This blog’s a bit longer than usual. Do you have a cuppa? Glass of milk and some chocolate? Or something stronger? Good. Read on.
Train Wombat (now in Year 9) started catching the train by himself in Grade 4. While some other parents looked at me askance, I was confident that he knew what he was doing. We’d practised the route with him, he’d be travelling with other students and he was keen to do it. Dancing Wombat, however, is a different case.
Investigating post-school options doesn’t just mean assessing the programmes’ suitability. It also means looking at their accessibility on public transport. Which means our daughter learning to travel on public transport. Alone.
The challenge
I’m talking about a young lady whose natural head position is down, whose vision can’t be accurately assessed, and who has been on the point of missing trains and trams while distracted by trivialities (rubbish, a stray feather, a loose shoe lace). The prospect of her travelling alone fills me with fear. And this just relates to her getting off at the right stop. Before even considering her safety.
The vision
As part of a catering unit that Dancing Wombat is taking this term, her class is helping at the tuck shop of a local primary school. It’s a wonderful opportunity and great experience. In conjunction with this, her school is encouraging the catering students to travel there on public transport – if possible.
We happen to live near the tram line that goes right past the school. What a great chance to do purposeful “travel training”. Just maybe, we thought, by the end of term she’d be able to travel there independently. At the very least, we could give it a go.
The practicalities
First trip
The first Friday, I took Dancing Wombat to the closest tram stop. She got on the tram, touched on with her MYKI, and found a hand-hold. This tram had a visual display and announcements at each stop. She knew from a map where she was going. We talked about the landmarks and roads we passed – we often drive that way – so she was familiar with them all.
As the tram emptied, she found a seat. However, it didn’t face forwards. This made it harder for her to look ahead to see the approaching stop. Still, this is why we were travelling together. It was all about scaffolding, providing structure and having lots of practice. And this first trip out revealed several things to think about changing for the next week.
We had a quick run out. Dancing Wombat pressed the “Stop” button, very excited to have completed her first “travel training” trip. The bonus was, we arrived early, giving her extra time with the teacher to help prepare the kitchen.
Second trip
Some changes were in order. The first tram stop was closer to home, but involved:
- crossing three major sets of lights and one slip lane; and
- looking upwards and outwards to check the tram’s route number, to ensure she took the correct tram.
So this week, we went to a tram stop that was two along, but involved crossing two slip lanes, one set of lights and no need to check the route number. There was a further benefit from a longer walk.
This time, she scored a seat facing forward. Another successful journey. But could we minimise the road crossings further? Perhaps. There was a pedestrian crossing at the tram stop. We decided to try that next time.
Third trip
Hubby Wombat took charge of this one. The pedestrian lights took forever to change, but they crossed in time for the tram. Then Dancing Wombat wanted to dispose of some rubbish at the tram stop, but there was no bin – and the tram was about to go! Hubby shepherded her onto the tram and gave our community-minded daughter a lecture on leaving untended rubbish alone. Especially when the tram was waiting!
Fourth trip
My turn again. Back to the two slip lanes and one set of lights. Luckily there was no rubbish on the seat, but there was a loooong wait for the tram. By now, I was shadowing Dancing Wombat. Letting her walk ahead to the tram stop, getting on and off at a different door, letting her work out when to push the button.
It was another successful trip. Yay! She should be ready by the end of term to go it alone. Now – let’s organise next Friday. Next Friday? Heck – I was supposed to be on the other side of town at 9.00! (Ironically, for a seminar on autism.) And Hubby Wombat had an 8.30 meeting that he couldn’t move. Could we possibly get Dancing Wombat competent enough (and us confident enough) to let her go solo in another seven days?
The big push
It was time for some intense travel training. And time to lift the independence level by a notch.
Saturday
I shadowed Dancing Wombat all the way to the tram stop, then sat a few seats behind her in the tram. The tram was fairly empty. A middle-aged man was in the seat over the aisle from her, and there were a few other people between her and me.
At one point, I heard a male voice, then heard her call out, “Mum, Mum!” I looked up to see the man opposite her turn his head back from looking in her direction. I went over to her, and asked if she was okay. She said “Yes”, and I went back to my seat, wondering how to address this next challenge.
We’ve often talked about “stranger danger” and she’s learned strategies to use if someone approaches her in the street. But I hadn’t even thought to bring it up in all our travel training discussions.
Dancing Wombat pushed the button successfully this time. We got off, and I asked her about the man. She told me he had asked where she was going. Oh no. SCARY stuff. But then again, it might be perfectly innocent. Someone noticing her special needs and thinking they could help. Maybe? I said she did the right thing calling out to me.
“But what would you have done, sweetheart, if I hadn’t been there?” I asked her.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Do you mean, you would have said, ‘I can’t tell you’?” I queried.
“Yes.”
“So, let’s practise.” I put on a deep voice. “Where are you going?”
She shook her head. “I can’t tell you.”
“Good.” We do it again. And again. “Now, remember, if ANYONE asks where you’re going, NEVER tell them.” I try and emphasise it as much as possible. What else can I do?
I can wrap her up and never let her out of my sight. But that won’t let her grow and thrive. So much of what we do is driven by wanting her to be as independent as possible. Doing things independently boosts her confidence. Her self-esteem. It’s good for her. Sure, she’s not like other girls her age. But why should she not have the same desire for independence and achievement?
My brain says, “Life is risky. Get over it. You’re teaching her the skills she needs.” But my heart says, “Far out. I’m so scared something will go wrong. What if… What if… What if…” There are so many little things I can’t control, which could send her off course. I can’t write a social story for every one of them. Can I? Should I?
We’re trying to prepare her for this particular journey as best we can. To prepare, we must first be aware: of what she has to do; of what might happen. Then we can work out a range of strategies to put in place. Practise them. Discuss them. Do a SWOT analysis of them. Practise them again. Then decide whether or not we can – or should – let go. And be prepared for other issues to come up along the way, as happened today.
The tram home arrived while we were talking. We sat together, so I could point out the landmarks from the other side of the road. She would have missed our return stop, though. She wasn’t watching, and there were no visual displays or announcements. It reinforced the need for her to have her head out of the route map, and to be able to identify landmarks and familiar roads or stops.
We definitely needed to practise again the next day.
Sunday
I shadowed Dancing Wombat to the tram stop, while her dad drove ahead to the other end. Then waited, on tenterhooks, just praying she’d get off at the right stop. For the first time, she was travelling completely alone.
Now – do you want the good news, or the bad news? The bad news is that she didn’t get off at the right stop. (She told us later that she didn’t push the button hard enough to register the stop.) The good news is that she got off three stops later and phoned her dad, who was able to pick her up. She hates phoning, finding it hard to put the phone to her ear, and refusing to talk on speaker unless it’s quiet. Sensory issues … So, doubly good. She had a problem, and managed to work through it. Yay her!
Nevertheless, she wasn’t yet ready to fly solo. She needed more weekday practice. But we now had to trust that she’d get off by herself. I needed to drive on ahead so I could take her on to school from the tram stop.
Monday
She sets off to the tram stop. I drive ahead and wait to see her onto the tram. She comes out of our street, crosses the first slip lane, the lights, the second slip lane… No…? What’s the hold up?
I race back. A van has stopped, but she’s waiting for it to go. I run across the zebra crossing, mouthing “Thank you “ to the driver, and half-pull her back across the road.
“Sweetheart, it’s really good to wait if you’re not sure, but they need to wait for you. See the pedestrian crossing sign?” She nods. “You have to try and look at the driver to check that they’re stopping and they’ve seen you. Wait for them to stop. You MUST wear your glasses! If they’ve stopped, you can go. If they’re going, you have to…?”
“Stop.”
“Yes! So, tell me again – If they’ve stopped, you…?”
“Go.”
“Great. And if they’re still moving, you…?”
“Stop.”
Excellent.
On to the tram stop. The tram’s approaching. We jog the last few metres. She insists on going past the bench seat on the tram sign side – not the side closer to us. The driver watches as Dancing Wombat and another student get on.
“Remember, Sparrow Street!” I call to her. I think the driver notices me, in my bright red scarf and red beret, and registers that I’m a somewhat anxious mum.
The tram leaves. I run back to the car and hop in, then drive ahead to wait. The tram seems to take forever. Finally, I see it pull up, but I can’t see whether Dancing Wombat has got off. The driver looks across, sees me, and gives me the thumbs up. Hallelujah!
Now I can see her. She walks to the traffic lights and waits. But the tram is waiting for her! She’s being very safe, and not walking in front of it. The driver makes some announcement on his microphone, but she doesn’t move. He slowly moves off, and she finally crosses as the lights change.
Her smile stretches from ear to ear. She’s done it!
“Wow, how do you feel?”
“ Good!”
“ Yes… ?”
“Happy!”
“ Yeees…. What about that “p” word?” She knows what I’m after.
“Proud!”
“Yes! And I’m really proud of you. Well done! That’s great.” I lavish praise on her. It’s a big thing she’s achieved. She went totally independently and arrived where she needed to.
We have a hot chocolate around the corner from school to celebrate.
But I’m still not confident.
Tuesday
Same thing again. This time, the tram is massively late, so I wait with her. Again, she alights safely at the correct stop. Unfortunately, there’s no time for a hot chocolate, as the tram was so late.
“No, sweetheart – not even take away! Good try, though!”
“But you said we could!”
She persists, all the way to school.
I want one more practice.
Wednesday
Dress rehearsal. She leaves the house first. Enthusiastically. I wait, then drive off. Where is she, where is she? Towards the end of the street, I spot her. She sees me. “I’ll race you, Mum!” she calls out. I slow down and crawl around the corner to make the contest a bit fairer. I wave to her.
She’s looking very pleased with herself. We’ve been making a big deal of the “travel training” and she’s clearly proud to be doing it. I drive towards the tram stop and park. I need to see her across the two slip lanes and the lights, then I’ll go. I won’t wait for the tram today. I pray that it’s on time. And leave.
Waiting in the school car park, I leave the engine running. It’s bitterly cold this morning. Not a good morning to be waiting without gloves for the tram. Then again, gloves would just be an encumbrance. I imagine her struggling to get her gloves off and put them away getting out her MYKI. It’s probably best that she doesn’t have them.
Still waiting. Still… A tram goes past – the other way. Still waiting… How is she going? Did she get on? Will she get off? At last, the tram pulls up. And… Yes – she’s there. Hooray! I feel jubilant. We share a joyful hug. She did it completely by herself. And – bonus – there’s time for a hot chocolate!
Next steps
We can’t practise on Thursday morning. Now I just have to trust in her and in the training that she’ll be okay on Friday. She’s certainly feeling excited and confident. I’m feeling partly excited and sort of confident, but very nervous as well. What if something goes wrong? What can I do? What about the guilt burden if something goes wrong? Am I pushing her too hard, too fast? Am I…
Well, you get the idea. Luckily, you won’t need to wait long for the answer!
Until then, happy wombatting!
