10 McKenna #3
if he’s trying to remember something. “It sounds like the word television, but they have different roots. Television comes from Greek, and the word tell is from Old English.”
Before I can decide how to respond, I remember there are other children present who need my supervision. Turning back toward
them, I see our final student approaching. The red-haired little girl is holding hands with a middle-aged woman, and she’s
decked out in a pink butterfly-patterned caftan and hot pink sunglasses. After Lindy’s mom introduces herself and hands me
a hot-pink backpack, she reminds me about her daughter’s sensitivity to bright light, which Karyn has already mentioned. Then
she apologizes, says she’s late for work at the library and has to run.
“Okay, everyone,” I call out with false enthusiasm. “Take a seat on the bench, and let’s talk about the laws of the pool!”
I clap my hands together twice.
Matthew, Elias, and Lindy sit down beside Rohan and Johnny. There’s no more room on the bench, so I call Leo to come stand beside me. I notice he’s moving his fingers oddly, making little flicking motions with them, but he moves next to me just as I’ve asked.
“I’m your teacher, McKenna, and this is Leo, my assistant.”
When I glance over at Leo, I see he’s now holding one hand in the other. The adjustment seems to have quieted his fingers.
I wonder if he was even aware he was doing that flicking, if he’s consciously trying to stop it.
“It’s very important,” I tell the others, “that you listen closely to both of us and follow our instructions. To start, we
have some super-special rules to help make sure everyone has fun. One, never run near the pool. Two, respect each other’s
personal space. Three, when you hear my whistle, stop what you’re doing and look at me. Four, and most important, ask for
help when you need it.”
Lindy and Matthew are each looking at their laps, Elias is studying something in the clouds above him, and Johnny and Rohan
are taking turns poking each other in the arm. As far as I can tell, not one of them is listening. I let out a loud sigh just
as a voice pipes up behind me.
“They may only remember the first one for now.”
I turn and feel an enormous wash of relief as I see Karyn putting her crocheted tote down on a lounge chair.
“Make sure to repeat your rules often and clearly,” she says.
I have the overwhelming urge to ask her to take over, even if just for today, but if I want her to sign off on the lessons,
I have to prove that I’ve got this. So I nod enthusiastically and direct the kids toward the pool, where I ask them to sit
cross-legged along the outside edge.
“Today is just going to be about getting used to the way the water feels.” The internet was very clear that kids with autism might need extra time to acclimate to the feeling of being in a pool.
“I know how water feels,” Johnny says as he pushes a curl off his forehead. “It feels wet. Can we do something else?”
Rohan looks at Johnny and says, “I have a Rubik’s Cube in my backpack.”
Rohan stands and begins walking toward the cubbies when Leo calls out, “Stop! Sit back in your seat. Everyone sit quietly.”
He then looks back in my direction. “Do you have a written summary of the different parts of this lesson?” he asks.
“A . . . what? No. Why?”
“What will the students do during this lesson? You can tell me every step, and that will help. I’m here to help.”
“Can I go get my bag now?” Rohan asks.
“No, we’re focusing on the pool right now,” I answer, trying to make my voice firm so I don’t lose control of the group before
we’ve even started.
“I can help, but I need to know what you plan to do today,” Leo says. “Then I can be a good assistant so I’m doing my job.”
As he says it, his gaze is fixed on a point behind me again. I notice that his eyes are the same color as the pool water.
“Rohan, sit back down,” I say to the boy who clearly doesn’t care what I’ve said. He starts making his way back to the small
backpack he left beneath the bench. I glance over at Karyn, who hasn’t missed any of this.
“Fine.” I turn to Leo, quickly explaining to him that we’ll first go into the shallow water, staying where everyone is tall enough to stand, and then I’ll have the kids try floating on their backs.
I don’t expect them to be able to float yet, I explain, but I want them to see how their bodies feel in the water.
When I finish talking, he glances quickly at my face and then looks away.
“What?” I ask.
“Your plan is bad,” he says.
Well, gee, thanks, kid. What does he know about swimming? But then I remind myself that he knows an awful lot about autism. Meanwhile, Rohan and
Johnny are now both back at the bench, whispering to each other loudly about how to create some building in a video game.
The other kids seem interested in the boys’ conversation, so I turn back to Leo.
“What exactly do you think would make more sense?” I ask.
“You should use the first class to make sure everyone is comfortable being here at the club. Sometimes children are uncomfortable
in new places. These children have autism, so they could be more uncomfortable. Your shorts look uncomfortable. Uncomfortable.
Uncomfort. You shouldn’t make people uncomfortable.”
Right. I sigh again. It’s going to be a long eight weeks.