Autism in Public: A Bystander’s Guide

If you are a parent reading this – then you know what it feels like to be judged by perfect strangers. You understand the public shame associated with a child’s temper tantrum. Then you, unfortunately, have fallen prey to undisguised scorn and derision for events beyond your control.

If you are the parent of an autistic child – then magnify this by one hundred; one thousand; one million.

Nine years ago, I had an eye-opening experience concerning autism in public. I was eight months pregnant with my third child. My two little girls and I had just finished swimming at our local community centre pool and decided to visit the adjoining library. After choosing a book, we moved toward a couch where a little boy (aged nine or ten) sat perched on one arm and the three of us sat down – me in the middle.

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As I began reading the story, the boy slid off the couch arm and sidled over to us – standing directly in front of me, watching us closely. I put the book down and asked him if he wanted to hear the story too.

“You’re fat,” he said.
Kind of true.
“And ugly,” he continued.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” I admonished.

He then started punching me in the stomach.

I yanked my daughters off the couch and dragged them over to the librarian working the information counter. The boy remained by the couch crying and shaking.

“Excuse me. There’s a boy over there. He just punched me in the stomach and called me “fat and ugly”. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

A woman standing nearby (his mother) turned toward me stone-faced before immediately marching over to the boy, grabbing his wrists and attempting to drag him out of the library. He dug his heels in and started screaming at the top of his lungs.

The librarian turned to me and said: “That little boy has autism. I think you just really embarrassed his mother.”

I felt awful.

I felt bad for the mother – who was doing her best to avoid eye contact with everyone in the library as she dragged her raging son outside. I felt sorry for the little boy – caught up in the centre of the fray. I felt bad for my girls who were also crying as they had no clue what was happening and I had done nothing to comfort them. I felt bad for myself – I hadn’t even stopped to think that this boy may have had special needs.

Situations like these are never black and white. There isn’t a clear right or absolute wrong. I’m not condoning or even pardoning physical violence – although I am suggesting that as an adult, I could have dealt with the situation a bit differently.

I could have simply moved away from the kid when he turned physical. I could have been quieter when talking to the librarian. I could have asked his mother what I could do to help her. I could have and I should have.

I figured it was a lesson learned.

Then – four years later – my son and I were at a library story-time program (at a different library this time). We attended this program regularly – sometimes it was the nice, young, pink-haired librarian who ran the show. She read the stories with great enthusiasm and welcomed all children – the quiet and the loud; the runners and the crawlers; the listeners and the talkers.

Sometimes, it was Cranky Pants – the older librarian who appeared to feel the way about children that I feel about snails. She listed off the rules the kids had to follow before she would even crack open her book. God forbid a baby squawk during her reading or a child ask his mother if he could use the bathroom. Her reaction was always the same – she’d put the book to the side and stare down her pre-school audience until everyone was sufficiently quiet and attentive to her liking before she’d resume.

I’m sure you can see where this story is heading.

One day, a mother who had never attended this particular program before, was in attendance with her young son. As Cranky Pants proceeded to read about trucks going vroom and cars going beep to her captive audience, this little boy stood up and clapped and squealed excitedly. She put the book down and gave this child as well as his mother the evil eye. The mother apologized and quieted her son the best she could. The story continued – as did the boy’s unbridled excitement and enthusiasm.

“Excuse me. Your son is going to have to sit down and pay attention if I’m to continue with this program,” said Cranky Pants.
Attempting to shush and calm her son, the mother again apologized and explained: “My son is autistic.”
To which Cranky Pants replied: “I don’t care. If he can’t sit quietly then you’ll have to leave.”

Again, the librarian began to read and again the boy stood, clapped his hands and caused a bit of disruption. This time, Cranky Pants insisted his mother remove him. As his poor mother attempted to wrangle him and drag him from the story room – the kid freaked out and began running amok, stepping on babies’ hands and falling into seated toddlers.

Here’s the most horrible part of the story. No one – me included – did a goddamned thing. We didn’t ask this woman what we could do to help her. And we certainly didn’t tell this librarian to f*** right off and demand that she continue to read – commotion or not.

Afterward, the librarian justified herself by explaining that she couldn’t tolerate this child’s aggression. But what no one had the balls to point out was that it was the librarian’s inflexible attitude and unrealistic demands which had led to the aggression in the first place.

There you have it – two very specific examples of what not to do when witnessing autism in public. Now here is what you can do:

• First off, know that this is the parent’s and/or caregiver’s responsibility to handle – not yours. Let them take the lead in handling any situation.
• Ask what you can do to help – then do it.
• Keep yourself and others out of harm’s way.
• If you recognize something specific which may be triggering a child – do what you can to reduce or stop the trigger.
• Ensure a crowd of onlookers doesn’t congregate. Unwanted attention can make things worse for a child who is already suffering.
• Bite your tongue; fight your instinct to “tsk”; try feeling sympathy and compassion instead of judgment and annoyance for fellow human beings in distress.

Once upon a time, it was me on the other side of the judgment fence. I was on a gruelling 15-hour flight to Australia and my two-year-old screamed the entire way. (Click here for the full story.) As a result, I was personally and verbally attacked by fellow passengers and flight staff based on my daughter’s behaviour.

I know what it feels like to be sized up and judged because of your kids; to be dismissed as a bad parent; to have your child appraised as horrid because of one incident.

It leaves you feeling weak and helpless. It makes you feel ashamed. I don’t want to be a part of making another parent feel this way ever again.

This time, I mean it.

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