Page 16 of Breathing Under Water

Karyn has been around for so many of our failed attempts at getting Leo “involved.” I’d have figured she’d be ready to throw in the towel, but she keeps coming back from time to time with new suggestions for us.

Maybe she’s forgotten the “movement games” class four years ago, when Leo spent several sessions rocking his body back and forth in a corner while the other kids did obstacle courses and stretching routines. He eventually refused to return at all. Before that was the interactive storytelling club, when he ran and hid in another classroom to avoid participating. It took the STELLAR staff almost an hour to find him. Granted, these things happened when Leo was much younger. Now he goes to class at the public high school without complaint, but he still shies away from anything that requires significant interaction with peers.

It doesn’t seem to make any difference that I keep talking with him about the importance of trying. I’ve explained all the reasons why it would benefit him to connect with kids his own age, like improving his emotional well-being and building the support networks he’ll need in adulthood. Never mind that life is simply more fun with friends.

He’s old enough to understand now why these things matter. But he still insists he’s not ready for more.

This is what keeps me up at night.

As I ready myself to decline whatever Karyn is offering, I can’t resist asking for details first.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I happen to know a Division 1 swimmer working over at Hollyhock Country Club. She’s putting together a small group of elementary-aged kids on the spectrum for swim lessons. I thought Leo could join them.”

I feel a quick flutter of excitement. Younger children don’t bother Leo. In fact, he’s quite good with them, and even stops to chat with some of the little ones we see at the Y. But my hopes deflate just as quickly.

“I don’t know,” I tell her, even though I do know. “Leo might not be comfortable being so much older than the other kids, so far behind for his own age. It’ll only highlight his delays to him.”

When Leo was fourteen, we convinced him to let us sign him up for a summer nature camp where most of the kids were neurotypical. After Leo finally agreed, the director declared she’d be putting him with the eight-year-olds because the younger groups had more staff. When Leo heard this, he flat-out refused to attend. As much as he likes younger kids,he doesn’t want to be treated like one. He’d be the first to tell you his ASD doesn’t make him less mature; it just makes him unique.

“Hold on,” Karyn says. “He wouldn’t be going as a student. It would be a volunteer position.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I thought he could be a helper for the teacher, like a teacher’s aide.Andhe’d learn to swim,” Karyn explains. “The teacher, McKenna—her only expertise is swimming, not teaching kids with special needs. So Leo could be a real asset to her. And in return, he gets to learn to swim.”

Harrison jacks up his eyebrows looking at me, as if he thinks this idea has legs.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” I say, thinking Karyn might have found the perfect spin to get Leo into lessons appropriate for his skill level.

“Oh, and it’d be free,” Karyn adds.

“Free?” I repeat. We could certainly pay for reasonably priced swim lessons, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like free stuff as much as the next guy.

“It’s a community service project,” Karyn explains. “The young woman creating the program is a college student. You know how they are, a bunch of adorable little do-gooders.”

Harrison starts shaking his head almost frantically, and I know why. Leo would hate to think of himself as anyone’s community service project.

“Oh, okay, I see,” I say. “I’m still not sure it sounds right for Leo...”

“What doesn’t sound right for me?” Leo asks as he comes down the stairs. He’s got his Bose headphones resting on hisneck as usual, and the empty cardboard box from the airplane model in his hands.

“Do I hear Leo there?” Karyn asks in an exuberant tone that tells me she knows he can hear her. “Can I tell him about the job offer?”

“What job offer?” Leo asks. He walks closer to where the phone is sitting on the counter and checks the name on the screen. “I have a job already,” he says, staring down at the phone. “I work at the YMCA doing tech support.”

“Oh, I know that, Leo, dear,” Karyn answers. “This would just be a small thing on the side, something for the summer. A young woman is giving swim lessons to younger children with autism, and she could use your help communicating properly with the kids. It would only be a volunteer job for you. No pay, unfortunately.”

“Why would I do it for free?” he asks in his signature monotone.

“She said she could teach you at the same time as the kids, like a trade.”

“I don’t think I want to learn to swim. No, thank you.” He starts to walk away from the phone, heading toward the garage with his empty box.

“Wait, Leo!” Karyn calls. “Let me just tell you about the teacher. I think it’ll change your mind.”

“Why? Who is he?” Leo asks, turning back toward the phone.