We’re on a roll here with the travel training. Following on from Dancing Wombat’s last successful “almost solo” trip, we set off again to see Uncle Trumpet.
She walked by herself to the tram stop, and I waited to check that she got on successfully. Just as well. She spotted me in my not-very-obvious hiding place, then announced that she needed the toilet.
Grr. I thought she’d gone before she’d left home. Here was yet another scenario that we needed to plan for. It was Sunday – the closest public toilets were too far away. Luckily, a café over the road was open and happy for her to use the facilities. Her tram rattled past just after we’d crossed over.
“What would you have done it I wasn’t there?” I asked her.
“I would have got on the tram,’ she replied.
I visualised the situation. It wasn’t pleasant.
Getting on the tram
Finally, the next tram arrived. This time, I stayed one step removed from proceedings, waiting on the path while she got on. Like last week, we had role-played the scenario many times, and I was confident that she knew her stuff.
I heard her give the stop name to the driver and ask for help. He must have queried her, because she repeated the stop name, then got out her route map and pointed. Good for her, I thought. Now there can be no room for error, surely.
As before, I ran back to the car and drove ahead of the tram to park, and wait. This time, I parked a little way up Dale Street. I wanted to see if Dancing Wombat remembered which way to turn after she had alighted from the tram.
Not getting off
A short time later, I heard the tram approach. Only, I realised with shock that it was not slowing down at all. In fact, it was going rather fast – straight past her stop without stopping at all. Hells bells!
Would Dancing Wombat even have realised she was going past her stop? She was relying on the driver to tell her. Or was she looking out the window, feeling confused and worried as the tram didn’t stop where she had asked it to?
Seconds later, my phone rang. It was Dancing Wombat.
“Get off at the next stop, sweetheart. I’m driving to get you.” I stressed this several times, hoping that she understood. I took some comfort from the fact that she had phoned me. Also, once before, she’d missed a stop and successfully got off a few stops further on. Only as I drove down the road, looking for her, it was evident that she was still on the tram.
Luckily, the terminus was close by. Surely I’d see her there. I parked, and ran across the road in front of the tram, which looked like it was just about to leave. NO daughter at the terminus. Was she STILL on the tram? Even after I’d asked her to get off?
She was.
Later, I realised that as the terminus was so close to her stop, it had probably arrived there before she’d finished speaking to me. But then why didn’t she get off the tram?
I raced up the few tram steps, looking desperately to see if she was inside. The driver told me that “the lady” was still on the tram. Dancing Wombat came down to me, smiling. My mind was spinning.
“Why didn’t you get off, sweetheart?” I asked her.
“The buzzer wasn’t working.”
Really? “The buzzer wasn’t… Never mind.” I needed to speak to the driver. Why hadn’t he stopped?
Not understanding
I took a deep breath, keeping calm and courteous. I asked him why he hadn’t stopped at the right stop.
“I didn’t understand where she wanted to get off”.
Seriously? “But I was watching from the footpath when she got on. I heard her say “Dale Street” twice, clearly.”
“I didn’t understand her,” he repeated.
“Well,” I told him, “I also saw her show you on the route map where she wanted to get off. I thought Yarra Trams drivers were trained to help special needs people?”
The same response. I was getting nowhere. Time for another deep breath. Getting upset wasn’t going to help.
“I’m sorry,” I told him, “But I find it very difficult to understand this, as I had heard my daughter clearly from where I was standing on the footpath. How could you not have understood her?”
He said again that he’d asked her where she wanted to get off. By then, I was using all my efforts to stay calm. I didn’t think to clarify whether he meant at the terminus, or when she had first got on.
Not very helpful
The driver offered to drop her back at the Dale St stop, but I declined politely, explaining that I’d drive her now. I added that she needed to be on the northern side of the road – where she should have been let off. It was unsafe for her to cross by herself from the southern side.
We set off for the car. I think I was more upset than her. What if the tram had left before I’d reached it? I could have phoned her again, but now I was worried because she hadn’t got off the tram at all – not even at the terminus.
What if it had been Route 75? It shares part of the Route 70 track but it’s much longer, running along a busy highway where it would be hard to see which stop she got off at, if she’d missed hers. The terminus is several suburbs away.
The debrief began.
“Why didn’t you get off the tram?
“The buzzer didn’t work”
“But what about when the tram stopped? You could have got off then?”
She couldn’t answer. I couldn’t keep back my emotions. All my frustrations and fears flooded over me as I thought of the long road ahead for my daughter.
Not dwelling on the negative
I didn’t want to over-catastrophise what had happened, so I pulled my “positive” persona back out my pocket and gave her a big hug. Seconds later, I dropped her off opposite the tram stop, leaving her to plod along to Uncle Trumpet’s house.
Good for her – she’s a real stoic. Honestly, my daughter’s tolerance of being pushed inspires me to push myself to continue pushing her. She’s a trooper.
She finally arrived at her uncle’s and greeted him with a lovely hug. He’s wonderfully patient with her, and gradually elicited what had happened (having heard the story from me first). I kept redirecting her gaze from me back to him. Answer the question! In a whole sentence! Don’t look at me – you’re talking to your uncle! And so on. But now it was time for our celebration drink ritual.
Problem-solving
While we drank, we talked – or rather, I talked – about how avoid this situation in the future. “I know,” I told her. “We’ll write the stop down, then you can show the driver in writing, as well as tell the driver.”
Surely, surely, I thought, this would be fail-safe. I can laminate the route maps for the routes she usually takes, then have a supply of ready printed cards, with the street and stop number on them (also laminated). She can take with her the ones she needs, ready to Show the driver. For now, some scrap paper would suffice.
I also rethought her script, and changed her first request to putting the stop name up front: “X is my stop. Can you tell me when X is please?” This would make the request more direct, I thought.
We role-played this new scenario while waiting for the tram home. The tram shelter’s glass window was a handy substitute for the driver’s window!
The return trip
Shortly, the tram appeared. This time, I waited at the bottom of the tram steps. Dancing Wombat got in, and waited at the driver’s window. He was oblivious to her presence.
“Tap on his window! Go on, tap!” I called to her. She tapped, and the driver turned around, and stepped out of his cab, apologising for not noticing her.
Dancing Wombat went through her spiel and help up her slip of paper with the information on it. The driver registered the stop. “Fine,” he smiled at my daughter. “That’s no problem at all.”
“I’m doing travel training with my daughter,” I said.
“That’s fantastic,” he replied. “I’ll make sure she gets off at the right stop.”
His whole manner was a complete contrast to that of the previous driver. A few minutes later, while I was watching DW alight from the tram, the driver even got off after her, to point out the street on the other side of the road she had identified. Moments like that just make your heart melt, particularly after a bad experience.
That evening, I poured out my tale of woe to my mother. She was as ever, supportive and practical.
“What a shame,” she said. “But it’s probably good in a way to experience different people and problems now while she’s learning, before she’s trying on her own. Hopefully it helps her learn how to deal with the unexpected. It’s all part of the training, I guess.”
Yes. It is all part of the training.
So – be encouraged. Perhaps it will take longer to reach than expected. Obstacles could rear their ugly heads and you might well wonder whether you’ll ever get there – wherever “there” is. But the journey is as important as the destination, the process as worthwhile as the product. And success, once achieved, will be so much sweeter.
Until next time, Happy Wombatting!
