I remember the day when Brendon, who is autistic, had one of his meltdowns. This time, it was intense. Thankfully, no one was injured, including Brendon and myself.
Here’s what happened: My supervisor assigned me a last-minute administrative task, which meant I had to leave Brendon with my colleagues and fellow students outside the art room. At the same time, I went to the library computer. (Note: bad things happen to these precious special needs children in or around art class. I don’t know why.)
Anyway, I told Brendon I needed to leave but would be right back. He was in a calm state, patiently waiting to enter the classroom. I also informed my paraprofessional colleagues of my departure, which was crucial because I worked one-on-one with Brendon. Teamwork is essential in our profession.
Heads nodded in approval as I hastily made my exit. Moments later, while I was diligently working on my assignment, my cellphone vibrated with a text message: “Mr. Terry, come back NOW because Brendon is having a major meltdown outside the art room!” So, I rushed back to the fifth floor.
Exiting the stairwell and entering the hallway, I found Brendon during a significant meltdown. He was ripping artwork off the walls, throwing items off the table, removing his clothing, tossing it around, and cursing loudly. I was stunned. My colleagues were doing nothing to de-escalate the situation. They took no action, not even to move other students away from Brendon for their safety. Instead, one even came over to scold me for leaving him alone. I refrained from responding, as I had enough wisdom not to engage with foolishness.
I walked away from the colleague and approached Brendon slowly. By this time, all eyes were on me. I gently called his name.
“Brendon?”
He slowed down his meltdown to make eye contact with me.
“Do you want to go someplace?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, we can go, but you made a mess here. Can I help you clean it up?”
Unconditionally and willingly, Brendon cheerfully cleaned up the mess on the floor.
“Uh, Brendon, you must put your shirt back on first, okay?”
“Okay, sorry.”
After he put his shirt back on, he approached me, hugged me, and began weeping on my shoulder. As we left the scene, the colleague came over to finish her belittling scold directed at me. I let her make a fool of herself in front of others. She concluded her tirade as Brendon, and I headed toward the stairwell.
Dear Father, as I wrote this, I am reminded of 1 Peter 5:2-4:
“Shepherd the flock of God that is among you, exercising oversight, not under compulsion, but willingly, as God would have you; not for shameful gain, but eagerly; not domineering over those in your charge, but being examples to the flock.”
“Thank you, God. And thank you too, Brendon. You are truly a blessing to me.”
What a clear picture you paint in so few words! Sometimes it’s lack of training, but often willful ignorance that ends up upsetting the apple cart for students with autism. Your relationship with Brenden was a gift from God. I’m happy for the memories you take with you, and are able to articulate so beautifully for our benefit!