Autism | Calderism

Because of Calder’s situation, he goes to a special school, called Henderson Haven. School days with Calder are always an event. You’d think after doing it every weekday for years, we’d have it down to a routine. We don’t. Mostly because Cald has declared war on clothing. Every morning starts with someone chasing him around the house while he tries to undress himself faster than we can dress him. One sock on, pants off. Shirt halfway on, pants now missing. He’s like a magician who only performs disappearing acts with outfits. We have accepted that sometimes he shows up to school with his shirt wrinkled or inside out, socks mismatched(and usually somewhat damp), and a suspicious yogurt stain or bit of egg that none of us can explain.

But even with the chaos, Cald loves school. He is always smiling in the mornings leaving for school and even leaving school still brings him a giant smile. You might think he would leave frowning and upset, but the joy he gets at school overpowers it. The uniquieness of his school is incomparable. While I go to learn math properties and chemical imbalances, Cald gets to choose what subjects he wants to study, and so it’s Rosa Parks, Geometry, and Earth Sciences all day for him. He gets to leave the table when he’s bored or tired and takes a nap whenever he wants. Oh and he also gets to hang with the therapy dogs and play with the cats that wander around the playground.

Meanwhile, I’m across town in regular school, staring at a whiteboard while my teacher explains (again) how to find the greatest common factor. As I’m trying not to fall asleep in math, Cald is out here doing cooking class, finger-painting, and once he went up in a hot air balloon. I wish I was joking. The pictures are real. While I was stuck solving for X, Cald was floating above the earth, living his best high-altitude life. I was proud, and extremely jealous.

Still, school isn’t always easy for him. Loud noises, bright lights, unexpected schedule changes—those things throw him off. Sometimes he gets overwhelmed, frustrated, and just done with the day. But the people at his school know how to help him reset. And more importantly, they let him be himself. He’s going through this phase where he hates shoes. Instead of making him wear them, his teachers let him run barefoot.

When Cald gets picked up, there is some yearning to still stay longer to hang with his friends or swing on the playground. Luckily, he’s easily bribed by the promise of Chik-Fil-A. He puts on his Harry Potter backpack and walks independtly to the car. At the end of the day, He’s tired, sometimes messy, and always happy. Deep down I know—that he has had another great day.

And while I may be slightly bitter about the hot air balloon thing (and the fact that he gets sensory toys while I get graphing calculators), I wouldn’t trade watching him thrive for anything. Because school isn’t just a place that teaches him—it’s a place that gets him.