What Kind of Quirky is This?
I have in my care a young man, we'll call him Sam. Sam comes after school for two hours a day. Sam is eight years old.
I like Sam. Apart from him, I care for five toddlers during the day, and two other boys after school, another 8-year-old, Jean-Francois, and his 10-year-old brother, Michel. Jean-Francois finds Sam truly annoying, and even though I enjoy Sam a lot, I understand what it is about Sam that puts the other boy off. Michel is kinder. He tells his brother, "Sam is weird, but he can't help it, and he's always nice about it."
To use my grandmother's terminology, Sam is "an odd duck".
Here are the quirky things I've noted about Sam:
- Sam likes routine.
Every day when he arrives, Sam greets me. Even if he cannot yet see me, he carols out a "Hewwo, Mary!" (Sam cannot say his "l"s yet.) I must answer. If I hesitate, he freezes where he is and calls again until I answer. It's as if he cannot continue to the next thing until this necessary is accomplished.
Then he goes upstairs to the bathroom. When he comes downstairs, he expects to see his glass of milk waiting on the table for him. If I am in the kitchen pouring it, he can wait, but if I haven't yet made it to the kitchen, he reminds me, calling from his place - always the same place - at the dining table. He's always polite, he doesn't display anxiety about these things, but it's clear he needs this ritual to take place in its proper way.
Then he eats his snack, which can take an hour. He is a slow eater. Then he begins his homework. He never needs to be prompted. He established this routine for himself, and it's 100% reliable.
- His snack is huge - his mother packs enough for three little boys - but never have I seen him offer to share any of the excess, even when the toddlers are standing by him eyeing his every mouthful. I don't think it's selfishness; I think it's simply that he doesn't read the body language, as unsubtle as it is. I could be wrong, and this could just be garden-variety selfishness, but it doesn't have that appearance to me.
Throughout his snack time he is cheerful, friendly, talkative. His mother tells me his teacher this year adores him, and I can see why. He's attentive, though in some respects oddly oblivious, he's polite, he's handsome, he's quiet, he does his school work conscientiously and meticulously.
- Conversation for Sam consists mainly of him peppering me with continual questions. One after the other, rapid-fire. He often listens to the answers, and occasionally responds to what I've said, but it still feels odd, this question-and-answer "conversation."*
- His conversational gait is odd. Its speed varies and is slowed by pauses of strange lengths in unexpected places. He also tends to hold his head at a tight angle over his shoulder while he talks, and often looks way up and to one side as he speaks to you, though he can and does make eye contact as well.
- He likes to laugh, to the point that he's often rendered mute by his laughter when something catches his funny bone. When he laughs, he cannot, cannot speak. His mouth gapes wide and he wheezes, gasping in silent gulps of laughter. Even still, he doesn't "get" humour entirely, and this worries him. It worries him that his uncontrollable laughter "makes the other kids mad". What he misses are the social aspects. Things that strike Sam as funny are not always - not often! - shared by others.
Lately, for example, it's been something another child said. Every day he will come in and say, "Remember when Arthur said 'What's eating for'?" Then he'll collapse into speechless, wheezing laughter. At first I laughed, but this has been going on for months, and it's long since ceased to be funny for me. Sam, though, clearly hopes that I will share the joke.
"Why aren't you laughing?" he asks when I only smile. I explain that something can be funny at first, and then cease to be funny after a while. That it's okay for him to still enjoy that joke, but that I'm not finding it funny any more. This worries him, and the questions begin. Why is it not funny any more? Does anyone still find it funny? Why is he the only one who finds it funny? Will it bother the other children if he laughs about it? (This last one pulls at my heart, seeing a child who's beginning to understand that he's out of synch with the other children and not wanting to annoy, but not understanding why he does.)
- For all his focus on me and his need for my attention, he's singularly unaware of me. I injured my back a while ago, and the problem had steadily worsened until I was moving very stiffly and with obvious pain, occasionally gasping when a movement hurt unexpectedly. During his hour of Q&A snack time, not once did he ask about my state. The other 8-year-old, on coming in the door after school, watched me walk towards him with wide eyes, and said, "What's wrong with you?" Took him 40 seconds to see, notice, and ask.
- He'll often ask for crayons so that he can "draw a picture". When provided with them, he writes, in his very neat and very firmly pressed handwriting, meticulous lists of the names of all the children in his class. One day before Christmas, I handed him a green crayon and asked him to draw me a Christmas tree. In less than five seconds, he very lightly sketched out a rough outline of something vaguely triangular, before setting that crayon aside and choosing a dark blue on with which to write another list of those same names.
He's not standard issue, that's clear. I don't see his quirkiness as debilitating, mind you: he does well academically, he can play with other children, albeit a bit awkwardly; he has a couple of friends. He'll never be Mr. Popular, but I've never seen that as a worthy goal anyway. He's also not a social outcast.
Just a bit quirky. So, all you quirky kid experts, have you any input for me? What might I be seeing here?
* Here's an example of the questions that came at me over a random, timed, ten-minute period:
Why did you put out the wrong snowsuit for George?
Why doesn’t Darcy wear a snowsuit?
Why does Darcy’s suit have two pieces?
Why doesn’t Arthur’s suit have pants?
Is Michel and Jean-Francois coming today?
Why does Arthur have a weird voice?
What does he talk like?
Why doesn’t he talk like me?
Do you know what he talks like?
Is Arthur the most different-est?
Are you going to get those guys down soon?
Where’s Arthur?
Where does everybody sleep?
Where does Alice used to sleep?
Who sleeps in the bedroom by the bathroom?
Zach sleeps in your bedroom?
What about Mia?
Where does Mia sleep?
Why didn’t I have a chance to say goodbye to Alice?
Are people going to write to her?
What will you say on her card?
Has Alice turned two yet?
When does Arthur’s mom come?
What does “varies a lot” mean?
When did Michel and Jean-Francois leave yesterday?
So I left at 4:40?
Does Darcy leave at 4:35 or something?
When’s Niamh come?
What about Zach’s dad?
What if it’s Zach’s mom?
What about Michel & Jean-Francois' mom?
Why doesn’t Michel get milk?
Is he allergic to milk?
And Jean-Francois is allergic to orange juice?
Ten minutes...
I like Sam. Apart from him, I care for five toddlers during the day, and two other boys after school, another 8-year-old, Jean-Francois, and his 10-year-old brother, Michel. Jean-Francois finds Sam truly annoying, and even though I enjoy Sam a lot, I understand what it is about Sam that puts the other boy off. Michel is kinder. He tells his brother, "Sam is weird, but he can't help it, and he's always nice about it."
To use my grandmother's terminology, Sam is "an odd duck".
Here are the quirky things I've noted about Sam:
- Sam likes routine.
Every day when he arrives, Sam greets me. Even if he cannot yet see me, he carols out a "Hewwo, Mary!" (Sam cannot say his "l"s yet.) I must answer. If I hesitate, he freezes where he is and calls again until I answer. It's as if he cannot continue to the next thing until this necessary is accomplished.
Then he goes upstairs to the bathroom. When he comes downstairs, he expects to see his glass of milk waiting on the table for him. If I am in the kitchen pouring it, he can wait, but if I haven't yet made it to the kitchen, he reminds me, calling from his place - always the same place - at the dining table. He's always polite, he doesn't display anxiety about these things, but it's clear he needs this ritual to take place in its proper way.
Then he eats his snack, which can take an hour. He is a slow eater. Then he begins his homework. He never needs to be prompted. He established this routine for himself, and it's 100% reliable.
- His snack is huge - his mother packs enough for three little boys - but never have I seen him offer to share any of the excess, even when the toddlers are standing by him eyeing his every mouthful. I don't think it's selfishness; I think it's simply that he doesn't read the body language, as unsubtle as it is. I could be wrong, and this could just be garden-variety selfishness, but it doesn't have that appearance to me.
Throughout his snack time he is cheerful, friendly, talkative. His mother tells me his teacher this year adores him, and I can see why. He's attentive, though in some respects oddly oblivious, he's polite, he's handsome, he's quiet, he does his school work conscientiously and meticulously.
- Conversation for Sam consists mainly of him peppering me with continual questions. One after the other, rapid-fire. He often listens to the answers, and occasionally responds to what I've said, but it still feels odd, this question-and-answer "conversation."*
- His conversational gait is odd. Its speed varies and is slowed by pauses of strange lengths in unexpected places. He also tends to hold his head at a tight angle over his shoulder while he talks, and often looks way up and to one side as he speaks to you, though he can and does make eye contact as well.
- He likes to laugh, to the point that he's often rendered mute by his laughter when something catches his funny bone. When he laughs, he cannot, cannot speak. His mouth gapes wide and he wheezes, gasping in silent gulps of laughter. Even still, he doesn't "get" humour entirely, and this worries him. It worries him that his uncontrollable laughter "makes the other kids mad". What he misses are the social aspects. Things that strike Sam as funny are not always - not often! - shared by others.
Lately, for example, it's been something another child said. Every day he will come in and say, "Remember when Arthur said 'What's eating for'?" Then he'll collapse into speechless, wheezing laughter. At first I laughed, but this has been going on for months, and it's long since ceased to be funny for me. Sam, though, clearly hopes that I will share the joke.
"Why aren't you laughing?" he asks when I only smile. I explain that something can be funny at first, and then cease to be funny after a while. That it's okay for him to still enjoy that joke, but that I'm not finding it funny any more. This worries him, and the questions begin. Why is it not funny any more? Does anyone still find it funny? Why is he the only one who finds it funny? Will it bother the other children if he laughs about it? (This last one pulls at my heart, seeing a child who's beginning to understand that he's out of synch with the other children and not wanting to annoy, but not understanding why he does.)
- For all his focus on me and his need for my attention, he's singularly unaware of me. I injured my back a while ago, and the problem had steadily worsened until I was moving very stiffly and with obvious pain, occasionally gasping when a movement hurt unexpectedly. During his hour of Q&A snack time, not once did he ask about my state. The other 8-year-old, on coming in the door after school, watched me walk towards him with wide eyes, and said, "What's wrong with you?" Took him 40 seconds to see, notice, and ask.
- He'll often ask for crayons so that he can "draw a picture". When provided with them, he writes, in his very neat and very firmly pressed handwriting, meticulous lists of the names of all the children in his class. One day before Christmas, I handed him a green crayon and asked him to draw me a Christmas tree. In less than five seconds, he very lightly sketched out a rough outline of something vaguely triangular, before setting that crayon aside and choosing a dark blue on with which to write another list of those same names.
He's not standard issue, that's clear. I don't see his quirkiness as debilitating, mind you: he does well academically, he can play with other children, albeit a bit awkwardly; he has a couple of friends. He'll never be Mr. Popular, but I've never seen that as a worthy goal anyway. He's also not a social outcast.
Just a bit quirky. So, all you quirky kid experts, have you any input for me? What might I be seeing here?
* Here's an example of the questions that came at me over a random, timed, ten-minute period:
Why did you put out the wrong snowsuit for George?
Why doesn’t Darcy wear a snowsuit?
Why does Darcy’s suit have two pieces?
Why doesn’t Arthur’s suit have pants?
Is Michel and Jean-Francois coming today?
Why does Arthur have a weird voice?
What does he talk like?
Why doesn’t he talk like me?
Do you know what he talks like?
Is Arthur the most different-est?
Are you going to get those guys down soon?
Where’s Arthur?
Where does everybody sleep?
Where does Alice used to sleep?
Who sleeps in the bedroom by the bathroom?
Zach sleeps in your bedroom?
What about Mia?
Where does Mia sleep?
Why didn’t I have a chance to say goodbye to Alice?
Are people going to write to her?
What will you say on her card?
Has Alice turned two yet?
When does Arthur’s mom come?
What does “varies a lot” mean?
When did Michel and Jean-Francois leave yesterday?
So I left at 4:40?
Does Darcy leave at 4:35 or something?
When’s Niamh come?
What about Zach’s dad?
What if it’s Zach’s mom?
What about Michel & Jean-Francois' mom?
Why doesn’t Michel get milk?
Is he allergic to milk?
And Jean-Francois is allergic to orange juice?
Ten minutes...
posted by Mary P. at 5:28 PM
10 Comments:
Hmmm. I am not an expert, not even a nanny anymore. But what you're saying about Sam reminds me of two kids I babysat for a few years ago. One was eight, and the other six. The six year old had a lot of Sam's behaviors, but he started to outgrow them as he gained more social skills at school. The behaviors came back when his parents began to homeschool him.
The other kid, the eight year old, did not outgrow the behaviors. They continued and worsened. He was eventually diagnosed as Asperger's.
It's possible that Sam is just behind the other kids socially - is he an only child? Aside from your house and school, does he get much contact with other kids? He might still be learning to read people, especially if his family is insular. Or it could be something more intense.
I've always found kid's questions fascinating at around the six and seventh year. That's when they seem to figure out that people are different - like for example, things are funny to some people in some places at some times, but not to everyone everywhere at any time. The questions are cool as they try to place themselves.
Sounds like Aspergers. But I`m no doc. I just read a lot.
I agree, sounds like Aspergers. And I'm not a doc either, but my son has it.
Sounds like Asperger's to me, too, only because Sam reminds me of Christopher in certain ways, and the school psychologist initially sent us for evaluations because she thought he was an Asperger's kid. The specialists didn't really want to say definitively that he *was*, though they did say he has some characteristics.
I'd think maybe some OCD, too, for the way certain things have to be (the saying 'hello' thing, for example).
I'd kind of wondered. It's possible, as beckaj suggested, that it's a maturational thing. He is an only child, and his lovely father is certainly quite reclusive, though his cheerful mother is the opposite! Both parents, BTW, are doctors.
I tend to think it's more than just a bit of a lag, though, because he's odd even for a five year old. (I discovered today he turns nine very shortly.)
His mother deals with his quirks in a steady and consistent way, but I don't think she views him as anything other than a "normal" kid. A teacher neighbour, and friend of the family, who has accurately pegged a couple of her students in the last couple of years as Asperger's, doesn't see it in him. So, I confess myself both baffled and intrigued.
As I say, he's an interesting little guy!
p.s. If he is Asperger's, are there other key symptoms I would expect to see?
Asperger's is on the autism spectrum...so some other symptoms might be textural sensitivity (hating tags rubbing his skin, or the feel of carpet on his feet), allergies or senstivities to certain foods, and sleep disturbances.
Also emotional issues - a hard time being empathetic, for example. Although he does seem to realize that his emotions don't always mesh with other's - that's a good sign.
Sigh. I sometimes wonder if we were better off before we had all these labels and diagnoses for kids. Now we feel compelled to help...but could we actually be hurting by expecting kids to fit a certain mold? Hmmm. But we certainly can't leave them alone to fend for themselves.
Read a lot. Work a lot. Accept a lot. Laugh a lot.
Nice post!
Estee
http://joyofautism.blogspot.com
He doesn't like to be touched unexpectedly. I often ruffle the older boys' hair. I noticed that he flinches when he he doesn't see me coming, so I've stopped surprising him. If I let him know it's coming, "Here I come to fluff your hair!", he's okay with it. He likes it, in fact.
I once kissed him on top of his head, and he let me know, quite seriously, "I don't really like it when people kiss me." So of course I assured him that I wouldn't do it if he didn't like it. That could just be a little boy thing, of course!
I don't think Sam would be enriched by becoming "just like all the other boys". I was never just like all the other girls, and I took pride in that! Conformity is a mixed blessing at best.
I do like Sam just as he is, and as I said in the post, I don't think his quirkiness is of such a degree that it is any great handicap in his life, any more than my nominal fashion sense, and my love for classical music was for me in my teens. I mean, I paid a certain price for it socially, but what I'd have gained wouldn't have been worth what I'd have lost, to me. I see Sam in the same way.
What I'd like to be able to do is help him bridge the gap when necessary, so that he doesn't feel unhappy and confused when what pleases him only annoys others. Mostly, just for my own curiosity, I'd like to understand better - so I could help him understand, and just because he's interesting and I'm curious!
I does sound somewhat like Asperger's Mary. A lot, actually.
The one thing that makes me hesitate is that children with Asperger's often seems to obsess over their own interests to the exclusion of all else.
Sam is clearly lacking in empathy, but he's also clearly engaged with his world, and shows some interst in the other children--judging by your exhasutive list of questions, anyway. In an Aspergers situation I'd have expected that exchange to focus on everything Sam knows about the Parasaurolopholus, or earthworms, or whatever his passion is.
I have a friend whose son is diagnosed with PDD--PErvasive Developmental Disorder, whcih is the Autism equivalent of "phuctifyno." That could be as close to an identifier as it's possible to get with Sam, too.
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