Basketball Camp

A couple of years ago, Ben attended a basketball day camp for a week during summer break. The camp started on a Monday following a weekend at dad’s house, so dad dropped Ben off at camp the first day.

Even though Ben has autism, he passes for typical most of the time. As such, there are different schools of thought on whether or not you should inform school, camp or daycare personnel about your child’s differences. I’ve always come down on the side of letting people know, believing that their having the information is useful in helping Ben have a better experience and also at times when things go wrong. But those who prefer to not disclose the information do so with the best of intentions and with the motivation of not having their child labeled or singled out as different.

When I picked up Ben at camp that afternoon, I arrived a little early so I could observe for a few minutes. The kids were scrimmaging when I arrived and I saw Ben standing perfectly still in the middle of the court all by himself. All the other kids were under one basket. There was a turn-over and the players began to run down the court towards the other basket in one big mass. As the thundering herd approached Ben at mid-court, his hands starting creeping up and his body began to tense. As they reached him and ran past, Ben’s shoulders practically touched his earlobes, his hands squeezed tight over his ears and his entire body shook. Once they were passed him, he relaxed and put his hands at his sides again, only to do it all over when they thundered past him the next time. The combination of the sound of the feet pounding the floor, the site of this mass of kids running towards him and the feeling of them rushing past his body created a sensory overload for Ben. He was absolutely rooted to his spot at mid-court. The only saving grace to how awful he looked standing there was that the smile never left his face. As far as he knew, he was playing basketball and he was very clearly pleased with himself. That simple fact allowed me to relax and continue to watch the events unfold.

The scrimmage ended with a loud whistle that caused Ben to visibly flinch, followed by some loudly yelled instructions. The college kids who comprised the camp staff instructed the kids to line up with their teams and sit down while they gave instructions for the next day. Ben wandered aimlessly during these instructions, not having the ability to filter out the sensory input to which he should attend (the voice of the camp staff). I listened closely to the instructions so we’d be “in the know” for the next day, then went over to Ben, held his shoulders and leaned down so he’d be forced to look at my face. Only then did I tell him to get his shoes on and gather up his backpack. While Ben did that, I sought out a staff member.

I pulled a young, but responsible-looking staffer named Rob aside, introduced myself as Ben’s mom and asked, “When Ben’s dad dropped him off this morning, did he, by any chance, mention that Ben has high-functioning autism?” Rob raised his eyebrows, let out a long, “Ooooohhhhhh!!!” and literally slapped a palm to his forehead. I nodded knowingly. I assured Rob that I didn’t expect some huge amount of specialized treatment for Ben. I told him that I fully realized this was a camp for typically developing kids and they didn’t have the time or training to provide individualized care for my son. But, I went on, with a few pretty simple tweaks, I thought Ben could have a much better experience.

I told Rob that pairing Ben with a partner during a scrimmage would likely coax him into the action. If he was charged with guarding a specific kid, he would probably be able to focus on that task and would at least run up and down the court with the other kids. I also if he could position himself in front of Ben when giving instructions, maybe even bending down into Ben’s line of sight while he talked to the larger group. I explained that a hand on Ben's shoulder might help as well. These things would serve to anchor Ben and he’d have a much better chance of attending to what was being said. “That’s it?” Rob asked. “Yep. That’s about it. Oh, and call me if you have a problem you can’t solve. I’m never more than 20 minutes away and I always have my cell phone with me.”

The next day when I picked Ben up, he was running up and down the court with the other kids during the scrimmage. Admittedly, it seemed he had very little idea what was going on in the game because he was so focused on the kid he was guarding. But at least he was moving up and down the court with the pack. He certainly appeared to be part of the action, but more importantly, it seemed he felt like he was part of the action. He looked happier and far more relaxed.

When the whistle blew, Ben still flinched, but when the other kids lined up to receive their instructions, Rob skillfully herded Ben along with the other kids. He put a hand on his shoulder and stood directly in front of Ben while he talked to the group. Ben stayed in place and looked proud that he was “doing it right”. When I signed Ben out, I thanked Rob for his extra attention to Ben. Rob assured me that it was his pleasure and that he had enjoyed seeing Ben have fun as part of the group. He also thanked me for my handy tips and told me that he looked forward to trying them with other kids should the opportunity arise. I feel certain Rob will have that chance given that recently-released numbers on autism indicate an incidence of one in 110 kids.

To tell or not to tell? That is a question countless parents of kids on the autism spectrum grapple with every day. I may not always get it right, but a couple of years ago at Ben’s basketball camp, I scored a slam-dunk on that question. And I’ll always hold in my heart the image of Ben’s joy as he ran up and down that basketball court with the other kids. Who knows? Maybe, Ben holds that memory in his heart too.