The Playground

I hate the playground.  My 5 year old loves it.  Reluctantly, we head in that direction. He chats the entire way. That means he’s excited. He will tell me nonsensical stories. Sometimes I don’t understand what he says, so I have to gently probe without frustrating him. Sometimes he repeats the same phrases 20 times. It’s like listening to a record player skip. His little brain gets “stuck” on words and will repeat them because he’s not sure how to fill in the blanks otherwise. Sometimes the repetition calms him. Sometimes it’s associated with agitation. We have become adept at differentiating all the different moods of Noa. Our son is autistic.

At the playground, there are no children. He seems a tad disappointed. He looks up at me and says, “It’s empty”. Then he drops my hand and bolts off to the nearest monkey bar. I happy that he’s excited to be here but guilt creeps in - I knew it would be empty. Its 9am, not many families out this early. I did it on purpose. The playground is where I have to sit and confront this organized mess of our lives. I have to worry about the future, about what will happen to Noa, will he have friends, will he ever hold a meaningful conversation?

I’m snapped out of my worried gaze by his voice. His echolalia is bad now. He’s excited. He’s repeating the same nonsense phrase over and over as he climbs along the bars: “There is nothing that is going to hurt you. Lobsters won’t bite you. Seals live in the ocean”

Every so often I will repeat and agree. Reassure him that nothing will ever hurt him. Lobsters won’t bite him and that seals indeed live in the ocean.
I also try to re-program him. Try to get him to say something other than those phrases. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.
I hear laughter in the background. Children are coming. I immediately get tense. This will never get easier. I pray for the kids to be kind. I hope they are girls aged 4-5. Boys have a tendency to be less patient with a “different” kid like Noa.
A big group of 7-year olds boys burst onto the playground.
Noa is smiling, now shouting about lobsters and seals.
The children are loud. Noa watches them, smiling. Every so often, he looks at me. I smile back at him, trying to send encouragement. His brow starts to furrow. I know he’s remembering what he’s supposed to do. Unlike “normal” kids, we have to teach Noa social cues, that you say “hello” to people, shake their hands, say “goodbye”, ask if they want to play. Things that naturally occur with kids all over the world are practiced in our household daily.
I move a little closer to Noa, hoping my proximity will encourage speech. The little boys have now created a game and one of the boys sees Noa and runs up to him.
I tense immediately.
The boy says “We are going to the fort to protect it from the dragons! Do you want to help build the fort??”
Noa smiles at him but doesn’t say a word.
The boy repeats, “Come on, we’re building a fort! Do you want to help??”
 Noa continues to smile, but still stays silent.
 The boy looks at Noa, tilts his head, then shrugs and runs off to join his friends.
The smile on Noa’s face disappears. My heart aches but I continue to smile.
 He says “I was supposed to say ‘Hello, My name is Noa.’”
 “Yes babe, you were supposed to say ‘hello’. That’s ok, we can practice again.”
 His brow is furrowed in deep thought again and then it’s gone. His smile returns. He runs off to another part of the playground.
I continue smiling but my heart is broken.

Shortly after, a 4 year old boy wanders over, he smiles at Noa and Noa smiles back. They start running, playing an unwritten game of chasey. Eventually it is time to go,
the little boy comes over and tells his mom he had fun. We say our niceties to part ways.
I take Noa’s hand.
He looks at up and says “I had fun at the playground!”
I smile down on him “Did you play with a friend?”
“Yes!”
Then I see his face darken a bit and his brow furrows again.
“I was supposed to say ‘Hello, my name is Noa’
“Yes, you were supposed to say ‘Hello’. That’s ok, you did really well. We will practice again.”
I don’t know if he heard me. He’s back repeating his random statements:
“There’s nothing that is going to hurt you. Lobsters won’t bite you. Seals live in the ocean.”
We walk back towards the house.
I’m not ready to do this another day.
We walk slowly. I begin repeating:
“There is nothing that is going to hurt you. Lobsters won’t bite you. Seals DO live in the ocean. We are going to be ok.”