Tattoo and Barbeque for Rudy

Rudy is my sixth grade student who, I believe, is autistic. No, he hasn’t been tested. Mom had never agreed to have him diagnosed. “He is just shy,” she claimed. . It is heart-wrenching to have to tell a parent that his or her child’s behavior is not normal.

Last fall Rudy and I clashed. The other students were used to Rudy’s outbursts, but I wasn’t. When we switched from one subject to another his loud groans of protest and statements of, “This sucks!” or, “I hate this!” or “This is stupid!” were grating, to say the least. Most confounding was the fact that Rudy would deny saying these things. Also, Rudy would never look at me. He was like a mini –Rainman. It finally dawned on me that Rudy couldn’t distinguish between what he thought and what he said out loud. Mom finally agreed that yes, he did that at home. I felt that that was progress. It was her first acknowledgement of his problems. This was just prior to our winter (Christmas) break.

When school resumed in January there was a dramatic change in Rudy’s behavior. Each day there were fewer outbursts. I took him aside and told him how proud I was of him. He seemed very pleased and finally one day after one of these compliments he spontaneously hugged me. It was all I could do to keep from crying.

I wish I could take credit for Rudy’s new awareness but it was actually something his parents did. They set up a tape recorder at home and Rudy finally heard himself saying all the things that he thought were thoughts. I was astounded and thrilled. Who would have thought something that simple would work?

I decided not to push for Rudy’s testing because, I was told, he would surely have been placed in a self-contained classroom in junior high. In my heart I just didn’t feel that this was best for him. He was making progress and mainstreaming is almost always best for kids.

In the classroom Rudy struggled with figurative language. Metaphors especially were just mind-boggling to him. Metaphors are tricky for nearly everyone, but for someone like Rudy, whose world was literal, they were always out of his, literal and figurative, grasp. Metaphors are like learning to look at those hidden pictures; you stare and stare and suddenly you see the little teapot or pair of scissors. Rudy tried but figurative language always seemed to elude him, until this past Wednesday.

Twenty percent of the students in my class are on meds for ADHD (Hyper Activity/ Attention-Deficit Disorder.) Having been diagnosed with this myself, although I choose not to do meds, I have a pretty high tolerance for this high-energy type of student. I have advised my students, having taught junior high myself, that when they get to junior high they will have to make more of an effort to keep a lid on the talking. “They will tattoo and barbecue you for that in junior high,” I warned.

“Is that a metaphor?” asked Rudy.

“Yes! Yes! Yes, it is, Rudy! You got it!” The class burst into applause.

What a huge step. Rudy will make it.