You shall not pass!

Like many parents, I sometimes fret about the amount of exercise that my children get – or don’t get. In addition to her special needs, my daughter has a serious adrenal condition, so keeping her from a sedentary lifestyle is particularly important.

I’ve found that for my girl, walking with a purpose – beyond exercising for its own sake – is the most effective way to get her out and about. So in the morning when I take her, with the dog, to the the bus stop, we walk around the block first. There’s “my way” – clockwise – and “her way” – counter-clockwise.

This morning, we were about to cross the drive of a building site when we were stopped, so that a big b-double truck and trailer could back in from the other side of the road. Five more seconds and we could have been across. But it wasn’t to be. The worker might as well have been Gandalf, in The Fellowship of the Ring, thundering “You shall not pass!” to the Balrog.

“You have no idea, mate,” I thought to myself as I looked at him and his “Stop” sign “the distress you are about to cause us.”

We were all set to go “her way”. That was the plan and now, the plan was about to change.

“Let’s go my way,” I suggested to my daughter.
“But you said we could go my way.”
“I know sweetheart, but it’s blocked, see?”
“Why?”
“Well, have a look, there’s a big truck backing in and it’s taking a long time. We need to go my way or we’ll miss the bus.” (Or not have our walk, but I wasn’t yet at that stage.)
“Can’t we wait?”
“Oh, okay, I suppose we could wait.”

The driveway is narrow. The truck is long and the trailer doesn’t quite fit into the driveway. So,
forward into the road moves the truck. The driver repositions the wheels slightly as the traffic builds
up on both sides. Damn.

“We are really going to miss the bus if we don’t go my way.”
Her face crumples. “But you said…”

I feel my frustration building. At times like this, I really hate autism. Change can be so difficult, even
when the need for it is staring you in the face. Or at least when others think it’s staring you in the
face. I try cajoling, getting cross, then finally I set off, pulling her with me.

She brings out the big guns. “I’m tired. I have a stitch. My finger hurts.”

Yeah, right. Of course. This is a much used and usually ignored tactic. It also leaves us with a lingering worry that one day, something really will hurt but we won’t believe her as she will have cried “Wolf” once too often. It still hasn’t occurred to me to give up on the walk for today.

We get going, me walking ahead just enough to convince her to hurry, but not so much that I can’t go back to help her.

Down the first, short side of the block.
Along the longer street. How far behind is she? Only a few houses. Good.
Up the last short side.
Around the corner. I wait so she can see me.
Then back along to the building site, just before where her bus pulls up and …

You are kidding.

The truck has made its delivery and is now leaving. Gandalf is back in action. We shall not pass! I see the bus on the other side of the intersection, and step out into the road to signal the bus driver that we are there, but can’t proceed. Gandalf is busy stopping everything that moves. Luckily, Frodo realises there’s a problem and kindly gets the truckie to stop while we cross in front of the truck in order to catch the bus. Phew.

I still don’t know if I did the right thing. I know I shouldn’t have become cross. But should I have pushed her out of her comfort zone in order to get those 1500 steps before school or simply left it?

That would have been the easy option. Yet in the long run, I don’t really think it is the best option. Change is an inevitable part of life. Just because my daughter finds it hard doesn’t excuse me from needing to teach her how to deal with it. Yes, it will take longer than it does for many other kids. Yes, it will be extremely frustrating for all involved. But in the end it will be liberating, because she will learn that her goals can be achieved in different ways.

She shall pass.