Declan had just finished swimming and we were in the car waiting for Tova to come out of play practice. It's early and we have quite a wait. "Dec, let's do some homework," I suggested, expecting some strong protest in return. "Okay," he responded. "I did homework in the car with Daddy one time, and I liked it. It was like a office." I smiled. I knew that he was thinking of the times that Brendan sat in his car in the driveway, holding conference calls. But it was also the enclosed space, the quiet, the change in background for doing his work. Something about it appealed to him. He has always liked small spaces. I thought about the time his SEIT brought over a large box and cut out close-able doors for him. Four-year-old Declan crawled right in and sat in there for longer than I expected he ever would. But Loren knew. "He really needs a place where he could block everything out. He needs a break from trying to get his brain to interpret all of the sensory information coming in. It's hard enough to make sense of it, and from time to time, he's going to need a break." I'm not sure exactly how long he stayed in that box without anything but himself, the darkness, and the smell of cardboard, but I remember looking at the clock twenty minutes later, appreciating the weight of what Loren was trying to show me.
Declan reached for his backpack and took out his math homework. I glanced at the homework and saw that it was math story problems. I was curious to see how well he would be able to do them, as this kind of problem solving has always been difficult for him. Read, comprehend, retain, problem solve, manipulate, record...their is a lot to accomplish within these seemingly innocent problems. His processing, working memory, attention, and executive function deficits would all be challenged. I was encouraged that his teacher had written out special directions just for him, and key words were highlighted in order to help him to figure out the operation he would need to use. "Jack had 32 marbles," the problem read, "James has 24. How many marbles do the boys have all together?" I stayed quiet and watched. I wanted to give him the time he needed to take the information in. Wait time - it's so underestimated by parents and teachers. If only they would just wait a little longer before interjecting, they would see how much thinking was really going on and how capable the children really are in figuring things out for themselves. But I didn't wait long enough. I interrupted in attempt to throw him a line. "Hmmm," I said, "how many all together. Is that addition or subtraction?" "Distraction," he responded. He was not at all aware of his mistake, but he could not be more right.
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