Autism Vox

Surf’s Up, and School Too

by Kristina Chew, PhD on September 8th, 2008

And so, on the final night of summer vacation 2008, what did Charlie say but…..

“No school.”

Yes, having made it clear since school ended back in August that he’d rather be in school, the night before the big First Day, Charlie got opening day jitters.

I waved his lunchbox, packed with paper-wrapped chicken (courtesy of PoPo), rice, watermelon, a bagel, and a Capri Sun. “No lunchbox.” “The schoolbus is coming tomorrow,” Jim said cheerily. “No schoolbus.”

“Ok, no schoolbus,” we said. “No schoolbus,” said Charlie and “no school” (just to remind us). “Yeah, no school,” I said with a shrug. “No school,” Charlie repeated, eyes wide and face set. Then I mentioned the speech therapist (who Charlie’s had for over 2 years, ever since he started in our school district), and the OT, and the adapted phys ed teacher, and Charlie’s teacher, and some of the aides (I was a little more careful here, as no one seems to know which aide will be where until the last minute). Charlie repeated their names after me, with no no’s.

Based on this, and what he’s been saying all summer, I do think Charlie will ultimately be glad to be back at school. But then there’s that nervous twinge at the prospect of something new, at a change, at a return to order and to us calling him to get out of bed bright and early (and since Charlie is starting middle school, his bus will be coming an hour earlier). Looking back over the summer, Charlie was not happy initially to be at the beach house, and then decidedly less than thrilled to leave it. And he accommodated himself extremely well to being at the beach and loving it, and—while missing the sand and salt water waves so much it must hurt—Charlie found it wasn’t so bad to be home either. And it’s expressing those contradictory, ambivalent, and in-between feelings—something between yes and no—that’s a challenge of words and of something more.

Plus, on Sunday morning, we went to Surfers Healing at Belmar on the Jersey Shore. We’d heard of Surfers Healing a couple of years ago and been hesitant to participate, as the camps on the East Coast always seemed to fall just around the time Charlie was starting school, and for Charlie to be one day at the beach and the next at the school was too much too fast. So really, it was a huge bit of progress for us to be attending a surf camp, the day before Charlie went back to school.

We had to get him up early after days of sleeping in (till 11, Saturday morning) and Charlie woke up smiling and repeating my “get up, get up!”. After Saturday’s heavy rainfall thanks to Hurricane Hanna, the sun shone brilliantly—–and the waves were high. Repeat that, high, and huge, and tall, and foaming, and straight up and down and not like they usually are on the Jersey Shore. Read the Surfers Healing website:

Special Note- We will be having the surfershealing camp in Belmar but if it is not safe we will not take kids surfing. Please plan on coming we will be having a huge beach party. Thanks.

At 10am, the beach was packed and it would only get more packed with families and umbrellas and beach chairs and beach towels and bags overflowing with swim shoes and suntan lotion and more towels. Charlie had no problems putting on a life vest, lay right down on the surfboard, and went out farther, and farther, and farther over the waves, a stone jetty nearby. We could see him, long legs bent at the knee and the surfer in a black wetsuit kneeling behind him, bobbing and easy in the water.

Quite a few more children, all smaller than Charlie, walked by (some were carried) and got on the boards and went out; a couple stood atop the boards as they came in, the surfer having pulled them up just as they were riding out from a wave. Charlie was out there the longest, saying (as we later learned) “bye” a number of times. Jim and I suspected, he was expressing a wish to just get in the water and do what he always does at the ocean: Swim.

It was a gorgeous day and something to be out there with so many families, and with so many people who shared Charlie’s and our love of being not only by the ocean, but in it. Not every family had been able to get a spot to surf and a lot of people had come simply to be at the beach and join in a beach party with games and music and food, and be part of the day and the sunshine after the storm.

At long last, we saw the surfer turn the board with Charlie on it towards the beach. I got out my camera; my dad was working the camcorder. The wave was big and then the surfer stood up, Charlie still lying on the board, head facing forward like a figurehead on a ship and then Charlie rolled over into the wave and the surfer looked down and had to look back and then went into the wave too.

He emerged with one hand holding onto Charlie who (as Jim and I glanced to each other) had done what came too naturally and gone where he may well have wanted to be the whole time, under and inside the ocean water.

Charlie smiled his way back to the sand, was applauded, removed his life jacket, got his trophy and went to slide his feet in the sand and find lunch. We’d mentioned that “he’s a really good swimmer” but I suspect the only way to fathom Charlie’s swimming ability is to see him in action. And really, what can I say, Charlie was doing it his way.

Back at home, after wonton soup and rice, I laid out Charlie’s gym clothes and the locks and keys for his lockers, and slipped his lunch box into its appointed place in the refrigerator. Charlie, who’s been wrapping his right hand in his shirt and using his left since the end of July (and the end of summer school), used his right hand to unscrew the toothpaste and then carefully brushed his teeth. I was standing beside him and a fast glance in the mirror clearly showed how many inches Charlie has over me, even as I saw and still felt the little 5-year-old, hair damp and eyes shining after a nice warm shower, learning his big head into my shoulder as I tightened my arm around him and adjusted my hip. When Charlie was younger, every night after his shower, I’d towel him off and pick him up and we’d look at our reflection in the mirror, Charlie and mom saying “who’s that?” Sometimes Charlie said some fragment of a word; sometimes he smiled and looked long and hard.

Sunday night I tucked Charlie in and pressed my cheek on his and dimmed the light; five minutes later, Charlie pattered out, grabbed the gym clothes and locks, and placed them near his pillow, and was soon asleep. His Leapster was under his arm.

No one does it like Charlie.

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POSTED IN: Autism Organizations, Charlisms, Education, New Jersey, Water