Go Slow

He sat in the booster seat of the hairdresser's chair, anxious and brave at the same time.  I know how hard this was for him, how much courage he had to muster to sit in the chair by himself and allow someone to cut his hair.  Daniel is afraid of new experiences, and has associated fears with past ones.  The first time I took him for a hair cut was for his 3rd birthday.  It was nothing less than a disaster.  He cried and squirmed the whole time, but, in the end, he survived it.  He locked that little ditty away in the "don't do that again ever!" file.  

After that, David resumed his role as barber.  Daniel's "shears fear" made it necessary to engage in what he called "nocturnal stealth styling."  Ever try to cut a sleeping child's hair?  Just try it sometime.  One side of his head was bigger than the other for 24 hours until David could get to the other side the following night.    

One Saturday afternoon, I got a wild hair -- no pun intended -- and decided I was going to cut his hair myself.  The only way to reduce his fear is to expose him to it.  I prepped.  I had to because one time I trimmed his bangs so short that it looked like I'd taken a weed whacker to them.  So I watched the YouTube video of a dutiful mom cutting her 4-year-old's hair, got a shiny new pair of  real hair-cutting shears (they are a must), a comb, a water bottle, a towel, a cosmetic brush to get rid of the hair that I knew would drive him nuts, and announced, "Guess what we're going to do today?!"

Since that Saturday snipfest, Daniel has had several hair cuts and each time it is becoming less scary and more enjoyable.  He is learning to trust.  Our hairdresser told him what she was going to do before she did it.

"I'm going to spray your hair with a little water."
"It's just water.  It's just water," he says.
"Now I'm going to comb your hair."
"Comb your hair.  Comb your hair," he repeats, soothing himself.
"And now I'm going to take my scissors and cut your hair.  Okay?"
"Yes.  Go slow," he said.

Go slow.  Go slow.  I've been thinking about this all day.  First, it was huge that he told her to go slow.  Why?  Because his autism affects his expressive communication, his ability to tell us what he needs to be okay.  Who taught him to say this?  It wasn't me.  It wasn't any of the therapists.  This one came from his heart.

To this fast-paced, "I want it n-o-w" world that he is growing up in, he announces, "I need to go slow."  He needs me to go slow.  He needs you to go slow.   He speaks for thousands of autistic children who don't have a voice, who can't say, "I can do this, but let's take it slow.  Be patient with me.  I'm patient with you."  Daniel doesn't feel the world pressing in on him.  He doesn't feel as if he's in a hurry to get something done so he can move on to the next thing.  Daniel is not in a hurry.  He doesn't see a need to be.  It's so simple, really. 

"Slow down.  Take a deep breath.  What's the hurry?" 
(Jeremiah 2:25, The Message)