The Speed of Dark

When our son was just beginning to be verbal, and able to say words with a consonant on each end,  one of his therapists suggested we introduce him to rhyming words as a way of training his ear and his speech…extending the consonants he could say,  and so on.

This certainly helped, and he began to try out combinations himself (which was good) except for one little problem.   If you start rhyming one-syllable words in English…starting from harmless familiar words like for instance “bit” and “pit” and “sit”….you end up with words that are considered inappropriate for small children to say.   The child may never have heard those words, the ones that rhyme with “sit” and “bird” and so on, and have no idea what they mean…but if your larger-than-average, older-than-average-when-learning-to-talk autistic child says them,  social disapproval rains down all over the scene.   And autistic kids don’t need any more social disapproval than they get already.

So the day came when our bright-eyed little guy very proudly (and it was an accomplishment–he had just managed the /sh/ sound the week before)  went through his “–it” words and added “sh*t.”

What to do?   He wasn’t using rude words on purpose, in anger or to shock–he didn’t know it was a rude word.    He was doing good, serious work in learning language.    So punishment was clearly not an option.  On the other hand, letting him out in public happily repeating it over and over (as he did with each new word)  wasn’t good either.   He’d be perceived as a naughty or rude child, and that would hinder his acceptance.

Luckily (sometimes I did the right thing without knowing it) I had already worked on the concepts of “rude” and “polite” and he had (finally) grasped the rudiments of these concepts–that there were social laws as well as natural laws (things fall is natural.  If you drop something, it will fall.  Not dropping a glass of milk on purpose is a social law–people will be mad at you if you break social laws.)   So I told him that yes, sh*t did rhyme with sit and bit, but that it was a rude word–wasn’t that funny?  And people didn’t like it if you said it.    So please, let’s not use it even if it’s a nice rhyme.

This worked for sh*t and t*rd and other rude words for awhile, but then the lure of the forbidden began to grow a year or so later.   Periodically one would burst out–not in the social context in which most people cuss, but just because he’d think of it, and perseverate, and need to say it.

Now what?   I decided on a technique Karen Pryor teaches, putting an undesired behavior on cue,  and then not giving the cue  (or, giving the cue in a place where the behavior is OK.)    I explained that we would have “rude word time”  at home.   I set the oven timer for 5 minutes, and for that time he was to say the rude words, but only the rude words.

So there he was in the hall, happily, gleefully, saying his rude words over and over and over.  I went into another room, to keep from laughing out loud and thus reinforcing the behavior.    When the bell dinged, rude word time was over–but if he felt he needed more time, I’d reset the timer.    He could also ask for rude word time whenever he needed it.

That first week, he wanted rude word time about every two hours.  Then it began to tail off to maybe 2-3 times a day…though on high-stress days (if we’d had to go to the mall, for instance) he’d ask for more.    It is, after all, boring to sit alone in a room reciting “Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, p*ss, p*ss, p*ss…” over and over.   The thrill of the forbidden wears off after you’ve said it 100 times and there’s no reaction.

The first time we took him to a hotel overnight,  I explained that he could have rude word time, but he had to whisper–the people in the next room wouldn’t want to hear the rude words.  So he bounced on the bed whispering the rude words.  This was also good practice in modulating his voice, something he found very hard for years.  I hadn’t thought of that until I realized that he could whisper or murmur rude words long before he could do that with other words (I suspect auditory feedback problems but that’s another post someday.)   His success in this also turned out to be an important “model” for other social challenges where he needed to adapt behavior to different situations.

When he was about seven or eight,  we were in a cafe when two truckers at a nearby table started in with the rude words.    He looked at me in shock and announced loud and clear,  “Mommy!  Man use rude words in public!”  The truckers glowered at us, and I gave them the mother tiger glower back (don’t you DARE snarl at my kid!) , but then  talked quietly and without cussing for the rest of their meal.    By the time they were through, it was clear they’d heard enough to know he wasn’t your average kid that age, so they smiled at us as they left.

On the whole, I think our approach to the rude word dilemma worked as smoothly as anything else I ever did with him.   As he grew older, we discussed when words are rude in context–that there aren’t any “bad” words, only words used badly–so by the time he went into public school, in high school, the counselor and teachers were amazed that they never had to worry about his language–he never used rude words at school.  (Unlike some classmates!)