pretty much in an existential haze in regards to being, much less interacting, in that social environment. My relationship to it all, that is, how I conceptualized and personally related to this environment, wasn’t very grounded or well-formed. Even though everyone else was participating in an activity, I felt uncertain about jumping in and going along with it. It was literally hard to get myself to take action. How can you, when at a profound level you just don’t feel like a part of it, aren’t connecting to it, that you’ve simply been dropped into a world you can’t make meaning of?
But in an abrupt turn of events, one day, out of the blue, I decided to start talking and participating. I went to a Christian school and they prayed in class every day. One day when the teacher asked for a volunteer to pray, I raised my hand and they of course, with fascination, chose me because I never participated like that. And I said the prayer for the whole class to hear. Kind of a dramatic entrance into the talking realm. It’s like I was thinking, ‘okay, I’m ready to start talking…might as well make it known…let everyone know I can talk.’ Surprised whispers are heard all around as I say the prayer for the day.
It seems that it took me that long — a couple months — to integrate everything well enough to be able to interact within it! My fellow classmates had thought I was mute up until that point (I actually remember hearing kids say, ‘She can talk?’, ‘I thought she was mute!’). Maybe it wouldn’t have taken so long if my teacher hadn’t been the opposite of empathetic and nurturing. I’m certainly a very sensitive soul and easily discouraged around any kind of aggressive or negative energy. But the good thing is, I did eventually get some sort of hang of it. Although perhaps remaining selectively mute for longer may have cued adults to do some testing on me and possibly figure out I was autistic. I only learned to better hide my non-integration in people environments as I became older.
