What is a bully?

My fifteen-year-old son, Tate, is a freshman in High School. Tate has autism. To my knowledge Tate has never had to deal with peer who is a bully. I have a theory or two about the why(s) behind that and you can read about all of that here: A Successful Buddy Program

It is hard for some to believe that Tate does not have a problem with bullies. Many people have told me that bullying is just something their children with autism have to live with. I have had a few people suggest to me that Tate is likely being bullied for his differences, but is either unable to recognize it himself and complain, or that I am just too out-of-touch to know. It really is hard for some people to understand that we seem to have done what is considered "the impossible." There simply are no bullies in Tate's life.

Because the month of October is bullying prevention month, I decided to talk to my two special needs kids about bullying. I asked Tate if he knew what a bully is. He said, "a bully is someone who is mean to kids." I walked away and came back a bit later to ask him to go a bit more into depth about what a bully is. This time he said, "a bully picks on kids." So I asked him what a bully looks like. He told me a bully looks like a big kid who is really mean. I asked him if a little kid could ever be a bully and he said, "yes." I asked him if a grown up could be a bully. He again answered, "yes." So I asked him if he knew any bullies. He exclaimed, "no!" 

I wanted to explain some things about bullying to Tate and his younger sister, and that is best done with visuals for my two literal kids. The following is what I came up with... 

Let me know if I got it right. Are there things here you would change or add? Find me on Facebook at Quirks and Chaos. 

The Faces of Friendship

There you are in the grocery store, the face of kindness. My son is walking beside me as I push the cart and you walk quickly to catch up to us. You are shopping with your mom too. You call my son Tate by name and greet him enthusiastically. Tate mumbles a response, barely looking your direction and wanders on ahead. You tell me that you go to school with him and when I thank you for speaking to him so nicely and I try to make an excuse for his lack of interest in you, you say, “Oh I know. That’s just how he is.” You call, “See you at school Monday Tate!” and as you walk away, my heart sings knowing there are peers like you who genuinely like my son for who he is, autism and all.

There you are in the school auditorium, the face of consideration. My son and I are attending his sister’s school play. We find our seats in the school’s auditorium. You come, dragging your mom by the hand, and sit beside Tate. You speak to him and introduce him to your mom. I ask Tate to introduce me to his friend. He says he does not know your name. I cringe inside but smile, hoping you understand. I tell you that Tate has trouble matching faces and names. You tell me you already know that, assure me it’s okay, and you politely introduce yourself and your mother to me. You try your best to engage Tate in conversation and you make a little progress, while your mom and I listen and make a little small talk over the tops of your heads. I am very impressed and thankful my son is learning social skills from peers like you.

I am at the Junior High school, sitting in seventh grade Science class. I've been invited by your teacher to hear Tate give his presentation on the solar system. You are there, so many of you! You are the faces of encouragement. Tate stands in front of you proudly, a big smile on his face. It never occurs to him that you might not be impressed with his modified school work or the presentation his Paraprofessional helped him to put together. Your presentations were much more detailed and they were done independently but you show Tate the same courtesy you showed the peer that presented before him and the one who comes after. My heart melts knowing you respect my son and make him feel like a part of your class regardless of his abilities. I so appreciate you!

There you are in a department store, the face of compassion. I’m out shopping and feel eyes on me. I look over to see you smile and you ask, “Are you Tate’s mom?” I say that I am and you ask me where he is. I tell you he is home. You tell me you eat lunch with Tate sometimes. I tell you how much it means to Tate’s family to know the kids at school are so kind to him. You smile and tell me it is fun to eat lunch with Tate. You add that you have learned more from being Tate’s friend than he has learned from you. I ponder this, as I know Tate is not what most kids would consider “fun” or is he able to do the classwork that the rest of you can do. He is hard to converse with, sometimes seems rude, he does not understand social cues, and he performs below grade level in every subject. But you know that. You know how he struggles to understand friendship yet how much he needs friends. You know how he struggles to process language, especially when it is spoken quickly. You are willing to be the kind of friend a kid with autism needs, a friend who has to give more than they receive, a friend who has to slow down and give Tate time to process before he can respond. And you are okay with that. My heart swells with gratitude.

This evening I need to find the face of understanding. We have come to a music program. Tate is to sing with his classmates. I hoped you would be here at the entrance to the school and I see you walking in right ahead of us. I stop you and ask you if you know where Tate should go to find his group. You tell me you know exactly where to go and you say, “Come on Tate. Follow me.” I call to you as you disappear into the crowd, “Thank you!” I feel blessed and relieved to be a part of this community where I can find these willing faces all around us.

I see you at a school picnic, the faces of acceptance. Tate’s class voted and chose to go fishing at a lake as their end-of-the-year-event. We considered skipping it because Tate is not interested in fishing at all. He does not like to get dirty and I figure he will most likely spend the evening asking us how much longer we have to stay. We decided he should go and as our family pulls up to the lake, several of you approach our van, calling Tate’s name and asking him to hurry and join you. He says, “My friends are here.” He follows you to the gathering and we bring up the rear. My heart smiles at the knowledge that my son has friends. He has friends and he is accepted, autism and all.

As a part of the autism community I often hear of prejudice, intolerance, hate and bullying. We’ve seen very few of those things in my son’s life. Perhaps it is because we have been open about his autism diagnosis since kindergarten. Perhaps it is because we made sure his classmates were educated about autism. Perhaps it is because of the lunch buddy program and the other social coaching programs his peers have participated in with him. Perhaps it is because we live in a small town and a close-knit community. Perhaps we just got lucky and my son has a class of exceptionally caring peers whose parents have taught them about friendship, kindness, consideration, encouragement, respect, compassion, understanding and acceptance. Perhaps it is a combination of all of these things. 

If you liked this post, you might like to read Building Tate's Friendships.

Privacy: hiding the diagnosis or hiding from the diagnosis?

I hate privacy laws. The purpose is to keep people safe I suppose, but they do not work that way for my two kids.  Privacy laws keep schools from telling people about my kids’ disabilities. A substitute teacher is not supposed to be told a student has autism. How can that possibly work in the student’s best interest? In an emergency the adult in charge, would assume the student had age appropriate skills to cope. At the very least, the child does not learn as much on the days there is a sub if the sub does not know there is a challenge of some kind for that child. 

Tate in Kindergarten

I did not know this when Tate began school. I assumed all adults who came in contact with Tate, in any capacity, would be informed of his disability and educated a little about autism. That is not how it works due to privacy laws. Only the teachers working directly with Tate or Sydney are supposed to be told about their diagnosis and behavior issues. I had to tell my kids’ librarians, music teachers, P.E. teachers, art teachers, and secretaries about their disabilities myself. I even stopped the janitors at Sydney’s school and explained what her disability was and asked them to step in if they saw her behaving in an inappropriate way. 

Sydney and Tate

This year, I insisted both my kids’ IEPs state that substitute teachers have to be told about my kids’ special needs. It became very important to me after walking into a P.E. class when Tate was in third grade. He was crying, rocking and stimming while his classmates were playing a sort of dodge-ball game. It was chaos. At the front of the room was a substitute teacher who had not been told Tate had a disability. At that point, Tate did not have a support person with him in P.E. either. I was still fighting that battle. I could write volumes about the power struggle that went on over para support, and I probably will (but not today.) It is not quite as urgent that a sub be told about Tate’s disability if he has para support with him. However, I would still like every adult who has any part of educating (or keeping Tate and Sydney safe) to understand there is a language delay and behavior issues that need to be considered. 

We live in a very small town and don’t plan to move in the near future. The more people in town who know about Tate and Sydney and their special needs, the more people I will have watching and helping to keep them safe. They are less likely to be bullied by peers, if the peers and their parents, understand my kids have a disability, as well. 

Sometimes schools do not even show a student’s para the student’s IEP. The para works with the child more than any other person. The RR teacher, the classroom teacher, and the para are part of a team. If the para is not “in the loop” and does not even get a look at the IEP how are they supposed to fully understand the child’s needs and the goals set for that child? I have heard the arguments. First there is the privacy policy argument. And second, paras are not necessarily educated or trained as a teacher. Oh brother! If they were not intelligent adults, able to help educate my child, they would not have been hired. If they are not worthy of reading my kids’ IEP then don’t hire them in the first place. It is not a secret that my kids have an IEP. I want them read by everyone so they can be followed. 

I have asked that Tate’s classmates be educated about autism and the schools have been really cooperative in giving Tate’s classmates age-appropriate information each year. I wish there was a way to share information with Sydney’s classmates about her disability as well but how do you explain alcohol consumption during pregnancy to seven year olds? For now, Sydney knows she is adopted. She knows what that means. She knows what her pills are for and what they do and she knows she feels better and is able to think clearly when she takes her medicine. When the time is right, we will explain to Sydney what ADHD is and what Fetal Alcohol Syndrome is. How fair would it be to keep it from her? 

I know a parent who has a child with high-functioning-autism. The kid is several years older than Tate and has more social skills than Tate, and more language. He has never been told he has autism. Now THAT is a privacy policy. It must be a pretty difficult secret to keep. I have chosen to be very vocal about Tate’s autism. How much damage could be done if he did not know? I wouldn’t want to be present the day he found out he has autism, if he was never educated himself about what autism is. Tate hears the word autism every day and has since he was diagnosed. He does not have an accurate idea of what autism is because he doesn’t have that much language comprehension, but if he did, I would explain it all to him and be happy to. He does know he has something called autism. He sees he is different than his peers and he knows he needs more help than his peers.  He can see them doing lots of things he cannot do and he sees them understanding things when he does not. Writing those last two sentences caused me to stop and think: Tate probably has a pretty good idea of what autism is.




This is a post explaining how I educate Tate's classmates about autism and how helpful it has been: What is Autism? or Why Does Tate Act That Way?

Find me on Facebook at Quirks and Chaos. Like what you read? Want to become a follower? Click on the Google Friend Following gadget on this blog. It's over on the right side and asks you to subscribe. Or you can add the URL (the web address in your search bar) to your Reading List. You can do that by clicking the plus sign in front of the URL. Thanks!