Why Adults Struggle to Engage with Autistic Kids

"How old are you?"

"What grade are you in?"

"Do you like school?"

"What's your favorite subject?"

This litany of questions are favorites among adults trying to break the ice with a child they've just met. Generally, they'll get a simple litany of answers (Joey, seven, second, yes, math), smile politely, and then move on - secure in the knowledge that both adult and child have performed appropriately. It's adult/child small talk, and it keeps the social wheels nice and greasy.

Of course, small talk is the bane of autistic life. It is, without doubt, pointless and often incomprehensible. Yet its absence can cause a great deal of FUD (fear, uncertainty and doubt) among typical adults. And small talk, in the form of a sort of adult/child quiz, is a basic tool of interaction between the generations.

In fact, question/answer interactions, so basic to adult/child relationships in many cultures. are problemmatic even between parents and children. I've seen videos of parents with autistic children in which the parents, desperately and heartbreakingly trying to engage their child, sit still in a chair asking questions.

"Johnny? Would you like to sit on my lap? Johnny, do you remember how to sing happy birthday? Johnny...?"

Of course Johnny, who is absolutely intrigued by the function of the light switch, is completely oblivious to mom and dad. Meanwhile mom and dad, having used up their entire repertoire of kid-friendly questions, are ready to quit trying. Sadly, they scoop up little Johnny who protests loudly, and put him to bed. Once again, their attempts to connect have failed.

Imagine if mom or dad had suddenly gotten up, gone over to Johnny, and helped him with his light switch. What if they'd gotten a flashlight, and turned it on just as the light went off? Or showed Johnny a different kind of switch - or even a dimmer? What if, instead of quizzing Johnny, they'd joined in his play?

Of course, there no guarantee that Johnny would have liked mom and dad interfering in his activity - but you can be pretty sure that he would have engaged with them. He might even have played with them. They might even have laughed together.

Of course, switching lights on and off are not part of typical adult interactions with children. And kids who can't or won't answer questions are... well, weird. Confusing. Anxiety provoking.

It seems that it's really harder than it looks to break with cultural norms and stop quizzing kids. It's even harder to join an autistic child in his own world. Perhaps it shouldn't be surprising that so few adults do it. But when you do - and suddenly a child lights up with joy and excitement - it feels like the sun has come out.

And to be honest, it's more fun than finding out that Janey like math and Joey likes reading. It's actually a LOT more fun. Here's hoping more adults figure out how rewarding it is - and give it a shot.