Introductions and Explanations

The boys were exploring the room, moving all around with engaging curiosity, but they had not seen or spoken to me yet.

Their father was just a half-step behind them, a big, tall young man. He smiled and said, "We've got one more coming too.  He's with his mother."  And sure enough, in came two more, the mother and an older son. The parents were very pleasant and attractive.  The boys were attractive-looking preschoolers, and they too seemed pleasant enough. But the one thing most noticeable to me was that they did not look at me or notice me at all. 

Not that any preschoolers are as interested in the teacher as they are in the toys that they see; but most children do have a reasonable degree of interest in the people around them at some point, even when they are checking out some new environment.  Not so with this group.  The parents introduced themselves and the boys, and one of them explained, "They're autistic."  It was not a complete surprise to me, because of that high interest in the environment and low interest in the people in it that I had observed. 

For a long time in my life I had had some interest in autism, and I had met and worked with a couple of older, high-functioning boys with autism at another church.  I knew some facts about the condition, even though I had no formal training. And I knew or could guess enough to know that this was likely to be one of the biggest challenges that many families might imagine:  having three autistic boys under the age of six.

The mother explained that the two younger boys were twins, Josiah and Joshua; they were non-verbal, and they were not yet toilet-independent. (That's not the word she used; I did, just now.) These two boys were still in diapers.  She had a sort of bag, similar to but not exactly a diaper bag, that she would leave with them, and in it she was leaving something (I couldn't tell what) for their "sensory needs." As she said this, she gestured towards her mouth.  One of the twins found a light switch and turned off the lights in half of the room; one of the parents instructed him to turn it back on.

Explanations continued, with the parents telling me that the older boy Caleb was verbal and toilet-trained and that he would probably participate in the activities we offered.  I looked and saw that he had already found something that engaged his attention - a book or puzzle, perhaps an art activity - and he was sitting at the table absorbed in what he was doing.  The twins continued to explore, up and down and all around the room, sometimes silently and sometimes offering vocal, but non-verbal, utterances.

I asked the parents which class they would be in, in case we needed to find them for any reason.  They were visitors, and so they were not sure, but it was likely to be a class for young married couples. I knew I could guess which one it was likely to be, and so I reassured them we would be fine and sent them on their way, closing the door immediately after them so that the twins would not follow.

In retrospect, I have been somewhat surprised at the questions I did not ask. In my early years of teaching preschool Sunday School, I was very adamant - even offensively so - about having highly-structured guidelines for dropping off and picking up children in the preschool department.  But since that time, I have experienced other styles of preschool teaching, and I have come to know that there are many successful ways to work with children at church. My standards have relaxed quite a bit.  But this new situation reminded me that there can be a lot of good value in having tighter policies.

In the week prior to this first Sunday with the boys, our church family had experienced two deaths. I made the assumption, without checking, that the new family might be from the extended family of one of those deceased who had come to town for the funeral and for family support and comfort.  After the parents left for their class, I realized that this had been only an assumption and that I needed to get  more information.  And I resolved to do that.

My mind raced for a moment, as I watched the boys dashing back and forth, up and down the room.  I told Mary, "This changes the plan. We won't try the circle time at all, and from here on out today we'll just play things by ear."