Patience and Persistence

Most of my writings involve kids and adults on the autism spectrum.  My teaching experience, however, included students with a variety of conditions and labels.  One student from my more distant past stands out in my memory as the perfect example of why patience and persistence are prerequisites for breaking through barriers to communication.  I can't resist a little alliteration:  Prerequisites include patience, persistence, and the presumption of competence (always)!

I will call her Amanda to protect her privacy.  I am no longer in contact with her or her family, and thus not able to get needed permission to share her story with any identifying details. Amanda has Down Syndrome, and came to my classroom when she turned six years old, at a time when the entire elementary school was making significant efforts to make inclusion a reality for all students. For the most part, Amanda was a prime candidate for full inclusion with peers of her own age.  

As was true of all my students, Amanda hadn't tested well on whatever test was used to identify her intelligence level, and similar to so many of my students over the years, she didn't speak at all. There was much we didn't know about Amanda, but her really strong suit was her charming personality and she quickly became a favorite of teachers and kids alike.

She teased all of us by never letting anyone get too close, and by quietly disappearing from time to time, finding hiding places throughout the building that we didn't know existed.  We quickly learned that it was best to let Amanda set her own boundaries and make her own choices of which group activities appealed to her. If we operated on her terms as much as possible, great things happened - and she vanished from sight much less often.

Amanda enjoyed music, dancing, stuffed animals, puppets, dressing up in costumes or fancy clothes,  "reading" books, and scribbling with any sort of writing or drawing instrument on any sort of surface.  And then, there was the computer in the back of our room.  (See an earlier blog post about my love/hate relationship with computers,{Click Here} and realize also that we had only one in our resource room - and the demand was great).  During her time in our room, Amanda would strategically position herself close to the computer with a book or her writing materials and patiently await the moment when the computer station was idle and she could make her move.  With little or no help, she could navigate through a variety of games, handling the mouse as effectively as any of the classmates; indeed as well as most of the adults in her life --- we were all novices with the new technology at this time.

This was before the days of Internet connection, and we had a limited supply of floppy disks that provided a variety of learning games.  When Amanda was enjoying her computer time, I tried to watch from a distance, because if I got too close she would quickly exit the game and leave the area.  From afar, I was pleasantly surprised to see that she was happily practicing basic reading, spelling and math activities; none of which she had demonstrated for us using any other approaches we may have tried.

Something else to be noted:  Amanda's choice of books to "read" or just to carry around with her were not at all like those in her inclusive kindergarten classroom.  Our resource room served kids from kindergarten through grade five, and in her quiet, unobtrusive way, this independently-minded six-year-old girl who carried a label of "cognitively disabled" gathered together and claimed as her own books and workbooks with few pictures and lots of text.  Her favorites included books on the solar system, ecology, insects and animals, an atlas full of maps, and even a high school chemistry book she just happened to find lying around.

My all-time favorite Amanda story involves her fascination with scribbling.  Over and over again, she made tiny circles, followed later by a long period of making straight lines that appeared as hundreds of hatch marks on every possible writing surface, and then little squiggle marks that threatened to take over our classroom.  Amanda's writing appeared everywhere, and if left alone she would hum happily as she entertained herself in in this way for long periods of time.

I often tried to sit nearby as Amanda scribbled, but if I got too close or lingered too long, or (horror of horrors!) tried to talk to her, the humming stopped and she dropped her crayons or markers and moved on to some other area of the room

Until that magic day, when Amanda kept on scribbling while I talked, even glanced in my direction with a slight smile on her face.  Boldly, I moved a little closer, and then when she still didn't leave, I gently placed my hand on her forearm.  Immediately, Amanda tensed up, but didn't pull away, Quietly I explained to her that some of my students could spell out words if I just gave them a little support.  The marker immediately began to flow across the paper, and in large, smooth cursive (!) Amanda spelled her name!

At that point, she definitely looked at me with a huge smile and it was game on!  I asked her if she could spell the names of some of the other people in the room.  She spelled my name, followed by several others, and then was finished, leaving me behind shaking and crying as she quickly left the scene.

On the very next day, I asked Amanda to write with me again to demonstrate her writing for one of our classroom assistants.  Much to my amazement, she was willing, maybe even eager. We sat at the table with wipe-off boards and markers, and I suggested that she write the other woman's name.  Expecting a letter "C' or maybe "S" for Cindy, I was confused when Amanda very clearly made a straight line on the board.  This was followed by another straight line and my heart sank, thinking the prior day's experience had maybe only happened in my mind.  But I kept my hand on her forearm and gently encouraged her to keep going.  The final message is visible below:  "I love all of you" (partially in cursive) followed immediately by "I am so smart"

Yes, indeed, Amanda, you are, and so are many others just like you who are unable to speak.  Please forgive all of us for not recognizing this sooner.    I hope you are still doing well all these years later.

(Update January 2023 - my apologies.  The picture seems to have disappeared.  Maybe Amanda wasn't quite ready to share this with the world.  I will try to reinstate it.)

      

Communication is critical

 

I recently came across a story that warmed my heart and reminded me of some earlier life experiences that reinforced my conviction that access to an effective communication should be considered a basic human right.

The story comes from CNN and involves a deaf and blind man who was traveling alone across the U.S. on an Alaska Airlines flight.   A teenage girl familiar with sign language spent much of the time on that flight helping the man communicate, even carrying on conversations about who he was, where she lived, etc. --- all of this using finger spelling in the palm of his hand. (Think Annie Sullivan and Helen Keller).    https://edition.cnn.com/2018/06/23/us/teenager-helps-blind-deaf-man-during-flight/index.html

Personal memory #1:

(About 25 years ago) I was in the kitchen of our condo with a much-loved two-year-old grandson, who was sitting in the high chair and trying to let me know what he wanted.  The Cheerios were just fine, but we hit the wall when I started offering something to drink in his sippy cup.  I don't remember where I started, but I do remember trying absolutely everything I had available (short of the brandy I may have wished I had for myself at that point!).  Water, milk, juices of all kinds - everything met with the same reaction; scrunched up red face, followed by tears and screaming, and of course always pointing toward the refrigerator, which he must have thought had magic powers to produce exactly what his heart was desiring.  We both survived the ordeal, and he has grown into a fine adult with a new baby son of his own.  Grandma's lesson learned here was that life can be extremely difficult if you don't have a way to make your basic needs known to others.  

My thought at the time about my young students:   Yes, at times they really DO act like two-year-olds and it might be simply due to a serious inability to communicate.  When you don't have a voice, the only way you can express yourself might be through behavior.  Let's get at the communication needs, and let's NOT focus on managing the behavior.

Personal Memory #2:

(About 23 years ago) I was at a local family restaurant having breakfast with good friends.  As it happened, I had a very bad case of laryngitis and could speak only in a strained whisper.  I knew that it could be difficult to be heard, maybe even irritating for others to listen to my voice, so for the most part I remained quiet.  But these were good friends, we were having a good time, and it was definitely not easy for me to stay out of the conversation.  At one point, I had something I really wanted to say, so I reached into my purse for a pen and some paper.  I thought I was being as subtle as possible in doing this, but I noticed that almost immediately everyone else stopped talking and started waiting to hear (or see) what I was writing.  There was nothing earth-shattering about my comment and the period of silence seemed to go on forever, until they could all read what I had to say.  I did not like being the center of all this attention, and was embarrassed by the experience.  I didn't write anything else, and I have never forgotten the incident.  Grandma's lesson learned:  Alternative communication is often cumbersome, with limited effectiveness.

My thought at the time about my students:   If/when they DO find a way to communicate, it almost always involves great effort on their part, and they may be driven back into silence if they sense they are causing an inconvenience to anyone else, or if their words are met with any sort of over-reaction.  They get used to being on the fringes of social interactions, with people talking around them and forgetting to include them in some sort of comfortable way.

Personal Memory #3:

(About 13 years ago) I was on a gurney in the ER of a Hollywood (CA) hospital after suffering the first and only full-blown seizure of my life.  I was under observation, awaiting some tests, and resting comfortably.  There were two other patients at the time, and we were separated only by portable curtains, which allowed everyone to hear whatever was being said.  One patient did not speak English, and the other was severely hearing impaired.  In both of these cases, the hospital workers were diligently making phone calls seeking assistance.  They calmly persisted in their efforts, realizing that the ability to communicate with both of these patients was critical to treating whatever conditions or circumstances had brought them to the ER that day.  Grandma's lesson learned:  Sometimes we really NEED a way to communicate.  It might even be a matter of life or death.

My thought at the time about my students: Oh, if only the powers-that-be in the school system had that same level of realization that communication is critically necessary.  At that period in my life I had been tilting against windmills for over ten years, trying to convince various administrators that my students were in fact much more intelligent than any IQ score might indicate; that they didn't need me to teach them academics "at their level" (or worse yet, teach no academics but focus on functional life skills!); that what they really needed was a means of communication that worked for them.  Sadly, we had found just that in our use of Facilitated Communication, but could not escape the controversy and skepticism that surrounded its use.

Give them the power of the alphabet, and whatever level of support they need.  Then, please do respect and listen to what they have to say.

Trying to Get the Feeling

 One of the many myths or misunderstandings about autism that has led us astray for so long is the belief that folks on the autism spectrum don't experience the same emotions as neurotypical (non-autistic) folks - or maybe don't experience them in the same way.  In my early introduction to autism, I remember a journal article about "Joey the Mechanical Boy."  As the title suggests, Joey was described as a boy who saw himself as some sort of robot, absent human feelings or any desire for human interactions.  Similarly, the very term "autism" was said to be derived from "auto" or maybe "alone" - again, leading to or from the assumption that these individuals (they were all kids at that time; no one was giving any thought at all that they might become adults some day.  See how much we had to learn?) don't really have feelings like the rest of us.  They existed in "their own world" and many of them were left there, alone and withdrawn.

 Based on lots of personal experience, plus the spoken, written or typed reports of many, many people on the autism spectrum, I am convinced they not only experience similar emotions, many of them experience these feelings to a significantly greater extent than the rest of the population.  My students always knew when I was having a bad day, when I was tired or worried, sad or upset.  Some would show this by touching me in a tender way, but more often it happened that my "off" mood caused them great distress that was more than they could handle and we encountered what was so often referred to as "behavior problems" ---  unexplained, of course; we had no idea what was setting them off!

 In addition to being easily overwhelmed by taking on the feelings of others, it is common that kids (and adults as well) with autism are unable to identify their own feelings or emotions, and often can't express how they are feeling in any sort of typical fashion.  One of my students from years ago got reprimanded by our principal when he laughed at a highly inappropriate time.  I don't remember just what sad news the principal delivered that day, but laughing was not the response that was expected.  That principal (and just about everyone else in our school setting) had little or no understanding of autism.  I was a little farther along in my education as a teacher, and I KNEW this particular student didn't mean to laugh or be disrespectful; he understood clearly what the sad news meant, but he was overwhelmed and his body was not within his control at that moment.  Instead of crying, he laughed.  I have seen it happen many times since then.

 Recently in a communication session with L, he typed forcefully, "Help me be more normal" - one of his more common opening remarks in our sessions.  I launched into my usual pep talk about loving him just the way he is,  there is no such thing as "normal," adding for good measure that he doesn't need to change, but maybe we can help those around him understand his autism better so that he can fit in more comfortably.

 For the most part, L is a low-key, easy-going sort of guy who doesn't show much in the way of emotions.  If he is having an off day, he might decide to lie on the floor.  If he is upset about something, he might become agitated, make loud sounds of protest or even bite his hand. In his home setting there is a history of breaking things, with some signs of joy when he does this.  But in all of our typing sessions, he has not been able to use any of the typical feeling words to explain what might be going on.  

On this particular occasion, L remained seated and generally on task, and I proceeded with a typical conversation, trying to engage him in something that might be of interest - the weather, an upcoming holiday, a visit with Grandma maybe.  I was so focused on the keyboard and his typing that I failed to notice a trickle of tears flowing down his cheeks, and a look of agony on his face.  

I wiped away the tears and offered my hand for support. When he was ready he typed, "Please just help me be more a man."  L has often begged me to tell everyone about his intelligence, and has complained that too many people still treat him as a baby.  When he asks to be helped to be more "normal" he knows his appearance fools people and they forget all too easily that he is in fact an adult and deserves to be treated that way.  Still not using any of the feeling words I may have suggested, but the tears made his point very clearly.

 And then at our very next session, with several members of his team present and all of us wearing masks as Covid precautions, L started to smile, then burst into infectious laughter - something I have never witnessed in all our years together.  We all joined in the laughter, couldn't resist! - and asked him to explain.  He looked around, making direct eye contact with each of us and still laughing, then typed, "You all look funny!"  From sadness to joy, and able to tell us why.  This is real progress, folks.

Earlier stories about L:     http://grandmacharslessonslearned.blogspot.com/2017/09/ 

                                          http://grandmacharslessonslearned.blogspot.com/2019/

"You talk; I listen"

I think my favorite lessons learned are the ones that bring together more than one aspect of my life.  Here's one example, from our early years of marriage, when the kids were young, and my teacher-husband shared some of the wisdom he had learned on the job.  Instead of directly praising a child for something they have done, it is often more effective to tell another adult about their accomplishment when you know they are within hearing range.  Telling Grandma over the phone that you are so pleased that her grandchild is willing to try a variety of foods, or has learned to ride a bike, or just finished cleaning their room - well, it works magic!   

Working with kids who struggle with just about every task they undertake - the kids with "special needs" - taught me that direct praise might even backfire and cause stress or anxiety that could turn an accomplishment into a disaster.  In my behavior modification training, I learned to say "Good job!" with great enthusiasm and even greater frequency.  All too often, I was caught off-guard with the reaction I got from my students.  Think about it - I was asking them to do some very basic task (usually involving a motor response that took great effort on their part) such as sorting or stacking colored blocks, putting together a simple puzzle,  or handing me the correct picture.    I didn't know it in my early years, but these kids were SMART, and they knew that just about every other kid in the world could do such a task with no trouble at all.  So, when my reaction after they struggled to perform was an enthusiastic "Good job!" -  who could blame them for throwing the block or puzzle piece across the room or angrily pinching my arm!

Indirect praise was infinitely more effective once my very patient teachers helped me learn a new way to do things.  Once they  established that they were much more intelligent than any of us had realized, we could stop with the "baby work" and move on to things that were more appropriate to their cognitive level.  One of the happiest times in my classroom was when the kids were all going regularly to general education classes with their age peers, and using Facilitated Communication to complete the same work that others were doing.  I proudly displayed their typed work on the walls outside our classroom and didn't have to say anything at all.  Having other adults in the building stop by to express their pleasure was the best reward of all.

In my more recent work with adults, we have at times set up visits where two or more of our typing friends can get together to chat.  At times, the conversation lags and I realize that we - the communication partners who are there to provide needed support - have taken over, wandering off topic into things going on in our lives, or current events in the news, or (best of all) the lessons we have learned over the years from our silent typing friends.  At first, I felt guilty when this happened.  It was supposed to be THEIR social time, not ours.  And yet, I realized that something interesting was going on.  These folks really liked hearing about our family life, they appreciated learning about events in the news, and they really, really liked hearing that we were finally catching on to what they had wanted us to know about them all along. They silently voiced their approval by listening to what we were saying and letting us continue.  We talked, they listened, and they approved.

Fast forward to my current situation in these days of Covid-19.  I am no longer meeting in person with my typers, with just a couple exceptions, and instead sometimes find myself in a group online meeting as part of a team trying to make the best of these difficult times.  Recently in such a meeting with one young man, a non-speaking FC user participating from his own home, he became rather restless after about 30 minutes of interaction.  We had been asking him questions and he was supported in using FC to give us some insights into how he was doing.  The group leader suggested that we could quit at any time if he was ready, and he typed his response: "No. You talk. I listen."   And so we continued to do just that.  He stayed in the room, happily listening to the rest of us as we talked about how we have been coping with the stress of having our lives changed so dramatically.

It makes so much sense.  For years these individuals were misunderstood and underestimated.  Many had little or no academic instruction.  And yet, they were learning all the time.  Many have told me via FC that they hear everything and remember everything as well.  So listening is a strong suit, and if what they are hearing confirms that the people around them recognize and appreciate their intelligence, they can relax and continue learning - and continue teaching all of us.

The Cruelest Month

"April is the cruelest month" ---  from a favorite poet, T.S. Eliot, and from my almost forgotten college days.  It really WAS a cruel month in the year 2020, but March, May and now June are not far behind.

In line with the general theme of this blog, I will focus here on lessons I have learned - mostly from kids, my kids, my grandkids, the kids I have taught --- kids of all ages (many are now adults) who have taught me.

I am trying so hard not to complain, not to wallow in self-pity, but it isn't easy.  When Covid-19 shut down most of the country, really most of the world, we all suffered great losses in our lives. I have been at home for about three months now, keeping a mental list of all the things I miss in my life.  I am quite sure most everyone has a similar list - having places to go, seeing friends, hanging out in a coffee shop, library or park, eating in a restaurant, going to the movies.  Do you play the game with yourself - if the virus is declared gone, and life can resume, where do I want to go first?

I have a brand new great-grandson, born on May 6, and I yearn to hold him, to see him in person.  When might that be possible?   As a family, we have already celebrated several holidays and birthdays via Zoom meetings - not quite the same as gathering in person, but better than nothing.  Thank goodness for modern technology to help us stay connected.

The blessings of family, a peaceful home in the country where I can remain "safely at home" for the duration, the financial security of retirement benefits, miracles like Netflix, Zoom and Facebook make all of this infinitely easier for me personally than for many others.  I am healthy, my family is healthy, that baby and his parents are doing just fine.

Gratitude for all my blessings in life goes a long way to soothe my restlessness, and then I think about my amazing grandkids. Back in early March, Kid #1 was at the peak of her gymnastics season.  She had an outstanding performance in a competition on a Sunday afternoon, and was filled with hope and excitement about the meets that were still to come.  But of course never did.   Kid #2 was preparing for similar competitions in karate, plus turning 16, getting his driver's license, and having braces removed.  The birthday came and went with little fanfare and everything else is still on hold. Kid #3 is a high school athlete, hoping to play college football.  There was no spring football, there will be no summer camps, and the fall season is doubtful.  His restaurant job came to an abrupt halt, so plans of saving for college and possibly getting a scholarship have vanished for now.   Kid # 4 finished college with no graduation ceremony, and no parties.  She is now a nurse, so she has a job - but of course Grandma is both proud and very worried about her health and safety.

They all miss school and miss their friends.  The older ones live on their own and are mostly working from home, and then staying at home at a time in their lives when socializing is how they usually spend whatever free time they might have. Their lives have changed much more dramatically than mine, and I have heard not one word of complaint.  They even listen patiently when I point out that they will surely have stories to tell their children and grandchildren in the future, and I am sure I have repeated more than once that this current situation really is a big deal - it is something none of us have experienced in our lifetimes, and none of us knows how the story will end.  Bless them for tolerating Grandma's rambling thoughts and words of wisdom. 

My most dramatic loss is probably the regular contact I had with my nonspeaking friends who type to communicate.  I try to stay in touch with their families and it is very reassuring to know that everyone seems to be doing as well as might be expected under some very difficult circumstances.  Day programming came to that same hard stop and everyone's schedule was severely disrupted.  Situations vary, but all of these folks need someone to support them 24/7.  Parents and home staff are indispensable, and it is critical that everyone stays healthy and safe.  Just exactly how they are all managing this is beyond my imagination.  But again, no one is complaining.  They are just doing what needs to be done.

So what are the lessons?  We all need to do what we can with whatever life sends our way.  Being grateful for our blessings is essential.   Complaining, or worrying, accomplishes little or nothing.  Life goes on and while it may never be quite the same, there surely will be better times ahead.

And from my typing friends who have special insights into such matters: Love will win in the end.  Stay strong.  Stay well.

"If Only They Could Tell Us"

In my early days of working with children and teens who didn't speak, we "jabberers" used to joke that we'd really be in trouble if these folks could ever talk - and tell stories about US!  And now, I can't wait to hear what they have to say when they have the needed supports.  Today I am going to share a random assortment of very important messages I have received from some of the great people I work with.  It has been over five weeks now since I have met with any of them --- I am very lonely, and my hope is that this might be just what they want me to be doing with all the time I have available to me.

Without identifying anyone, let me just say that these comments come from men and women roughly between the ages of 25 and 65, most of whom have no spoken language at all, and many of whom have had no formal academic instruction in their lives.  Added note:   All of these were shared with me over two years ago.   I apologize to my typing friends for the delay!

Concerning intelligence:
My mind is good.  In my mind I know much more.  I wish my mouth could say what I am thinking
Get more people to see my intelligence.
Please look into getting more people to understand how intelligent we are.
I will tell you that I am very smart.
Just tell more people that we are intelligent.
Please lets talk about knowing much more.
I know so much.  Help me show people.
We all are very smart. Try to make people see how intelligent I really am.

About feelings:
My feelings get out of control.
Hopefully you can read more about the love in our hearts.
Very much I hope we might find love in this world.  Help the world be more loving.
Everyone needs to feel real love, See if some day the time will come that we are all seen as intelligent.
I just think I have so many fears. I am afraid of most new things.
Love is our only hope.  Please help me find hope.
I get so mad because people think I don't know anything.

About movement:
Please understand I have lots of energy. I think you are my best friend because you understand why I need to keep moving.
I want to tell everyone that my body is my enemy.
Please help me be comfortable in my body.  I hate my body because I look crazy.
You need to help me be more in control.

The importance of typing:
I just hope I might be able to keep typing like this.
Free my from my prison.
I hope to type by myself.
Just know I need more typing.
Help me be able to type my thoughts.
I love typing.
I wish we could type all day.
Right now I just need you to type with me every day.
You just need your dear tiny finger helping.
Typing changed my life.

Concerning boredom:
I want you to help me just have more in my life.
I want to know more about just everything.
Just know I hope I might be able to get my life more interesting.
You have to help me have more of a life.
Get more things for me to do.

Respect:
You really give my heart hope.  You see my intelligence  Try to be my helper.
How you think about me can make the difference between life and death. I just need you to see that I have much more to tell you.
Just look into our souls to see how good we really are.

Advocating for others:
Understand that many more people just like me are needing to find their voices. Help them see that typing might open new doors for them.
I just need to be sure people know there are many more people like me.  We all need more opportunities to let you know that we have much to say. Try to imagine other kids like me who look like they don't know much but really have much on their minds. By giving them opportunities to type, you open up lots of doors that have been locked.

And, an added bonus to anyone who has read this far:

Higher level awareness:
Please help me move into the new dimension.
Look into more undertaking of my new dimension.
Please be more loud in telling your story. You must not wait. There are too many people planning to be really bad. The most evil people are in charge of our government.  We might be too late. There are too many evil forces out there. Please more on the evil in the government.  We better work fast because time is running out. 
Just know I might be reading your mind.  Just know you and I have holy powers. I can read your mind, but you cant read mine.
We need to be open to new knowledge.  New knowledge is coming. Be open.
Understand that mighty things for all of us are going to be happening.
Let people know about my ability to read your mind.
Look into more about moving into new dimensions.  Please get hopeful becuz (sic) I might be moving to the fifth dimension. Then I can help more people. I hope to help people learn to love. Understand I might be in the light now.

Breakthroughs Are So Exciting!

I wrote about my friend L about two years ago here, saying at that time that some folks can be harder to reach than others.  I won't repeat L's story here, except to say that I wrote it because of a significant breakthrough with his willingness to use Facilitated Communication (typing) to let me know what was causing him to be upset.  Please do check out the link, and please do believe me that what happened that day was a BIG deal!

And so was today.  It has been a long, slow haul with many ups and downs along the way.  L has typed repeatedly that he is much smarter than we realize, he needs lots more typing time, he wants people to see his intelligence, and he wants more people to try typing with him.  But almost every session we have had together has continued to be a major struggle, with thoughts, words, even single letters, coming out ever so slowly with lots of movement and distractions in between.

In more recent visits, L's grandma has been joining us - because she keeps hoping that she might be able to support his typing.  It was her idea a month or so ago for me to accompany them on a visit with L's psychiatrist, who has shown considerable interest in what L has been saying via typing. Things went so very well that day that we now have another appointment set up, AND the doctor told L that he knows his interactions with many of his other patients will be different in the future because of what L has been teaching him.  HUGE victory!!

It was also Grandma's idea to have one of L's support staff sit in on one of our sessions - which also went very well just last week,

And then today, with Grandma and the same support person both present, we had our very best session ever.  L remained sitting for almost the whole hour, he was engaged and focused, doing some deep thinking in between his typed comments.  When he was ready, he reached for my hand, and was able to type a full thought/sentence at a time - not at all like those early days of one painful letter at a time with all sorts of interfering behavior as we struggled to get a complete word out.

L repeated that he hopes others will learn to support his typing and he typed that he wants me to help him become an independent typer.  We tried a few words with much less support, and he beamed with pride when he was able to do it. 

When our time was up, I suggested that typing "the end" might be a good way to practice typing with (eventually) no support at all.   I lightly held his forearm and he typed "the" but then he pulled away as if he couldn't finish.  I gave a little encouragement, saying something like, "Come on, just one more word, three little letters.  You can do it!"  And L very carefully typed, "beginning."

I can't wait for next week!    I absolutely LOVE what I do!!!!