Moving from Any Speech to Right Speech: Asperger's and the use of Language

Buddhist teaching lists Right Speech as the third step on the noble eight-fold path towards enlightenment. The notion of Right Speech compels us to use our words in skillful ways for the benefit of others. Do not tell lies, use words to help, not harm, don't engage in idle gossips- speak only when necessary, and speak kindly. Right speech is hard. Right email may even be harder. However, it pays dividends in some clear easy to understand ways in addition to the learn term benefits to our karma. How much better the day goes when you don't have to worry about what you said getting back to someone else. What a waste of energy.

The importance of Right Speech is one that I've been trying to get through to my boys a lot lately. Of course, this wasn't always so. In the autism world the idea of Right Speech seems more like a taunt. Any Speech is more important goal. Although my boys now talk non-stop with vocabularies well above their age (and social understanding) this was not always the case.

They spoke late, Danny significantly enough as to be evaluated for speech delay, the first sign that something was amiss in their development. More significant than the delay, I would realize much later, was their peculiar acquirement of language. Kenny's first word was "nine", as would be Danny's about four months later. Among their first words were all the numbers and letters. This development anomaly, knowing the alphabet before being able to say "mom" or "dad," didn't raise the red flag that perhaps it should have. Likewise, their other words were strictly for labeling purposes, names of dinosaurs, etc. They didn't "use" language for any real purpose. There was no real communication.

Eventually the labeling was replaced by echolalia, a verbatim repeating of previously heard chunks of language. They would quote TV shows and books and from afar sound like well spoken little toddlers. However, these bits of language would come for no apparent reason and have no apparent purpose. Eventually, however, they did begin to use the scripts they possessed at times that seemed appropriate and for purposes that were truly communication. The effect was odd. Wanting another cookie they might say in an exaggeratedly questioning tone, "Would you like another cookie, dear?"

Real language and communication had to be painstakingly taught by a paid professional. She taught the boys to speak in an almost sing song kind of way, tapping out the beats to "may I have a cookie, please?" This had to become the way to ask for anything and when they failed to do so we'd tap out the beat for them to prompt them. Sometimes, however, nothing but tears came.

Spontaneous words were so rare that I remember one of the first real spontaneous sentences I ever heard. The boys were in the basement and from upstairs I heard this sentence, "the dinosaur is stomping in the poop." I raced downstairs to discover one of the boys had taken off his dirty diaper and was marching a toy dinosaur through it. And as only an autism parent can appreciate my immediate thought was, "Oh my God! Did you hear that sentence!" At that time I think I would have given them anything they asked for, if they could only ask. I would have answered any question or debated any issue. Anything just to hear real words and not Dora Explorer.

Be careful what you wish for. Now, at seven, they are talking, debating, complaining and arguing machines. There is no filter. Every thought gets voiced. Every fact needs repeating. Every complaint issued. Every desire asked for, over and over again. So now we swing the other way and I am hopeful that the concept of Right Speech can provide them the framework they need to control their mouths in a more skillful way because the lessons that come naturally to others, the social norms, etc. do not come naturally to them.

However, even a concept as basic as right speech has some difficulties related to their Asperger's. Namely the notion of truth-telling. Of late the boy's have had some trouble with lying and they seem to be under the belief that if they say something it will be true, no matter how ridiculous (like telling me it is Saturday on Thursday morning- and sticking to it.) But more often the bigger problem is excessive truth-telling.

Christmas vacation was the ultimate magnifying glass for this issue and was highlighted by such publicly stated gems as:

"If it is the same terrible dinner as last night I'd rather just keep playing my Nintendo."

"My cousin is bothering me. Can't you make him go away!"

"Ugh. You know I don't like clothes. Why would you buy me this as a present?!"

"You are sitting too close. Please move."

"Can we please leave now? This house is too loud."



No doubt all parents fear some of these moments and all kids have their lapses but the quantity and severity of the boy's can be daunting. What really makes it hard is how confusing it must be for the boys. For several years now we've preached at them and begged them to just say what they are feeling. As bad as all the above comments are they actually represent a great leap forward and although I cringed and apologized for all them I was actually proud to hear some of them. Some of the comments represented a great leap of progress because there was a time in the not too distant past when the boys might have hit someone they considered too close or have bitten an adoring younger cousin to get him to stop following them. There was a time in the not too distance past when in an uncomfortable environment they would have set out to destroy the place and get into as much trouble as possible in an effort to get out of the situation (something that still goes on at school perhaps.) rather than articulating their discomfort and asking to leave.

So, now that they've finally been successful at holding in their physical response and voicing their feelings with words instead, as we taught them to do, we in essence tell them, "please keep your feelings to yourself." I can imagine why they are confused.

So, quickly now we must move on to the next steps of Right Speech: use words only to help, not hurt and to use words only when necessary. This, I fear, will be a long battle because to them every thought is important. I have begun to question them after particularly caustic utterances and ask, "Did saying that help anyone?" and at least I feel this is planting some seed of awareness in their heads. In small ways it is starting to show. For instance, on occasions they will preface their harsh judgement of my dinner with a statement such as, "Dad, I'm not saying this to be mean or anything, but this turkey is terrible." It is a start I suppose, at least a glimmer of awareness.

With Kenny, who in particular seems on the verge of physically exploding if he can't get his fact out or question asked, we've starting giving him a notebook to write his thoughts or questions if the time isn't appropriate to speak. As he begins to write he frequently determines that his thought simply isn't worth the effort and isn't truly important. Through this process I can see that there is a future in which he might be able to edit his verbal comments in the same way. Small steps, hopefully, towards the end goal of Right Speech.

The Trap of Expectations

Even before I began to practice Buddhism, I always considered myself to be someone who was immune to being held hostage by unrealistic expectations. It was a trap I often saw family members and friends fall into. I saw them hurt repeatedly by other people not living up to what they imagined they should be. Without a Buddhist’s knowledge of the suffering caused by clinging to beliefs about the way things should be I just instinctively avoided this behavior.

So, while I don’t think there is a person alive that could rightfully claim to be adequately prepared to raise a child on the Autism spectrum, I did at least have this one trait going for me. I didn’t spend much time mourning a life I had imagined. Dreams of the life you imagine and autism are not a good mix. Many people, however, seemed to be willing to do this for me. As a child I had been a good baseball player and loved the game more than anything. What I lacked in size and strength I made up for, partially, with determination and smarts about the game. Everyone agreed these qualities would make me a great coach of youth sports one day. The thought of twin boys dominating a youth baseball league under my coaching was an easy thing to imagine. But autism changed that. Life spent at the ballpark just isn’t in the cards anymore. And while my parents, sister and others that knew me when I was younger suspect that this fact must constitute a great personal tragedy for me, it does not. It truly doesn’t bother me. I’ve moved on. I have other things to do and other places to find joy.

Frankly, I am sometimes even a little smug about it. “Poor, So-and-So, when will she learn not to set herself up for disappointment by expecting too much, trying too hard to create the fantasy world she imagines,” I’d think to myself with a knowing shake of the head. But then today I saw that even I, even the relatively new Buddhist version of me, wasn’t immune to the trap of expectations.

A few weeks ago I had taken the boys, one at a time, to an outdoor ice skating rink. It was something I had always wanted to do and had only dreamed of as a boy growing up in the south, but with northern-born parents who told fantastic tales of pick-up hockey games and nightly figure skating on nearby ponds. I was smart enough to know the trap I was setting for myself and so I was careful not to have any foolish hopes about a dream afternoon. I knew the boys might not even allow me to lace their skates. I knew they might quit after two seconds on the ice. I knew they might have any number of unpredictable meltdowns that would cause me to have to physically carry them off the ice. I knew there was a good chance I’d end up getting kicked in the ribs by an ice skate. I’m no fool. I’m not new to autism anymore. But I was okay with all that and thought I’d give it a go. You can’t hide forever.

With Kenny, who I took first, it was, to be honest, a bit of a hard time. Anxiety-filled, stressful and physically trying, but in the end it was a success. He had skated and was proud. And I was proud. I had given him an experience. With Danny, on the other hand, it was an entirely different experience. It was a joy from start to finish. He had a blast, and actually got pretty decent at it. It was just fun.

So, a few weeks later I aimed to duplicate it. My wife took Kenny to a movie. A couple of anxieties combine to make the movie theater a place Danny simply will not set foot in. So, I thought I’d take the opportunity to take Danny ice skating again. To be honest, it is tougher to connect to Danny and he generally demands less attention than Kenny so I sometimes feel bad about not engaging him as much. I was looking forward to the time alone with him. Only, he didn’t want to go. He was worried about slipping. He was worried that they played live music, a particular phobia of his, over the stereo at the rink. He would rather read about old Muppets episodes on Muppet Wiki, he said.

I was surprised. I was bummed. I was bored. And so I got angry with him. I wouldn’t let him just stay home and play video games. It was our special time, damnit. So, no computer, no TV, no apps and no video games. And when he got mad about that he had to go to his room. I was mean and spiteful to him. I’m not proud of it and it isn’t the way I’d normally behave (at least I hope not).

Why? Expectations. My normal vigilance against the trap of clinging to a dream day had weakened and the result was misery all the way around. The second noble truth played out clear as day right before my angry and sad eyes.