SENSING THE DIFFERENCE

By: Chava Gold

Courtesy of Binah Magazine

There was something odd about the boy who sat in the back corner, Rina decided.

As a classroom assistant, she had become a very efficient people-watcher. Today, she was substituting as a classroom assistant in the second grade; this was a different experience than what she was used to in the pre-school classes.

She eyed the boy again. There was something stiff about the way he sat. And his eyes looked wrong, too sad for a child of his tender years. She wondered whether he had a difficult home situation and made a mental note to discuss it with the class teacher when the opportunity arose.

She whipped her head around as a colossal sneeze shook the room and whipped it back again when she saw Back Corner’s reaction. He jumped and then seemed to freeze. She looked at him more closely. His hands were shaking, and all the color had drained from his face. Could he be scared of a sneeze?

She stood up unobtrusively and went over to his desk. He looked up at her with huge brown eyes brimming with pain. His breath was catching in his throat, and she wondered how a child his age could be so pained.

“Do you want to come outside with me for a minute?” she asked him quietly.

No response.

She tried again, holding out a hand towards him. “Shall we go and get a drink?”

He just looked at her. She slid the desk forward and, putting a hand on his arm, helped him to his feet.

He stumbled as he stood up. She guided him out of the room and steered him down the corridor to an empty office. She sat him down. The office was cool and dim. She didn’t bother switching the lights on for just the few minutes they would be there. She waited quietly while Back Corner calmed down. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal, and his posture relaxed a little.

Silently, she handed him a cup of water. He looked at the water and then looked at his hand, as though willing it to take the cup. She put the cup into his hand and helped him to drink. The water dripped off his chin as he drank, and he shuddered when it touched him.

When he had finished drinking, she asked him softly, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Silence.

He looked up at her and opened his mouth, then closed it again. He cleared his throat. He tried to say something.

She waited patiently.

“Boruch’s sneeze hurt me,” he said finally. Tears came to his eyes at the recollection.

Somebody’s sneeze hurt him? How could that be?

“Where did it hurt you?”

He thought for a minute. “All over,” He answered finally. “My ears shook and my skin felt itchy and then I wanted to run away, but I couldn’t.” The tears spilled from his eyes.

Rina was relieved he was crying. She didn’t like to see such a young child endure the strain he had evidently been experiencing. Still, she was puzzled. How could a sneeze hurt him like that?

“Are you ready to go back to class?” she asked him.

Back Corner nodded, but the strained look returned to his eyes.

He stood up, and Rina looked at him.

“Do you like it in class?”

He though that one over. “I like learning new things,” he answered after a pause.

“But…” she prompted him.

“I don’t like sitting next to Yossi. Sometimes his sleeve touches my chair. And I don’t like davening because it makes my head hurt.” Another pause and then, with a rush, he said, “I don’t like holding hands, and I don’t like arts and crafts. I don’t like singing, and I don’t like washing hands. And,” he lowered his voice, “what I don’t like the most is the dining hall.” He shuddered in revulsion at the thought. His voice dropped even lower. “It smells. And it’s full of shouts and talking. “And…” Now he was whispering; Rina had to strain to hear him. “People bump into you.” He shuddered again.

Rina noted that his body language was yelling at her. He had gone completely stiff, and his fists were clenched tightly. She had no idea what peculiar disease might be affecting this child. She had never seen such strange behavior. They definitely had not discussed anything like it in college – that was tor sure.

She looked at her watch. She would lose her job if she stayed out of class for this length of time.

“We’d better get back before Mrs. S. calls the police,” she said and was rewarded with a grin of understanding. So he definitely wasn’t delayed. Or stupid. And he had a sense of humor.

                                                     l         l         l

Miriam had never understood the expression “to wind someone up” as clearly as she did right now. As the clock ticked away, and she knew that soon the children would be home, she could feel a coil inside her tightening and tightening. Tick-tock. One hour to go. Fifty-nine minutes. Fifty-eight minutes. Her stomach churned and adrenaline surged through her.

She began to work faster. Supper was ready, the beds were made, the music was off, the extractor fan was on, the hot water for baths had been heated, and the baby was fed and sleeping. There was nothing on the floor, and the fluorescents were off. She took a deep breath and tried, unsuccessfully, to release some of the tension. And then it was three-forty – ten minutes and Dovid would be home.

Dovid was a wonderful child, but he suffered so much. He was a sensitive kid with wonderful middos and a love of learning. As long as he was at home with her, she had never really thought there was an issue with him, but as soon as he began going to kindergarten, he had gone from being a calm, happy – albeit sensitive – kid to a problem A problem with a capital P.

He was nervous and fidgety, and he was tense – no, that was an understatement.

His speech had slowed down, and when he came home from school he was sort of frozen. He couldn’t talk or play or do anything until he had time to defrost. His teacher said that his behavior was impeccable, but that he didn’t make contact with anyone in the class and was slow to follow instructions. She suggested testing his hearing (his hearing! This kid could hear a butterfly flap its wings from a meter away!) and a psychological assessment (did they think he had emotional problems?) Miriam, like the good mother that she was, had done all those things.

Nothing had helped. Nothing at all. The hearing test results were fine. The speech assessment said that he was up to date for his age, although he had a slightly longer auditory processing speed than most kids. Whatever that meant! The psychologist suggested ADHD combined with (did you get that one? An ADHD diagnosis for a kid who behaved one-hundred-percent normally at home?) anxiety.

Miriam took one deep breath after the next and davened. She davened that Dovid would have an easy time in school. She davened that his teacher would find a way to break through to him. She davened that Dovid would find the words to explain what was bothering him. She davened that she, as a mother, would be able to help him. And most of all, she davened for the right shaliach.

Miriam shook her head and ran outside to meet the school bus. Dovid climbed off stiffly, as usual. His face was stern, and his eyes… those eyes! Miriam could have cried just looking into those deep brown eyes, full of a pain that he could not articulate.

Instead, she smiled and gave him a tight hug. He stood there and let her get on with it, but he didn’t respond. She stifled a sigh and took his hand. “Let’s go and eat supper! And then you can tell me what you did today in school,” she said cheerfully.

No response.

Miriam left him for a minute and went to check on the food. She returned to find him sitting upright on a beanbag in the playroom. She went back to the kitchen, sending a silent prayer upwards that Hashem should help him with himself.

Dovid, left to himself, slowly relaxed. The room was quiet, warm and dim, just the way he liked it. The beanbag was firm, but pliable, and the pressure of it was nice on his back. The only sound he could hear was the clock ticking, which relaxed him. Tick-tock. It’s quiet. Tick-tock. The light’s not too strong. Tick-tock. No one is touching me. Tick-tock. It smells nice. As he listened, he could feel the taut strings inside him gradually loosening. He sank into the beanbag, all his muscles relaxing. Then he jumped up and ran to tell his mommy all about the things he had done that day.

He burst into the kitchen.

“Mommy, today we did glue, and we made a picture from the parashah with shiny papers. Also there was s new teacher in the classroom, and she took me out because of the sneeze, and the room was quiet and those white lights were off, and she didn’t put her hand on my shoulder, and the lunch was yuck. Mommy, can I take my own lunch to school, and can I eat it in the classroom and not in the dining room? Binny does that because he has allergies.”

Dovid suddenly realized that Mommy wasn’t alone. There was her new friend Chani sitting at the counter. He turned his back on her and ran to the table.

“Mommy, I’m starving. Can I have supper? With no sauce and none of the foods touching? Please, Mommy?”

Miriam smiled. “Of course you can. Come wash your hands, and then I will serve you.”

Dovid came to the sink. “Warm water and no soap,” he said. Miriam sighed. Was it worth the battle? He hadn’t died yet of the germs he picked up in school. She bit her lip and washed his hands with warm water and no soap, very conscious of Chani’s interested eyes following her around the room.

She served Dovid meatballs, without sauce, placing them on one side of the plate. Salad on the other. Rice in between and a cup of plain water.

“Thank you,” said Dovid and dug in as though he hadn’t eaten in a week.

Miriam turned back to Chani. “Sorry,” she said and rolled her eyes in wry acknowledgement of her son’s behavior. (Just don’t tell me to be more firm and stop spoiling him. Just don’t! I get enough of it from everyone else. You have no idea what it means to parent a kid like this.)

But Chani was thinking along those lines.

“Sensory processing?” she asked with a smile.

“Huh?”

“Your son clearly has sensory issues. Which therapist are you using?”

Miriam was puzzled. Sensory issues? Therapist?

Chani realized Miriam was astonished. Now it was her turn to be amazed. “What?” she said. “You aren’t treating him for sensory-processing issues?”

“Uh, no. I never heard of sensory processing issues. What are they?”

Chani was shocked. “You have been to speech therapists, psychologists – the works – and none of them picked up on his sensory problems?”

“No.”

“Well,” said Chani, “now you know what you need to do. Speak to an occupational therapist and get an appointment ASAP.”

Miriam just looked at her. Chani leaned forward. “Don’t you see?” she asked gently. “Kids with sensory issues have problems interpreting sensory stimuli correctly. For example, I can smell that you are making meatballs for supper. I smell it and store the information away. But imagine going to a farm and standing in the stables. The smell is overpowering, and you can’t just store the information away and carry on. Right?”

“Right,” Miriam said in agreement.

“So, to a kid whose sense of smell is super-sensitive, the smell of meatballs overpowers him, Or think about going to a chasunah where the music is blasting so loud, you can feel your heart beat in time to it. You’ll be out of there ASAP. Right?

“Right,” agreed Miriam.

“Well, to a kid whose sense of hearing is abnormally sensitive, a regular CD blaring is as loud as that music, and he’ll run away. Or you know when the optician shines a torch right into your eye, and it kind of hurts? So to a kid with sensory issues, regular fluorescent lights feel as bright as that.”

“And to a kid whose sense of touch is intense, holding hands feels like being pinched, and glue feels like slimy goo, and the noise in the classroom sounds like a thunderstorm, and…”

“You got it,” agreed Chani.

Miriam rested her head on her hands. Was this the explanation for Dovid’s peculiar behavior? She realized that at home, she had unwittingly accommodated his needs. She turned the music off before he came home because she knew he didn’t like it. And the fluorescents. And she was careful to serve him his food exactly as he liked it. But in school… first of all, they probably had no idea what he did or didn’t like, and secondly, with twenty kids in the room, how could they cater to all of them?

She looked up at Chani and smiled weakly. “You’re right,” she said simply. “I had never heard of this disorder. So what did you say? An occupational therapist? And do you have someone whom you specifically recommend?”

                                                       l         l         l

Rina was substituting again. She was quite interested to see how Back Corner was doing. He seemed more relaxed. She watched him as they started davening. His fists were clenched, and he seemed to be kneading something under the table, but he was mouthing the words, and his eyes weren’t desperate.

Boruch sneezed. A colossal sneeze (Goodness, that child knew how to erupt!), and Back Corner froze for a moment and then carried on davening. Wow, that was a change from last time – that was for sure!

She surreptitiously continued watching him. The teacher took out paints. Dovid was standing at the side. He didn’t come to join in. The teacher caught Rina’s eye and nodded in his direction. Rina went over to him.

“Remember me?” she asked

Dovid looked at her shyly. He nodded his head.

“Do you want to come and paint with ne?” she suggested

Dovid shook his head, His voice was almost a whisper, “I don’t want to get my hands slimy,” he said. Rina had a brainwave. She went over to the cupboard and rummaged around, finally pulling out a pair of disposable gloves. “Bingo,” she said and waved them at him triumphantly.

He looked at her and at the gloves. A shy smile lit up his face. Then it was blotted out as he looked at the other children painting.

He looked down at the floor. “I don’t want anyone bumping me,” he said.

Rina looked around. “Okay, how about if I get you a place at the end of the table, and you put a chair next to you so you will be shut in and no one can touch you?” she suggested.

Dovid’s face lit up. He nodded eagerly and held out his hands for the gloves. Rina put them on for him and led him over to the table. She cleared the place at the end of the table, and he went and stood in the gap between the wall and the chair. She handed him paints and paper. “Ready to begin?” she asked.

Dovid’s face, shining like a 100-watt bulb, told her the answer.

                                                           l         l       l

That day, when Dovid climbed off the school bus, Miriam saw his face. Instead of the closed, stiff, and stern expression that she had grown used to, she saw his eyes shining and his face glowing. He waved a piece of paper her.

“Look, Mommy at what I made today,” he shouted.

Miriam took a deep breath and thanked Hashem. She thanked Him for Dovid, who was slowly finding his place in school. She thanked him for the teacher who was investing the time to implement the sensory diet that the occupational therapist had written for him. She thanked Hashem for the words Dovid had found to explain what was bothering him. She thanked Hashem for that she, as a mother, was able to help him. And most of all, she thanked Hashem for sending her the right shaliach.