Beyond ABA,,,

Sometimes its hard to remember that working with children with autism is not just work. It's a child's life, more than just my desire to decrease/increase this or that behavior. A child's life, someone's baby...

Several years ago, after providing a single mother a tour of my school, I left off stating that her child would be placed on our waiting list for September and I would call her if we accept him. The child was a gorgeous two year old with the biggest grin on his face. However, mom still had him in a stroller and he could not and would not walk. Several weeks later, we were able to accept him to the school not only for September but I was able to push it for the summer term as well. The mom was ecstatic and later sent me a card thanking me for taking him in so early. Her gratitude was so sincere and warm and I was appreciative but never really gave it much thought. His first day of school was filled with so much tears that we could barely do anything with him - much less teach him to walk! But we were so determined and kept on with him for weeks with him crying like that. By my last year there, he did in fact learn to walk - run even! and learned to make a close approximation of the sign for "car" and learned to imitate the sound "Ah". I felt a great deal of pride in myself, my program, and my amazing and dedicated staff. Although I knew our hard work had helped send this little boy on a start to a better path in life, I wasn't thinking about him but at our success with him. It wasn't until the last day at my job, this mother pulled me aside and said to me with tears in her eyes, "Do you remember when you told me that you were able to take him in early? I was so happy, I cried. You've changed his life and I could never thank you enough for what you've done". Although that small action was no great feat, did not involve a complicated treatment plan filled with reinforcement schedules, shaping, extinction, or fading, nor twenty five hours a week repeating the same drills over and over, I was filled with a sense of humility. It struck me right there that this child was more than MY job, more than MY sense of pride, more than MY program and staff, this was someone's child, a little guy who was deeply loved, who holds, unknowingly, the dreams and hopes of his mother - with or without the ABA.

It's an uncomfortable feeling when I realize I have become too clinical, too administrative, and not humane enough. And every so often, when I truly do forget, something happens to just kinda smack me in the face and say "Hey stoopid, look at this child and not at the graphs!"