Bounce Town

Recently a friend mentioned a special event going on today for kids with ASD and familes at a new local playplace that's basically a bunch of inflatable houses and slides. I knew getting there on a Sunday morning after church might be tricky, but after jiggling some things around we made it over there at about 9:30. I hadn't been there before, but we will be coming back.

The kids had a blast!

What a fun morning we ended up having. There was the Princess bounce house, the Super Man slide and the firetruck Slide. There was the whale slide and the cool obstacle course bounce area that was really for bigger kids but that Ethan managed to tackle right alongside Anna. The whole thing was free, and there were free refreshments and an arts and crafts room that Anna made sure she most certainly took advantage of.

Then there were the families and kids. I have not been around so many people with autism since going to see Andy at Higashi School. Every time I have the opportunity, I feel a sense of peace. It's rather hard to describe, but kind of as if I want to take a deep breath and say, "Ahhh. Yes, they understand."

There were kids barely on the autism spectrum and some who were rather severe. Many just blended in with all of the "typical" siblings running around. Some walked on their toes and some made interesting sounds. Several were bothered by the noise of the fans running the inflatable houses and I saw many pulling their parents by their hands. All, at one point or another though, had moments of sheer joy as they slid, jumped and bounced.

There was a rather strange moment when we were back getting snacks as I observed a family with a little boy who reminded me of Andy in unfamiliar places. He was about 8 years old and seemed stressed. I'd seen him out having fun but apparently he'd had enough. I wasn't really thinking as much about the boy as the dad, though, when I heard him telling someone he had graduated in 1992. This guy was balding. He was headed toward middle age, for sure. That's when I graduated, I wanted to say, but I was preoccupied thinking, When did we get so old?

I wanted to get to know parents but didn't know how to strike up much of a conversation in the midst of all of the noise and excitement. Sometimes I'd hear snippets of conversation. One guy was complaining about spending money on an outside evaluation on his child and about the school system skimping on therapies. Someone else mentioned Dr. Milanese, the developmental pediatrician who first evaluated Ethan. Ah, they speak my language, I was thinking, but didn't know how to just jump in. I also saw a woman I vaguely recognized from church and wondered why she was there. I never got over to her, so I don't know.

Ethan and Anna played for nearly two hours straight. They were hot and sweaty and red and thirsty, the way kids should be. We had to coax Ethan a little bit to try different slides, but he did, and he did just fine.

Over on the big kid obstacle course, Ethan kept working to hold his own. There was the huge rock-climbing type wall that I didn't think he'd make it up. It was twice the size as the one on our swingset. The first time, I was going to go in with him, but one of the staff guys said, "Let's see how he does first," and he was right. Why not let him try? So we watched as Ethan worked to climb up, up, up, one foot and one hand after the other, until he'd made it to the top. Anna cheered him on.

The next time he wanted to go on that one, there was a boy about nine just ahead of Ethan. I'm pretty sure he had autism. He took it upon himself to show Ethan the ropes and talk him through the whole course. I went through too that time, and hung back, listening.

"Now go up like this," he was telling Ethan. I'm not sure how much Ethan was listening, but the boy kept narrating. "Hold onto this handle...that's it. Now go here." At one point I accidentally slid into the boy and apologized. He thought for a second...I could see him looking for the appropriate response. "It's okay," he said, and shrugged. He continued to instruct Ethan. I wondered how many typical nine-year-olds would have even cared. They probably would have knocked him down and left him in the dust. Yet this sweet kid sat perched at the top of the climbing wall, patiently waiting for Ethan to make it to the top. "Great job," I said to both of them, and off he went down the slide.

The smiles. I think that was the best part -- typical and not-so-typical kids having very typical fun; and parents who momentarily set down their burdens to cheer their kids on, talk with each other, and yes, smile.