Do You Like The Beach?

Today's blog was written by Dr. Barbara Kaminski, Ph.D, BCBA, who is the Clinical Director for Green Box ABA, PLLC

I was just standing in the surf, letting my feet get buried deeper and deeper into the sand with each wave. He appeared seemingly out of nowhere and was suddenly standing between me and the next wave. “Do you like the beach?” was his first question. I paused. The manner of his approach and the rhythm of his speech were definitely cues that this man was on the autism spectrum. I responded with a statement and then a reciprocal question. He “sort of” answered the question and then asked me another question. Peer response. Peer response. He finished by extending two fists with “thumbs up.” I looked at his extended fists, wondering what the response should be; what had been used as the “social reinforcer.” I gave him a double fist-bump. He looked disappointed and left his fists in place. Wiggled his thumbs. Ah, okay. Another “fist-bump” but this time we touched thumbs. He happily ran off into the waves. I didn’t actually take the time to count, but in retrospect, I think we had about a 10-exchange “conversation.”

Out of everyone on the beach, he chose to approach me. It was a good choice and I am thankful. Given my profession, I had some idea of how to respond to him in a meaningful way. On the whole, both the initiation and the conversation had the formal appearance of being appropriate. But even to me it felt unnatural and, well, kind of odd. And who knows how many other people he had “initiated a conversation” with on the beach and how they responded. I am sure some were polite and tried to have a conversation. I can imagine others who were not so polite, if you get my drift.

I have no doubt that he has worked very hard on these social skills. I have no idea whether he worked on them formally with an ABA provider. At the very least, he probably had social skills goals on his IEP. But there was definitely something missing.  To me, things just felt out of place. To someone without my experience, I am sure it would have felt uncomfortable. As a professional who frequently works on helping kids on the spectrum learn social skills, I felt convicted. Do we often stop short of teaching truly functional, meaningful social skills?

It is daunting, to be fair. In our social interactions, we make highly conditional discriminations, in a fluid, ongoing way. If we take the time to “process” what to do next, our social interaction becomes stilted. At the very least, our discriminations are on based on the conversational partner (is this a friend, an acquaintance, a clerk at the store, a supervisor/teacher, etc.) and the context/setting. There are scenarios where we might have a successful initiation with an unfamiliar person at the beach. For example, if I have a boogie board, I might talk to someone else with a boogie board about the height of the waves. Or if I notice that someone has built a super amazing sand castle, I might ask her a question about that (“That’s an amazing sand castle. How long did it take you to build it?”). However, no matter how much I want to know more about the sand castle, I may not initiate a conversation with her if she gives cues that she needs to chase after a toddler on the sand. I will admit that the sheer number and variety of contextual and social stimuli that function as discriminative stimuli for emitting (or not emitting) a social behavior can make this next level training seem nothing short of impossible. But as behavior analysts, we have the training and the skill to break it down into manageable, albeit complex, targets.

I would never suggest that we shouldn’t work on the basic building blocks of the social skills repertoire – initiating conversations, asking questions, etc. I spend a lot of time teaching the topography of the behavior – “how” to initiate a conversation, for example. But personally, I often don’t get as far as helping clients learn “when” to initiate a conversation. Or how to end a conversation naturally. And if I really want my clients to not just interact with others but to actually develop relationships, then I need to help them work on those sorts of things too. Unless what I want is a client who in the future has awkward conversations with random women on the beach, that is.

Inspiring a Passion

Today's blog was written by Steven Perkins, M.Ed., BCBA, LBA, who is one of the ABA Program Consultants at Green Box ABA PLLC

I loved theatre growing up and started joining Saturday morning theatre groups at a very young age.  We learned to sing, dance, and act; I felt so at home on the stage. I was convinced that theatre would be my future—my career. I would perform songs at family reunions, make home movies with neighborhood kids, and act in every school play. Right before 4^th grade, we moved to a different neighborhood, and I had to switch schools. There, I met a boy named Chris. Chris inspired me in so many ways, including helping me see where I wanted to direct my life down the road.
            Chris was a boy my age with Down’s Syndrome who lived down the street from our new house. When we met, he didn’t have a lot of friends and since I had just moved, I didn’t know anyone. We started to do fun activities together like sleepovers, spending days at the pool, and going to the movies. Looking back, Chris had good communication skills and some age appropriate interests. We were similar in that our age appropriate interests and ability to interact with our peer group were more limited than others. We spent a majority of our time just the two of us.
             By the time middle school came around, Chris and I had become best friends. In 6^th grade, more opportunities opened up as kids gained independence and could begin choosing electives or sports teams.  Chris and I were nervous to branch out, but our parents encouraged us to join more activities with our peers. I wanted to do choir as my school elective, and Chris wanted to join Boy Scouts for an after school activity. We each agreed to join both to go through them together.
            It was during these middle school years that I realized my passion for helping individuals with disabilities. I never saw Chris as “that kid” in our class that looked and acted a little different; I saw him as my best friend. I saw him as someone I could open up to and count on. I saw him as my equal, or even more so, I looked up to him.
            In middle school, I helped the guidance counselor set up the “lunch buddies” club where Chris chose a few friends and we would all have lunch in her office once a week. Most other days, Chris and I sat by ourselves in the cafeteria. In Boy Scouts, we were nervous to go on a week long camping trip, but then I won “Scout of the Summer” at the closing ceremony. The camp applauded me for being one of the only scouts to consistently help Chris with activities that were harder for him.
           My family moved again when I was 15, so Chris and I went to different high schools. We unfortunately lost touch over time, but his mom kept me up to date about life milestones like his first girlfriend, earning his Eagle Scout merit senior year, and moving away to attend college at Old Dominion University. He sent me a friend request on Facebook a few years ago and he will post the occasional picture, primarily of he and his current long-term girlfriend.
           I continued to do theatre productions throughout high school and even double majored in Theatre and Psychology in college, but gradually continued to shift my focus to special education. I have now worked in both private and public schools and am currently employed as a Board Certified Behavior Analyst for a company that provides Applied Behavior Analysis services. Perhaps this was always my path, but I believe that Chris helped shape my future and provided me with the passion to help other individuals with disabilities.
          Looking back, I am certain my friendship with Chris strengthened many skills that I use on a daily basis in my profession. Chris helped teach me patience, kindness, perseverance, gratitude, compassion and ambition. No matter where life takes each of us, Chris’s impact on my life and passion will last forever. He helped teach me to strive for what may seem unreachable, to be proud of every accomplishment, and that everyone should be treated equally.