Last night Marli and I watched Temple Grandin, an HBO movie about the eponymous real life person, Temple Grandin (wiki link) . I confess I wouldn't have rented this movie on my own because I generally find made-for-TV biographies (and movie biographies in general) to be overblown (dramatic where they need not be dramatic, and wrong where they should be accurate). What bothers me is that these sorts of movies take a story which is potentially already inspiring on its own, and take it into glurge territory by making everything into a hyper-real, one-vs.-all, "nobody helped me" story of personal triumph. It's rare that you get a biography that "feels real", and this is all too often confirmed when one reads into the actual history behind what is portrayed. It's like a war story where the original story is amazing enough already, but screenwriters have to add a love story, add four superfluous characters who get killed unnecessarily, make three important historical people into one "composite character" and then change some of the plot so that it makes less (or no) sense from a historical viewpoint. Oh, and change the nationality of some or all of the people in uniform. [*cough* (U-571) *cough*]
You know, minor editing like that.
Temple Grandin (the movie), to its credit, generally steers away from this sort of hyperbole (mostly). It did make me want to purchase the book to get a better sense of her thought processes and individual challenges away from the screenwriter's (and producers') need to make everything into a drama.
In a nutshell, Temple Grandin (the person) is a woman with autism who uses her particular way of looking at things (she used it as the title of her book "Thinking in Pictures") - as a springboard to an education (and later career) in Animal Science and autism advocacy. To explain much more would spoil some of the more interesting twists and turns of the movie.
It's well acted, and Claire Danes, playing Temple, seems to nail a lot of the mannerisms and "looks" that I've seen Kenshin do. In particular, one scene in which she has a bit of a breakdown over not understanding social cues during a society party, she covered her face with her hands with palms out and interlocked thumbs in front of his nose exactly the way Kenshin does when he's particularly upset. Danes definitely had the "chops" for this role.
The story is definitely quite inspiring while at the same time bittersweet. I can envision Kenshin having to endure much of the same prejudice and misunderstanding that Temple went through as an autistic person who otherwise appears quite normal. I also look forward to encouraging Kenshin to use whatever gifts or strengths he has now or manifests later. I'm very glad that Marli coaxed me into watching it. I'm going to recommend it to others, especially in my family.
That said, I think there are problems with it.
Not to say that it is bad, or the problem is IN the movie itself, but for me it is the expectations that it raises. Temple Grandin is a high-functioning autistic person with an exceptional gift of insight and intelligence. Her way of "thinking in pictures" while not uncommon in autistic individuals, is exceptional because she has learned to articulate and put it into action in engineering applications as well as her psychological research and lecturing.
Even in my very limited exposure to people with autism and understanding of it through reading and research, many, many people with autism (I do not have the numbers back up a statement to say "most" or "a large majority", but I do suspect it is the case) won't have this particular "presentation". Many are bright. Many have unique ways of looking at things and can express that somehow (through writing, speech or drawing) to non-autistic people. Not all of them have both characteristics.
There is a trend now, generally in society, but increasingly in biopics like this, that all persons with disabilities have this or the other barrier/disability/impairment - whatever - which sets them up as an outsider in "normal" society but they invariably have this other ability (frequently so remarkable so as to seem superhuman) which outshines the disability and helps them to earn the respect and admiration of others - showing the "normals" that they are as good or better than the rest.
"Forrest Gump" overcomes physical handicap and mental disability and lives a remarkable, event-filled life (earning the Medal of Honour, no less). John Nash uses his unique viewpoint to earn a Nobel Prize, sidestepping delusions and paranoid schizophrenia along the way, in "A Beautiful Mind". David Helfgott, played by Geoffrey Rush in "Shine", puts aside his mental illness (schizoaffective disorder) to win accolades as a concert pianist (quite aside from the ongoing difficulties of the real life David Helfgott). Raymond Babbit is the "Rain Man" with remarkable powers of recall and mathematics who manages to humanize his selfish brother and win a lot of money through gambling as a bonus.
What worries me about these movies and the popular Hollywood portrayal of mental illness, developmental challenges and disorders like autism is that they show the "minus" column - the challenges, the prejudices, the sensation of being outcast, but there's always a huge "plus" on the other side of the equation - Forrest Gump's tremendous courage, heart and remarkable running ability, John Nash's mathematical "beautiful mind", David Helfgott's piano-playing, Raymond Babbitt's card counting and instant recall. Somehow they're all "savants". They all have superpowers!
Rarely does one see a screen character for whom the equation of their abilities and disabilities are equal... or, heaven forfend, leave them less capable than a person without a disorder.
The wiki article I just linked to about Savants quotes a study by Dr. Darold A. Treffert who indicates that 1 in 10 individuals with autism may exhibit "remarkable abilities in varying degrees". Yes, that's amazing and it should be celebrated... but there's 9 other individuals who aren't Savants. Where are the movies about them? Should it be necessary that all parents of autistic children have to patiently explain to well-meaning strangers that, no, their son/daughter does not have eidetic memory, the ability to see numbers and equations floating in the air and connect them with glowing lines, or play grand pianos with the fingers of a maestro? What about the autistic kids who can't walk down a hallway without bumping into people, or can't read social/visual cues at a birthday party in other kids' faces, or don't know enough to not run into a street if they're having a tantrum about something?
I'm exaggerating a little here, of course. Most people don't have an inkling of what autism is past a single viewing of Rain Man (if that). But so many movies about people with disabilities portray them as paragons of virtue (or, occasionally, embodiments of vice) with these strange, superhuman abilities that I worry that people like Kenshin will never be viewed as people - with strengths and weakness like everyone else - and that they may not have enhanced senses or tremendous gifts. They can just be ordinary (with the "asterisk" of their mental or physical illness or disorder). Do they need the "asterisk"? I don't know. I think so, at this point in my life.
Anyhow, that's a long-winded way of me ranting about the portrayal of disabilities in Hollywood. I don't want anyone to take the idea that people with disabilities/disorders/illnesses shouldn't be portrayed, or should always be venal or self-pitying individuals. They should be real, fully-three dimensional characters with all the good and the evil that implies.
Temple Grandin is/was remarkable. She's a hero and a figure of hope for many. As I look at the potential I see in Kenshin, I'll keep her in mind. "Different, not less" is a good starting point... I would temper that naked optimism with "Different, not less of a person." They may have a lesser ability to read social cues, regulate their behaviour, and establish communications. They MAY have abilities which are better, in their own way. They may not.
That all depends on the individual. Kenshin is very much an individual, and I'm going to treat him as one. I'm not going to expect Savant abilities, but I'm not going to dismiss evidence of them either.
He may be completely ordinary, aside from the autism. Or he may become a world-leading expert on Robotics for all I know, because of his fascination with Wall-E and electronics. I'll be there to help him, if that's what he wants and he's able. Temple Grandin, eat your heart out.
Showing posts with label tantrum. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tantrum. Show all posts
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Ghosts n' Gobbling
(no, not "goblin" - "gobbling")
Daigoro wanted to be a ghost this Hallowe'en. Since putting a sheet over your kid and cutting eyeholes is apparently a bad thing for safety/visibility reasons, I took a makeup kit in hand and painted my best scary skull face on him.
Apparently it was scary enough to prompt a lot of comments from adults. Daigoro loved it. Our Kenshin had to content himself with an explorer's helmet and some play binoculars.
We managed to get him to ration his Hallowe'en candy over the course of a month, which felt rewarding.
The usual start-of-winter cold viruses ran rampant through our family, making mid-November quite unpleasant. Fortunately, though all of us were sick concurrently, none of us were bed-ridden at the same time (though Ian and I both had days in bed on different days).
For whatever reason, Daigoro has been more and more difficult to feed at supper and occasionally lunchtime. Kenshin, though usually a bottomless pit of appetite, has suddenly developed a screaming-fit-throwing aversion to bibs, which makes clean up and dinner time somewhat trying.
We attended the Santa Claus parade in Markham this past weekend. A good time was had by Daigoro, who seemed most amused by Mr. Peanut, but Kenshin was pretty unimpressed by the whole affair and spent much of the parade being either wheeled or carried about by alternating father and grandfather comforters. He perked up and paid rapt attention at the passing of marching bands and other sources of music (carollers, speakers playing music, etc.). That boy loves music.
Speaking of which, Kenshin has developed the often amusing but sometimes pathetic habit of crying to himself to the tune of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" or "Goodnight Ladies". I believe he finds it comforting when he's feeling upset. He's actually good at carrying a tune, which is harder than it probably sounds, I think.
Daigoro is excited about the Advent calendar given to him by his Mamie. The countdown to Christmas is at the forefront of his mind - this past Sunday after waking up, he blearily looked around and asked "Did I miss Christmas?"
Daigoro wanted to be a ghost this Hallowe'en. Since putting a sheet over your kid and cutting eyeholes is apparently a bad thing for safety/visibility reasons, I took a makeup kit in hand and painted my best scary skull face on him.
Apparently it was scary enough to prompt a lot of comments from adults. Daigoro loved it. Our Kenshin had to content himself with an explorer's helmet and some play binoculars.
We managed to get him to ration his Hallowe'en candy over the course of a month, which felt rewarding.
The usual start-of-winter cold viruses ran rampant through our family, making mid-November quite unpleasant. Fortunately, though all of us were sick concurrently, none of us were bed-ridden at the same time (though Ian and I both had days in bed on different days).
For whatever reason, Daigoro has been more and more difficult to feed at supper and occasionally lunchtime. Kenshin, though usually a bottomless pit of appetite, has suddenly developed a screaming-fit-throwing aversion to bibs, which makes clean up and dinner time somewhat trying.
We attended the Santa Claus parade in Markham this past weekend. A good time was had by Daigoro, who seemed most amused by Mr. Peanut, but Kenshin was pretty unimpressed by the whole affair and spent much of the parade being either wheeled or carried about by alternating father and grandfather comforters. He perked up and paid rapt attention at the passing of marching bands and other sources of music (carollers, speakers playing music, etc.). That boy loves music.
Speaking of which, Kenshin has developed the often amusing but sometimes pathetic habit of crying to himself to the tune of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" or "Goodnight Ladies". I believe he finds it comforting when he's feeling upset. He's actually good at carrying a tune, which is harder than it probably sounds, I think.
Daigoro is excited about the Advent calendar given to him by his Mamie. The countdown to Christmas is at the forefront of his mind - this past Sunday after waking up, he blearily looked around and asked "Did I miss Christmas?"
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Looking Up
This past month has been running hot and cold... some very busy weeks and some very ordinary. We took the kids on a fairly long road trip to Montreal this past weekend to visit family there. They travelled well but we had made an effort to travel mostly at night. (For future reference, 550km / 5.5 hours direct by 401, 620km / 6 hours by a detour to visit other relatives in Carleton Place). It was fun to see their faces as we pointed out the rising sun - I don't believe they've seen one other than on TV before.
Kenshin figured out how to crawl this weekend and has been scooting along with more and more confidence in the past three days. It's amazing really - before this past Sunday (November 18th) I'd say he was about 10-20% of the way to crawling as well as any toddler his age. Now he's about 70-80% a scarce four days later. Incredible learning rate, these humans.
Kenshin has also cut his primary left maxillary central incisor (the one beside the first one) and the tips of the matching top two teeth can been seen just under the surface of the upper gums. It seems that Kenshin, much as Daigoro did at his age, will be cutting all of his teeth in a hurry.
On a relatively unrelated note, I was thinking today about the question oft-asked of me, "what do you think are the differences between the boys?" It came to me rather randomly today that Kenshin has a very noticeable tendency to look up and around. Now, this seems like a relatively minor difference, I know, but as much as Daigoro was/is a very observant child, he didn't seem to look up as often as Kenshin does. This gives Kenshin a sort of dreamy, star-gazing quality at times, especially in the evening and early morning when he looks up at the lights and the small starfield ceiling pattern I've mounted over his bed. It's quite nice, really. Some people have observed that Kenshin seems to be more of a "watcher" (compared to the "doer" that Daigoro is at times); I'll agree that Kenshin is more patient and observant.
Daigoro continues to surprise me with his memory and comprehension. He'll often remember the location of objects or something that we did together several months later, without having seen the object or done the activity since.
For example, I bought a picture frame from Goodwill almost eight months ago which contained a picture of a Lamborghini Countach mounted on a cardboard backing. I only needed the picture frame, not the picture - but the picture itself was mounted on some heavy cardstock which I figured I could use some other time, so I kept it. I had shown the picture to Daigoro once or twice; we used it for a few evenings as a door to play with in a "fort" we made under the kitchen table. Eventually he tired of the game, so I tucked it behind a piece of furniture in our dining room and haven't touched it since. Last week, out of the blue, he tapped the piece of furniture I had stored it behind and asked to see the "picture of a car". I had actually forgotten it was there but, once I figured it out, I pulled it out for him and he was very pleased, behaving as if he knew that's where I had been hiding it all along.
He's also developing some unsavoury whiny traits that seem fairly common to toddlers (especially two-year olds) that we had hoping to avoid - demanding treats when none are forthcoming, throwing tantrums when asked to go to bed, etc.
He's still, by and large, a fairly easy going kid, but it's... disappointing? Frustrating? - I don't know the best word to use in this case - to see that he can be just as annoying as anyone else's kid. I suppose most parents think this way; they hope/think that their child isn't the one who pushes or shoves or throw tantrums or won't eat his supper. Someone has to be "that kid". I guess you just don't expect it to be you, especially when you put so much effort into discipline and loving and setting boundaries and yadda, yadda, yadda.
In any case, he's two and a half. I don't expect him to be perfect. Just blowing off some steam.
Kenshin figured out how to crawl this weekend and has been scooting along with more and more confidence in the past three days. It's amazing really - before this past Sunday (November 18th) I'd say he was about 10-20% of the way to crawling as well as any toddler his age. Now he's about 70-80% a scarce four days later. Incredible learning rate, these humans.
Kenshin has also cut his primary left maxillary central incisor (the one beside the first one) and the tips of the matching top two teeth can been seen just under the surface of the upper gums. It seems that Kenshin, much as Daigoro did at his age, will be cutting all of his teeth in a hurry.
On a relatively unrelated note, I was thinking today about the question oft-asked of me, "what do you think are the differences between the boys?" It came to me rather randomly today that Kenshin has a very noticeable tendency to look up and around. Now, this seems like a relatively minor difference, I know, but as much as Daigoro was/is a very observant child, he didn't seem to look up as often as Kenshin does. This gives Kenshin a sort of dreamy, star-gazing quality at times, especially in the evening and early morning when he looks up at the lights and the small starfield ceiling pattern I've mounted over his bed. It's quite nice, really. Some people have observed that Kenshin seems to be more of a "watcher" (compared to the "doer" that Daigoro is at times); I'll agree that Kenshin is more patient and observant.
Daigoro continues to surprise me with his memory and comprehension. He'll often remember the location of objects or something that we did together several months later, without having seen the object or done the activity since.
For example, I bought a picture frame from Goodwill almost eight months ago which contained a picture of a Lamborghini Countach mounted on a cardboard backing. I only needed the picture frame, not the picture - but the picture itself was mounted on some heavy cardstock which I figured I could use some other time, so I kept it. I had shown the picture to Daigoro once or twice; we used it for a few evenings as a door to play with in a "fort" we made under the kitchen table. Eventually he tired of the game, so I tucked it behind a piece of furniture in our dining room and haven't touched it since. Last week, out of the blue, he tapped the piece of furniture I had stored it behind and asked to see the "picture of a car". I had actually forgotten it was there but, once I figured it out, I pulled it out for him and he was very pleased, behaving as if he knew that's where I had been hiding it all along.
He's also developing some unsavoury whiny traits that seem fairly common to toddlers (especially two-year olds) that we had hoping to avoid - demanding treats when none are forthcoming, throwing tantrums when asked to go to bed, etc.
He's still, by and large, a fairly easy going kid, but it's... disappointing? Frustrating? - I don't know the best word to use in this case - to see that he can be just as annoying as anyone else's kid. I suppose most parents think this way; they hope/think that their child isn't the one who pushes or shoves or throw tantrums or won't eat his supper. Someone has to be "that kid". I guess you just don't expect it to be you, especially when you put so much effort into discipline and loving and setting boundaries and yadda, yadda, yadda.
In any case, he's two and a half. I don't expect him to be perfect. Just blowing off some steam.
Friday, January 19, 2007
War and Peace
"Daigoro, no more trains," I say firmly, turning off the computer, where I have been showing Daigoro short amateur videos of model train sets.
"No. Please?" he says pleadingly.
"No more, Daigoro. All gone," I assert, trying to sound as benignly authoritative as I can.
His face crumples and his lip quivers.
"Trains? Dada? Dada? Trains?" his tone is more demanding now, with an edge of desperation.
I stand up. He's been sitting on my lap watching YouTube videos of cars, trains, firetrucks and other fossil-fuel guzzling metal behemoths for about 10 minutes. We're trying to limit his combined television and computer intake to less than an hour or two a day; less if possible. I cradle him in the crook of my arm as I step away from the computer.
The waterworks begin.
"No no no nononono," he cries. He cracks an eye open briefly to see if I'm paying attention. I set my mouth in the now-standard "I'm sticking to my guns" expression.
"You've had enough trains. Time to go brush teeth," I say hopefully. This never ends well.
"No! Nooooo," he wails, then he starts up with the open-palmed smacks on the sides of my face. I'm secretly glad he hasn't learned to ball up his little mitts into fists. On the other hand, those little baby fingernails are surprisingly sharp. It's a good thing he doesn't know how to scratch yet either, but occasionally he gets an accidental swipe.
As an aside, both my wife and I are believers in the "firm but fair" model of parental authority. State what you're going to do, then follow through. If you make a rule or a schedule, you stick to it. No buckling, no appeal to the other parent. We intend to put up a solid front of parental authority.
That's the plan, anyway.
I grasp his hands firmly. To his credit, he's gotten a lot better with the hitting - I raised my voice on one occasion enough to make him think twice about smacking me since.
"No hitting," I say simply.
He promptly tries to head-butt me. I'll hand it to him, he's both a master of improvisation and knows how to take advantage of legal loopholes. Fortunately, he's tried this trick before and I know to dodge the first attempt. The first few times... well, I've seen stars.
I transfer my right hand from his hands to stop his head from impacting forcefully into my left eye.
"No headbutting either," I warn. "Headbutting" as a word-concept is probably aiming a little high, but no harm in naming names.
Thwarted, he sobs a few times, tries arcing his back somewhat half-heartedly, then resigns himself to being carried into the bathroom. I've won this battle. The war goes on.
It's strange to deal with the immediacy of toddler violence. With adults, you don't just wind up and smack someone when you can't get what you want. Well, not without landing in any number of psychiatric institutions or prisons, anyway. It's primal, direct and, in a way, quite understandable. How else do you communicate your extreme displeasure to a giant twice to three times your size and seven or eight times your weight who also happens to be ignoring your limited efforts at communication?
Bringing up children can sometimes seem like a series of skirmishes or running battles. Especially when it involves actual physical tantrums like this one. Fortunately for babies and toddlers (and the humanity of parents in general), we don't retaliate with force ourselves.
It's hard to reconcile a 13-kilogram ball of angry toddler with the very image of peace and tranquility that Daigoro radiated in his first few days with us. A little swaddled reddish-pink creature, weighing 3.85 kilograms and looking like a cross between a wizened chimpanzee and a giant mutant pink slug (yes, newborn babies are beautiful, but it's a different kind of beautiful), he nonetheless was quiet... and largely immobile. Among the many things I am looking forward to with our second child is the lovely prospect of having a newborn baby remain in the same place after you put it somewhere; toddlers having an uncanny ability to remain anywhere but where you last saw them.
I've heard many parents comment that in the first day or two, a newborn is very quiet (or at least, by comparison to a week or so later) - a few squawks and coos, but mostly very peaceful. My wife reliably informs me that this is largely due to the fact that the baby is more or less exhausted from the ordeal of being born (and let's face it, if you were squeezed through an opening not much larger than your head, you'd take a few days to recuperate too). Tired or not, it also makes for a very convenient survival trait. If the already grumpy and tired parents had a preview of what kind of noise that little "bundle of joy" would make in the months and years to come, they might just reconsider their sacred role.
The peace of the newborn - enjoy it while you can, new parents... it's the calm before the storm.
"No. Please?" he says pleadingly.
"No more, Daigoro. All gone," I assert, trying to sound as benignly authoritative as I can.
His face crumples and his lip quivers.
"Trains? Dada? Dada? Trains?" his tone is more demanding now, with an edge of desperation.
I stand up. He's been sitting on my lap watching YouTube videos of cars, trains, firetrucks and other fossil-fuel guzzling metal behemoths for about 10 minutes. We're trying to limit his combined television and computer intake to less than an hour or two a day; less if possible. I cradle him in the crook of my arm as I step away from the computer.
The waterworks begin.
"No no no nononono," he cries. He cracks an eye open briefly to see if I'm paying attention. I set my mouth in the now-standard "I'm sticking to my guns" expression.
"You've had enough trains. Time to go brush teeth," I say hopefully. This never ends well.
"No! Nooooo," he wails, then he starts up with the open-palmed smacks on the sides of my face. I'm secretly glad he hasn't learned to ball up his little mitts into fists. On the other hand, those little baby fingernails are surprisingly sharp. It's a good thing he doesn't know how to scratch yet either, but occasionally he gets an accidental swipe.
As an aside, both my wife and I are believers in the "firm but fair" model of parental authority. State what you're going to do, then follow through. If you make a rule or a schedule, you stick to it. No buckling, no appeal to the other parent. We intend to put up a solid front of parental authority.
That's the plan, anyway.
I grasp his hands firmly. To his credit, he's gotten a lot better with the hitting - I raised my voice on one occasion enough to make him think twice about smacking me since.
"No hitting," I say simply.
He promptly tries to head-butt me. I'll hand it to him, he's both a master of improvisation and knows how to take advantage of legal loopholes. Fortunately, he's tried this trick before and I know to dodge the first attempt. The first few times... well, I've seen stars.
I transfer my right hand from his hands to stop his head from impacting forcefully into my left eye.
"No headbutting either," I warn. "Headbutting" as a word-concept is probably aiming a little high, but no harm in naming names.
Thwarted, he sobs a few times, tries arcing his back somewhat half-heartedly, then resigns himself to being carried into the bathroom. I've won this battle. The war goes on.
It's strange to deal with the immediacy of toddler violence. With adults, you don't just wind up and smack someone when you can't get what you want. Well, not without landing in any number of psychiatric institutions or prisons, anyway. It's primal, direct and, in a way, quite understandable. How else do you communicate your extreme displeasure to a giant twice to three times your size and seven or eight times your weight who also happens to be ignoring your limited efforts at communication?
Bringing up children can sometimes seem like a series of skirmishes or running battles. Especially when it involves actual physical tantrums like this one. Fortunately for babies and toddlers (and the humanity of parents in general), we don't retaliate with force ourselves.
It's hard to reconcile a 13-kilogram ball of angry toddler with the very image of peace and tranquility that Daigoro radiated in his first few days with us. A little swaddled reddish-pink creature, weighing 3.85 kilograms and looking like a cross between a wizened chimpanzee and a giant mutant pink slug (yes, newborn babies are beautiful, but it's a different kind of beautiful), he nonetheless was quiet... and largely immobile. Among the many things I am looking forward to with our second child is the lovely prospect of having a newborn baby remain in the same place after you put it somewhere; toddlers having an uncanny ability to remain anywhere but where you last saw them.
I've heard many parents comment that in the first day or two, a newborn is very quiet (or at least, by comparison to a week or so later) - a few squawks and coos, but mostly very peaceful. My wife reliably informs me that this is largely due to the fact that the baby is more or less exhausted from the ordeal of being born (and let's face it, if you were squeezed through an opening not much larger than your head, you'd take a few days to recuperate too). Tired or not, it also makes for a very convenient survival trait. If the already grumpy and tired parents had a preview of what kind of noise that little "bundle of joy" would make in the months and years to come, they might just reconsider their sacred role.
The peace of the newborn - enjoy it while you can, new parents... it's the calm before the storm.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)