Beneath the Surface

The other day I was given the glorious opportunity of "child-free shopping" to spend some Christmas money Santa left for me. I eagerly entered a Winner's store to start some serious shopping. The anguished cries of a young child greeted customers as the store's doors swung open.

For some reason, I felt compelled to find the source of the cries. I went to the girls' clothing section to find a young woman crouched over her daughter, who rolled back and forth on the floor with her eyes screwed shut and her hands over her ears. Her mother spoke softly the girl: "Chandra, it's okay. We can go. You just need to calm down a bit so Mommy can help you up."

The mother had tears in her eyes as she tried desperately to talk her daughter down from her tantrum. People walked by them-some with smiles, some laughed with empathy, others simply clicked their tongues in annoyance as if the girl's crying interrupted their search for after-Christmas sales. Not one person stopped to ask if things were okay or if the mother needed help; they just judged. I knew better.

What that young woman went through was a familiar scene for me. With Jaimie's Sensory Integration Dysfunction (SID), shopping was always a challenge. We never knew when we entered stores with Jaimie if there was anything lurking in the shadows to set off her SID: A flickering light, a new smell, announcements made over the intercom...anything and everything was potential for a fit trigger. We rarely got our shopping finished as Jaimie broke down into an inconsolable fit we couldn't calm her down from causing us to abruptly end our trip. And it could be quite a show for passers-by.

I remember how my face flushed as people smiled, laughed or gave that head tilt that said, "Oh you poor thing." I even had one lady say all Jaimie needed was a "good spanking." I was never embarrassed by Jaimie's behaviour (once we figured out what was wrong). And I never cared what people thought because, honestly, how could they know? How could an outside person truly know what was happening unless they took the time to ask or, at the very least, listen as I spoke to Jaimie?

I never yelled at her or threatened her to be quiet. I never said the infamous phrase: "Just you wait until I get you home, young lady!" I tried, desperately, like the young woman at Winner's, to calm my SID child enough-to bring her focus back-so I could help her leave the "scary" place to find a "safer" place. Watchers of Jaimie's fits didn't know it may have been their voices that set her off; or, maybe, the house smells on their clothes that she couldn't deal with; or that one flickering light off in the corner-undetectable to the untrained eye-that Jaimie wasn't able to ignore.

With this experience under my belt, I asked the young woman-from a safe distance-if I could offer my help.

"No." She said sternly. "No offense but your 'help' will only make things worse. Chandra can't deal with strangers. She barely tolerates me some days. She has Autism."

"My daughter has Sensory Integration Dysfunction." I said. "I've had to deal with my fair share of sensory-related fits during a shopping trip."

We talked for several minutes. I recalled how helpful it was for me having someone to talk to-a friendly voice-that calmed me down while I waited for Jaimie. It meant so much when someone cared enough to ask. I wanted to give that back to Chandra's mother. It seemed to help a bit.

Chandra finally calmed down enough to be helped up so they could leave. Before they walked out the door, her mother touched my arm and said, "You know, it's rare to have someone approach us the way you did and offer their help instead of treating us like we're some free admission freak show. We appreciate it. Good luck with Jaimie's SID. She's lucky to have a Mom like you."

As I watched them walk out the automatic doors, two women-who'd watched from another section of the store-walked past me. One said to the other:
"Man, if that had been my kid, I'd have taken her outside and tanned her hide until she stopped."

I smiled. They weren't trying to be cruel, I was sure. They were simply ignorant to what it's like to have a special needs child. It wasn't too long ago where I'd have thought the same things when I came across someone who struggled with their child in a store. Until I had Jaimie, I had no clue.

There are many disorders, like Jaimie's SID or Chandra's Autism or Asperger's or ADD or many others that aren't obvious from the outside. The disorder is buried deep within the child, only giving a hint of its presence through the child's overt behaviour. It's easy to judge a child as "naughty" or "spoiled" because they're having a fit in a public place but it's not always the case. Jaimie is still a "normal" five-year old in some respects and will still try to exert her independence or be sneaky. But about 95% of her fits are the result of her sensory issues and her anxiety, not because we've said "No" to her.

Parents of special needs children don't want sympathy; they want understanding for their children. So the next time you see a parent struggling with their child, try to look at the situation from an omniscient standpoint. You don't have to go up and talk to them they way I did at Winner's. Simply try to look at things from a different angle and see what's beneath the surface. That's where understanding stems from and that's all we want for our children.

Knowledge breeds understanding and that's so powerful.