Declaring War

Following that initial two-day crash course in discrete trial training, Steven's mother Jane created a master schedule.  Steven would receive three hours of programming in the morning and another three hours in the afternoon, provided by an eager staff of young women the family had hired.  In addition to these one on one sessions, Steven would also attend speech and language therapy for two hours per week, and occupational therapy for one hour a week.  

At first, I inwardly protested the rigor of such a program.  I soon realized however that, unlike a typically developing child, Steven did not spend each waking hour learning.  Instead, he interacted on a different plane, a hemisphere of glinting colors, textures, and sensations.  Inside Steven's brain, he did not naturally make connections between cause and effect, develop relationships with his family, or engage in communication.  He was so distracted by the manner in which his brain interpreted information that he missed the majority of learning opportunities that we take for granted when considering the development of typical children.

This dimension that existed inside Steven's head was so compelling that our attempts to pull him out into the world we walked in appeared to be aversive to him.  At times he would scream, cry, or bang his head on the table.  We were instructed to consider these behaviors incorrect responses to our instructions.  We were trained to signal Steven that these responses would not be reinforced by giving him feedback in the form of a flat, informational "no!"  In order to escape our demands, and earn his reward, Steven had to perform the target behavior.  

We started with a list of 10 programs designed to build foundational skills, skills that most typical children learn through incidental experiences.  Steven did not imitate, a hallmark feature of autism.  As humans learn through observational modeling, this trait was considered to be at the core of Steven's inability to learn functional skills.  How often had Steven's parents wondered why he displayed no interest in what they were doing?  He did not enter the kitchen to watch mommy cook, or place his hand on the vacuum to help daddy clean, as his brother Jeffrey did.  Instead, Steven would jump up and down, flapping his hands excitedly, watching the same Thomas the Train movie over and over, oblivious to the events that occurred around him.  

Our mission was to pull Steven from the clutches of the beast inside his head that restricted his development.  We created allies out of the very things Steven found so reinforcing.  Armed with an arsenal of  Skittles, and Thomas the Train toys, we prepared for each cognitive competition as we jockeyed for control of Steven.  In order to re-program Steven's brain, and facilitate his learning, we went to war with his autism.