I arrive at his classroom and again he is there, behind the table cornered by two chairs. This is the corner they found for him at class, which succeeds in calming him down at a moment of emotional turmoil. The teacher comes to me and explains while he is looking at me. I can’t understand what his look means. This time there is no smile telling me: “Look, I went a bit wild, I behaved mischievously so I’m here learning the rules”. Those are turbulent days for him. Strange sounds, self-inflicted diet, doesn’t want to get out of the house, mostly wants quiet and to be left alone. Why? Only he knows.
I quietly go to him, meanwhile hearing from the teacher of the ways he “made it clear” to her that he is not capable dealing with the routine activities. I know he has it hard now. The staff know how to be sensitive in such times and demand less of him. Not make it too hard for him. He looks back at me, sits on his chair, hardly moving and looking a little exhausted.
I ask him, “hi, how are you?” but he does not respond. I ask for the iPad, which has a pictures and symbols application used by many special kids. It has a variety of pictures and symbols with which he can point on an emotion, desire or activity without having to verbalize them, because words are a non-trivial means to many children on the autistic spectrum to express themselves.
I already know that he will not be able to give me an answer by himself, and remember that for some reason he usually chooses not to be assisted by the iPad. I know they tried before, with the pictures, to extract emotions from him, but I decide that I too have to try. We give him the iPad and ask again: “Tell us what you feel? What happened?” and he, with a skill which completely doesn’t match the frequency of his use of the iPad, presses in a sequence and rapid pace:
- Angry
2. Noise 
3. I want 
4. Home 
I was so amazed at his decision to use pictures at that moment, that tears formed in my eyes and threatened to disclose the intensity of my instantly aroused emotions. I fought to hold the tears back so he does not wrongly interpret my emotions, but they already got to my eyes. I don’t know if because of the joy of his ability to express himself so clearly (there was a feeling of a breakthrough in his ability to have a conversation with me on a non-functional and routine matter), or because of the compassion I felt at that moment for his difficulty to express what he feels and for him being in a survival mode all morning. I tried not to think of the time it takes him and children like him to calm themselves and express their emotions somehow, of what they go through internally until they are understood, and of the question when and why he decides at a certain point to “talk” and explain himself to get what he wants.
