Boy A
Yesterday I had an observation for my ECE class. I went to observe a toddler class to look for developmental progress in the children. I was supposed to find one child to focus on, and observe various aspects of their growth.I picked Boy A. I picked him because he was cute. He reminded me of Jake. I spend about a 1/2 hour watching him, before I started to connect that something wasn't normal. A, seemed to be really autonomous for his age, and had an unbelievable ability to focus on one thing at a time. He sat for 10-15 minutes and collected acorns to put into his boat.
A, seemed completely oblivious to what was going on around him. He seemed very content to just be, and not engage with the other children. By this age(he is almost three) he should be playing with other children or at least engaging in parallel play. A little girl came over and took him boat away from him. He wasn't able to use his words and he let out small whimpers to try and communicate what he was wanting to say. He swat at the little girl, trying to tell her to leave his beloved toy alone. The girl ran away with his boat.
A, sat on the floor, despondent, and began to weep. He wept as his treasured boat was in the hands of another, and he sat alone. His toy, his friend, his connection to a world outside of himself was gone. He laid down, with dried pine needles and acorns under his tiny body while he cried out. He seemed to be aching within, not a person in the world to comfort him, he sat alone.
A, I found out later was autistic. I felt the pain that he could not express. I felt the loneliness, the pain of being so seperate from a world that he was living in. A world that he lived in which knowone could ever comprehend. I was with him in his pain.
I watched in his eyes, as a teacher came over to comfort him and there was no comfort to be found. I watched in it his body as he tried to wiggle out what he could not say. I heard it in his screams as he cried out for understanding.
Yet there was knowone.
I longed to hold him, to bring light and love to a place where he might not have ever experienced it before. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to comfort him. I wanted to clean the brownish spots of earth from his face...
I could not cross the boudaries of the observer, I had to sit and watch his pain, write of his pain.
How many times to we sit and be observers when we have the ability to clean the faces, embrace the hurting, and comfort the misunderstood?
I know that I sit more often than I should, I want to walk more.
posted by Kat @ 2:55 PM
<< Home