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Dr. David B. Axelrod

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THE HOLIDAY FAIR

by Brooke Coughlin 

<brukelyn00@yahoo.com>

Pine Drive, being the last road before the one way, was a particularly busy street.  This street was extremely busy during the summertime, when the baseball field was packed with young little Babe Ruths.  Each child tries to succeed the other and with the help of the parents cheering them on.  Every house on the street is filled with a different story.  There are the teachers in the white house, the retired seniors in the tan and the newlyweds in the small blue house.

The occupants of most of the houses filled with hard-working class families.  Every morning they wake up at the crack of dawn to the sound of an alarm clock buzzing in their ear.  They begin by making the beds, then the lunch for the kids.  Trying to get out before all the others, trying to beat the traffic.  Just trying to earn a descent living, for a descent future, never forgetting about their child’s education.

Everyday was doing the same thing in and out.  We never looked forward to when the sun began to hang shorter in the sky.  We would always arrive home just before having to put on the lights for the car.  However, we stayed outside to play until the food was ready.

Running as fast as we could through the veins and crunching leaves not to get tagged.  We ran through the old neighbor’s house.  We shouted and yelled when we got tagged as though someone who caught us would never let us go.

 We always made ourselves scared of the old couple.  It seemed as though the only time they came out was when the full moon was out (or at least that’s what we made ourselves think).  We also would run the bases.  Trying to run from base to base putting every possible breath into our step.  My favorite though was riding our bikes up and down the hill.  We always had so much fun doing it, too.  We always acted as though like it was our first time, ever. 

I hated when it was time to go in.  That meant it was time for Mom’s cooking and afterwards, dishes.  Then we had to do our homework.  I never got away with “I didn’t get any.”  Mom and Dad knew we had it.  Never without fail we tried every possible way to avoid my friend’s father.  We would always duck through bushes or tall, thin grass to take cover.  Or we would take a fall in the muddy brook behind the new neighbor’s house.  We tired all right.  He was so frightening though. 

His shadow could be so overbearing and scary it would just change everything if he caught us.  We would always do the same thing if Tara ’s brother came looking for her after school.  Without fail he would always find her, though.  We always counted to ten to ensure that he was not going to return looking for her. .  There he was with that body of his.  His body was so long, but husky.  His shadow was just as beautiful.  The way it covered anything that was possibly in close proximity to it.  He also owned the most perfect hat.  It was this blue baseball cap.  It was worn in from him wearing it so much.  The sun got to it too.  The cap was once obviously blue, but it bleached it this light blue that matched his eyes perfectly.  His cap also just covered his eyebrows.  He always just looked so mysterious.

We lived next to one another.  Well our families lived next to each other.  I wish I could say that I and only I lived next to each other.  My bedroom window was so close to his home.  If I just peered from my window and looked 45 degrees to the left I could see the corner of his bedroom window.  Oh it was just so wonderful.  And if I only looked for a second it wouldn’t be a bad thing.  I would always imagine me sitting next to him eating breakfast.  I would love to see him eat his cereal.  So wonderful to imagine me sitting there next to him.  He never spoke to me though.  I was nothing but his neighbor and little sister’s friend.  I was nothing, but the girl next door.

On Wednesday mornings his sister and I had to go to school early for choir.  When it was time to go to school I would pick Tara up and then we walked to school together.  Every Wednesday morning I had to the chance to talk to him.  I would ring the bell and see his silhouette from behind the glass pane walking to the door to open it.  I would have loved for him to greet me, but I rarely ever received a hello.  It was the same thing, he would do nothing but look, open and walk away.  I just needed to talk to him.  I needed some excuse to talk to him.  But what could I, a freshman, possibly need, nor simply have, to talk to him about.  

However, one wonderful, Wednesday, morning I was running late to school.  There was no way I would have made it on time.  My mom was sick and there was no one else in my house.  He was called to rescue me.  Rescue me like they do in the movies.  I needed a ride to school, because I couldn’t possibly walk to school without anyone. 

I was now in his car.  That blue, old Volkswagen.  At last I he had to talk to me.  He couldn’t keep the car silent.  Then he asked me.  He asked the most wonderful question any senior could ask a freshman.  He asked why I was late for school.  He said I was never late, always at his house minutes earlier than I should be.  That meant that he obviously paid attention to me.  He knew I was never late to school.  That was the truth.  I told him I got sick.  I don’t know why I told him that!  I could have said anything, but I told him the truth.  This was my chance, my chance to shine and I was nothing but slime.  He then tried again.  He tried to strike up another conversation.  And asked about the town’s holiday fair.  He asked if I was going.  I was, but he wasn’t going.

“Why aren’t you going, don’t you always go?”  I asked.

While he spoke he glided the steering wheel back and fourth through his hands.  He couldn’t go, he couldn’t go because he had a hockey game.  He said it was his chance to shine for his coach and a scout.  This was a going to be against a great team and he wanted to show everyone he could be a top player.

“If I go, I’ll bring back something for you.”

The week went to slow from that point on.  Saturday finally came.  In the morning I reminded my mother and father about the holiday fair.  My mother said she would bring me after all her errands are finished, hopefully she won’t be tired.  We went to the market to pick out all sorts of vegetables; corn, string beans, carrots, peppers (both yellow and green), and broccoli.  We also went to the little shop in town, owned by the old lady, and bought a birthday present for the lady at the corner of Main and Ocean. 

When we got home my mother said she was so tired she was afraid she couldn’t take me.  She said that all the good gifts were probably taken already.  My father heard this and said that she really shouldn’t miss the fair and insisted that she take me.  My father gave me five dollars to spend on anything I wanted for myself. 

I walked up the sport memorabilia section and needed to buy him something.  Something, but I just didn’t know what.  The man at the stand asked if I wanted to buy something.  He really didn’t want to help me, though, he was busy talking to two older boys.  They looked like Tara ’s brother age.  I told him no thank you.  I didn’t know what I was doing.

I realized that at that moment I couldn’t buy him something.  I was nothing but a little girl with a crush on a much older boy. 

Descriptive piece

I love the water.  What can possibly be more beautiful then seeing a sunset on the water, the sun glistening, the colors of red and yellow and orange; or smelling the salt on your hands.  Everything seems so perfect out there, watching the wake of my boat and looking out at the Robert Moses Bridge with the sun bright behind it.  So many times I have sat on the bridge of my boat and watched the water hit the side as if it were cutting through glass and listened to the squealing sound of the seagulls.

            It is hard to believe that once I was so scared of the water.  To think that I actually sat in the cabin of my boat and tried to pretend that I was not scared.  I remember, when I was about seven or so, always thinking that my boat would flip over from a huge wave and that I would get lost in the bay.  I remember sitting on the floor in my cabin with my legs and arms plastered to the walls. 

I remember trying to get Holly, my younger sister, to sit with me.  Since I was older, she thought I was wiser and so Holly would always listen and come sit with me.  Little did she know that I was actually quite scared and I needed her company.  After calling her down to the cabin time and time again I got that little girl scared of the same thing.  To think, I made my little sister scared to such a wonderful, beautiful thing.  Now, I know there is nothing to be afraid of.

            After I got over my fear I wanted to work on the water.  For seven summers I had the opportunity to work on the ferries.  I went to Fire Island everyday and dropped off thousands of people.  Half the people that go to Fire Island seem to never look that a sunset or smell the air.  They seem to have no respect for what is around them.  they do not stop and look at the water  or open their eyes to a sunset.  I know this because I always wondered what other people were doing on the ferry as I was working.  I would observe their actions and rarely did I see someone turn around and look at that gorgeous ball of fire behind them. 

            One of the most fascinating sights to see is the sun on the horizon.  It looks like a reflection of broken glass just glistening from the fire.  I took that job for so much more than the money.  I took that job for the mere fact I knew I would just love it.  I remember one particular conversation with another deckhand, Adam.

            I was working with Adam on a trip to Saltaire around six o’clock .  The sun was setting.  It must have been one of the most powerful sunsets that I had ever witnessed.

            “Look at the sun.”  I said.

            “Oh yeah, I see it.”  He said.

            “Don’t you find it just so mesmerizing?” 

            “Yeah, I guess so”

            “It’s ok, I mean I’m at work.  I’m here to do my job.  I’m not looking for that.” 

Adam, was one of those people that took this beautiful, natural thing for granted.  He just looked at that sunset as any other.  To me it was perfect.  The sun was a perfect shade of orange.  It had formed a perfect circle and was just at the mouth of the bridge.  It looked like the mouth was swallowing the sun.  When the sun was just ready to go seemed as if it were stuck in between the bridge and the horizon.  I just found it so disappointing that this person didn’t enjoy it as much as I did.  I guess I didn’t understand.  To it is was sad that this boy with so much more experience at the boat, never stopped to look at the sun and for I who only started had to point it out to him.

Story of my own

            It was the last semester of my college career.  I have gone through 3.5 years of living a life that I will never, ever live again.  And at that moment I wasn’t too sure I ever wanted to live that kind of life again.  I was tired.  Don’t get me wrong I loved it, but I was just tired.  Not to mention I was also poor. 

            I spend the last of my laundry money in the bar last night.  I seemed that I did that quite often.  Spending my “last” penny on beer.  Beer that tasted horrible!  It was nothing but warm foam.  Who knows the last time the bartenders even cleaned the tubes that brought the beer out to us college students.  Many times we would put mints in our cups just hoping that it would help the taste.  We were wrong it only made it foam more.  Many times I described the beer as looking like sea foam that washed ashore during the summer.  Then I thought about the summer.

            So as I was saying I was tired.  Oh I sound so spoiled!  I was tired of being a college student.  A student who lived far from home, with her best friends in the world only steps from her bedroom, without a responsibility in the world other than school work.  I was though, I was just getting tired of not knowing either.  I was graduating in less than a few weeks and I still didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life.  I didn’t want to go home and face that question.  “So what are you going to do now.”  At least when I was in school I could use that as my backcloth.  But now I’m graduating and I was so confused.  I felt like I was the only one, too.  No one else felt the same way I did.  They all knew what they were going to do when they got out.  At least that’s what I thought.  I later found out I wasn’t alone.

            Well we graduated.  I was now holding a diploma.  I was celebrating my accomplishments.  I was celebrating the entering of the “Real World.”  I now wished I was back in those bars, spending the money I really didn’t have.

            It was summer now.  I had no job, no direction.  What am I going to do.  I then found a job in the paper.  They were asking for teacher’s assistants for a school for children with disabilities.  It sounded interesting so I applied.  I met with the woman and she loved me.  I was hired right on the spot.  I started the following day.

She assigned me a classroom that no one else seemed to want.  I later found out that it was the most profoundly severe disabilities that they had in the school.  This classroom was filled with nothing.  The classroom was not an ordinary classroom.  The teacher did not have maps, word walls, or even pictures made by the children.  There were absolutely no decorations in this room.  The walls were bare with the exception of a few notices taped near the teachers’ computer.

Each child had his own station.  It consisted of a table, two chairs, television set and a divider that separated each child’s station.  The divider had numerous cubbies that contained items specifically for the child’s goals.  There were items such as jackets, shirts, food preferences and non-preferences, toothbrush, books, movies and games. The cubbies also held the child’s communication device.  There was also a rug, couch, and television set in the back left corner of the room.

            I believed many people in the world would see these things and run as fast as they possible could out of the school.  I didn’t and I couldn’t.  I instantly had a connection with this classroom.  I hadn’t met anyone from this classroom, including the teacher, but I just felt so right in there.

The teacher and the assistants walked in moments after me.  They were in a meeting when I welcomed myself in the room.  I found out that there were five boys in the class.  The boys all had Autism.  They ranged in ages from seven to ten years old.  The children that attend this school are those individuals who need high-individualized attention and assistance, which would be nearly impossible in a public school setting.  My first day they told me to sit and observe.  They wanted to show me what they did during their day to ensure them and myself that I was right for this job.

The class schedule was divided by increments of thirty minutes.  Within those thirty minutes each teacher attempted to work on a specific goal during that time with her designated child.  Every skill the child with autism does not demonstrate-from simple responses like glancing at others in the room, to complex acts like spontaneous communication, social, interaction, and academics-is broken down into small units called “trials”.  Each trial consists of an instruction, response, consequence and a short pause between the consequence and the next instruction.

Appropriate responses after each request made by the teacher was always followed by a reinforcing consequence.  One child continued to request for strawberries, as another child seemed to prefer potato chips or a “high-five” from the teacher.  The teacher had informed me that it is essential to find out what the child enjoys and only give it to the child after receiving the desired response.

There were a great number of goals that were trying to be met during the day.  However, three goals stand out in my mind.  One child had to master putting on a shirt.  The child would first lie out the shirt on the desk, then they child touched the tag, and would then attempts to put the shirt on.  The child seemed to understand the steps initially however; he needed assistance the last few trials. 

The second goal was preparing the child for a haircut.  The teacher actually put a cape on the child, wet his hair, and then combed it back.  Again, the first few trials were a success and the last few were hard for the child to succeed.  He squirmed in the chair and called out sounds while the teacher was brushing his hair.  The last goal happened during lunchtime.  It was a non-preferred food goal.  In order for the child to earn a cookie he had to eat pieces of pizza first, which he had learned not to like.  The child’s favorite food was pizza, however, with no explanation he began to throw temper tantrums when it was in front of him to eat.  During lunch the child rejected most of the pieces of pizza.            

That one-day changed the rest of my life.  From that day on I knew where I belonged.  I knew I belonged in a classroom with children like that.  I wanted to teach students the many skills that will help them become one step closer to independence.  I realized that day also that many times it will be a challenge for both the teacher and student, but we do it anyway and will not give up.

I am currently studying to become a special education teacher.  I, myself, only have a few more challenges to get through and then I am done.

Copyright (c)  2003-2008 Dr. David B. Axelrod
For problems or questions regarding this web contact axelrodthepoet@yahoo.com
Last updated: August 11, 2008.