The summer swimming season in New Jersey is pretty much confined to a few months; while the water is warm now, there’s no lifeguards in the fall. To be amid a lot, a lot of water, nothing like an aquarium; Charlie’s enjoyed a couple of visit to the New Jersey State Aquarium and notices more and more with each visit. Fish Wish is program run by the Georgia Aquarium. Yesterday’s 11alive notes the calming influence of the aquarium on autistic children who’ve visited through the program (though a reference to autistic kids as “being in a world all to themselves” has shades of outdated notions of them being locked in their own world).  But still, always good to be surrounded by all that water, even behind glass.

5-year-old Kaitlin Bacile went missing Saturday and was found dead in a pond behind her home Sunday, WPLG reports. Kaitlin had autism and lived in Wellington (FL).

A couple of days ago, AutismParents.net asked if the water rescue of a 13-year-old autistic boy and his father “downplayed the risk of autistic children drowning. Learning to swim is more than necessary, and perhaps all the more so as many autistic children are drawn to water—-the mother of an autistic boy who drowned, founded an organization, Christopher Connections, whose goals include “promoting the important of swimming lessons for autistic children, creates “opportunities for affordable swim lessons for children with ASDs from qualified, certified swim instructors.”

Thinking a lot about Kaitlin and her family.

Kamila and Henry Markram of the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology in Lausanne have developed a theory that autism is caused by a “supercharged” brain, today’s Telegraph reports. The Markrams posit that autistic individuals—far from earlier notions that they were without emotions and the capacity to feel—-”‘perceive, feel and remember too much’” and very intensely:

Faced with this “intense world”, autistic infants withdraw, with serious consequences for their social and linguistic development, she added.

Repetitive behaviours such as rocking and head-banging, meanwhile, can be seen as an attempt to bring order and predictability to a “blaring world”.

Most of the theories surrounding autism involve the idea of an underperforming brain but the Markrams believe the opposite is true with the brain being “supercharged”.

Their research, which included studying their own son who is borderline autistic, is backed up by one of the most replicated findings in autism which is abnormal brain growth.

At birth the brains of autistic children are small or normal sized, but grow unusually quickly.

By age two to three, when symptoms of autism occur, their brain volume is roughly 10 per cent larger than average.

Experiencing sensory stimuli and even feelings and thoughts and emotions “intensely”: This describes much about how my son Charlie seems to interface with the world. He often seems to seek out strong tastes and smells and we’ve long connected his love of the ocean and swimming with a need for the deep pressure provided by the water; Charlie often wraps himself in blankets and especially fleece. In regard to feelings, even today, Charlie’s teacher noted that he careened from silliness and smiles to crying out in deep nervousness from moment to moment. According to the Markams’ theory, autism is all about feeling too much, not at all not enough.

It’s back to school and we’ve been noting the time and date for Back to School Night (this Thursday), how to explain to the bus aide and driver that Charlie needs a little extra time to get out of his seat after the bus pulls up, what afterschool activities to pursue. Tomorrow’s New York Times has an article about traveling with autistic children on planes, trains, and airplanes, and cruise ships—-one family in particular does what we do, renting a house at the Jersey Shore. The NY Times mentions a couple of places, too, that have programs for special needs kids: Adam’s Camp at Snow Mountain Ranch, in Granby, in Colorado; Smugglers’ Notch Resort in Vermont; and the Autism on the Seas cruises.

We’ve already purchased our tickets to go to California to see my relatives in December. I’m still remembering some discussions from the past summer about autistic kids on airplanes—-for the moment am feeling glad to be home and back in the routine of things.

I haven’t been able to get Christopher Marino and his father, Walter Marino, off my mind; I keep thinking of what was it like to be in the water, treading the water, for hour upon hour? And in the dark, throughout the night, first together via the call-and-response of lines from Disney movies Toy Story in particular)?

And I have to say it: What happened to Christopher—being caught in a rip tide and and swept out to sea—-is something that I have thought could happen to Charlie. Swimming in the ocean is one of Charlie’s most favorite things to do and he’s very often the farthest out. Jim’s always with him, though this year was the first that it became quite apparent that we can’t really keep up with Charlie in the water. I know that if Charlie ever got washed out farther and farther into the ocean like Christopher, Jim—just like Walter Marino—-would be swimming right after him, though we’re both quite sure that Charlie could easily out-swim us.

One reason for this is because Charlie does not (as far as I can tell) feel any alarm to be in the water in general and in the ocean in particular. The same is described of Christopher in a September 11th News Journal Online article highlighted by a friend:

For some autistic children, the sensation of water is as comforting as a blanket.

So what was Christopher Marino feeling during the 14 hours he was swept out to sea last weekend?

“He can’t tell me. I don’t know. I wish I did know,” his mother, Robyn Bishop of Oviedo, said in a telephone interview Wednesday.

Yet she said his autism — the brain development disorder that blocks Christopher from telling his mom what it was like to be all alone, drifting away from his dad in the dark — might well have helped save him.

Such is the paradoxical nature of autism, say researchers and therapists.

For Charlie in particular, the sensation of water is as comforting as a big fleece blanket. Charlie was 6 or 7 when he started wrapping himself up in a king-size dark blue fleece blanket; this proved to be one of the first things that he did in an effort to comfort himself. He’s insisted on sleeping with a big fleece blanket at night ever since and does prefer that his blankets be blue.

Dr. Richard Solomon, an autism professional based in Michigan, also praised Christopher’s father’s response: “‘The dad was brilliant…….He treated the event as something that was fun for the boy. (Christopher) probably did not have the anxiety about, ‘When are they coming to get us?’” Indeed. Like Christoher, Charlie does not have a lot of language, but Charlie’s extremely attuned to the non-verbal aspects of communication (tone of rhyme, speed, volume, gesture, amy melodic elements, gesture) and picks up on emotions, and especially anxiety, fear, and anger. I’ve been trying to teach myself to at least feign nonchalance when he and I are in a tense and difficult situation in public, lest he mimic my worry.

Christopher is described as unable to “understand the gravity of the situation — and the dangers that lurk beneath the ocean’s surface”; it’s this, it’s speculated, that “might have kept Christopher from desperately fighting the current and sapping his strength.” I do think Charlie would find it at least a little odd to be swimming for so long and certainly in the dark. Charlie does seem to have a supreme and natural confidence in his ability to stay afloat in the waves. He’s not (as his mother would) going to panic if he can’t put his feet down on the sand; he would just keep swimming.

“It . . . speaks to the observation that children with autism are very much at peace — very relaxed — in the water,” said Michael Alessandri, a Coral Gables-based clinical professor of psychology and autism expert. “The situation was likely not exacerbated because the child did not panic — did not realize (the) danger he may have been in — and stayed calm.”

Christopher’s mother said he hasn’t shown any signs that he was traumatized.

He suffered multiple jellyfish stings on his legs and has been limping since his rescue, Bishop said. But that hasn’t stopped him.

Christopher jumped right back into the pool.

There’s jellyfish in the ocean at the Jersey shore where we swim. I’ve seen Charlie reach his hand up across his back to scratch himself just as he’s about to dive under a wave; the sting is strugged off.

Nonetheless, what Christopher and Walter Marino endured reminds Jim and me that we have to be even more vigilant when Charlie’s swimming in the ocean, and to be sure to swim near a lifeguard.

If you haven’t read the story on CNN (and also check out MSNBC; thanks, Linda!) of 13-year-old Christopher Marino who treaded water for 15 hours after being caught in a rip tide and swept out to sea eight miles off the coast of Volusia County in Florida—-go here. Christopher and his father, Walter Marino—who treaded water for 12 hours before being found by the Coast Guard—stayed together after darkness fell by calling out phrases from Disney movies:

“To infinity,” Marino shouted, referencing one of Christopher’s favorite lines from the movie “Toy Story.”

“And beyond,” Christopher shouted back, pumping his fist in the air like movie character Buzz Lightyear.

But after an hour, Christopher’s voice faded and his father feared he was gone—-but he was ok, treading the water the whole time.

Jim and I have had Christopher and his father on our minds a lot. As you know, Charlie loves loves the ocean and is a great swimmer, and he often tries to swim out as far as he can—-yes, we’ll always be swimming with the lifeguards on duty!

And just to make the happy ending to Christopher’s and his family’s story even happier:

The one thing Marino knows is that his son still loves the water and that the experience hasn’t taken away that special comfort from him.

“It may be a while before we go back to a beach,” Marino said. “But he still loves the water. He’s already gotten back in a pool.”

Yes, 15 hours.

That’s how long 13-year-old Chris Marino treaded water eight miles off the coast of Volusia County in Florida, after he and his father, Walter Marino, were swept out to sea Saturday night, First Coast News reports. Walter Marino was rescued by the Coast Guard after treading water for 12 hours. He was dehydrated; Chris Marino’s condition was not immediately known.

“The family said they’re still in shock both father and son survived,” says the First Coast News. It really seems miraculous but, needless to say, I’m very glad to be reporting that Walter and Chris are safe, and back on land. Very.

Hurricane Hanna meant rain and heavy, humid air on Saturday and I suggested a trip to the YMCA pool. There’s a long-running association between changes in barometric pressure and Charlie having “thunderstorm” moments of unhappiness, of seeming unsettled and with a kind of worried, frenetic energy and expression. Just getting in the water has long proven to be a good antidote to all that unsettledness in the sky and in a certain boy, and a little exercise workout does not hurt.

The pool was jam-packed when we arrived and four lanes, instead of the usual three, were marked off for lap swimmers. Four boys were kicking and splashing on the red and blue foam boat; one girl was explaining, with quite a bit of fervor, why nothing else would do for her to play with except the boat and there the stamping of one foot and several noooooooo’s.

Charlie stood just beyond the edge of the pool and needed some coaxing to take off his shirt. “No pool,” he told me. “Maybe just a short swim,” I suggested. My mom and dad had accompanied us and were standing by the deep end. “No,” said Charlie and gave me “a look” so I assented “ok, fine” and walked over the deep end and started swimming. This was a not-so-easy task due to the amount of kickboards and other toys, and children, in the water. I did sight Charlie in the shallow end, his buzzcut head rising above those of the other kids who were moving rapidly around him.

The girl who’d wanted the boat was holding it at one end; she called out something to one of the other boys and went under the water. Charlie walked over and took hold of one end of the boat; the girl reappeared for a moment and was face to face with Charlie and then Charlie was kicking the boat to the deep end by himself. He kicked, he sat on one end and figured out how to move the boat with his legs swinging in the water. The pool emptied and it was just him and me and two skinny blonde-haired boys for awhile, and then another wave of children came in, diving and somersaulting. As it’d been quite awhile since Charlie had commandeered the boat, I suggested that he pass it on to the other kids in a few minutes and he slowly scooted himself off and into the water, and did some swims back and forth across the length of the pool, and got that peaceful easy-feeling glow. (Knowing that he’d shared as requested added to it, too.)

The rain and thunder and lightning started just as Charlie and I were getting out of the shower. The family locker room was packed with parents and children, some crying, who’d had to get hastily out of the pool, due to the lightning: Guess we’d timed our swim right.

(We got soaked running back to the car.)

Labor Day today and everyone seems to be talking “back to school.” I’ve been back to teaching at my college for a week and Jim starts this week. Charlie, however, doesn’t go back to school till next Monday, September the 8th. He perked up on saying “school tomorrow!” yesterday night—I hated to tell him, “one more week.” So if I’m still in sort of vacation mode here for another week, believe me, we’re all just waiting to see the yellow schoolbus pull up next Monday morning.

The reason (or the reason we’re being told) that school is starting late for Charlie is because of “new construction.”" One the projects mentioned a couple of times has been some new classrooms at the high school, including a kitchen and other facilities that would be meant only for special ed students. Our district has been preparing for a larger number of students—more than a few with autism, like Charlie—moving up to the high school and needing pre-vocational training. So assuming that the rooms will be solely for the use of the special ed program, the new construction is very much to Charlie’s benefit.

Yes, though Charlie’s only 11, we’ve already begun to think about vocational training. It’s very early, I know, but based on where Charlie is academically—-reading means working on a few individual words; math is a lot of counting and number recognition (Charlie’s been learning to use a calculator but he’s not yet doing simple arithmetic)—something like college is rather, and even simply, unlikely. A job involving some physical activity would be good; I don’t see Charlie sitting at a desk in front of a computer, but moving around and doing things: Working in a kitchen or something involving food preparation, or cleaning up something (working in a park maybe?). I suspect Charlie will himself indicate where his preferences lie.

No matter what his age or school status, we’ll keep working on reading, writing, and ‘rithmetic with Charlie; whatever age he learns these in is right on time. Charlie is a boy of few words but he notices a lot and, more and more, he makes it his job to tell us.

Sunday being the day before Labor Day with a clear, clear blue sky, we went back to the beach. Charlie’s been saying no to swimming: A chlorinated pool is no ocean, and some of the pools at our YMCA have been closed for maintenance. He did say “yes” to going to the ocean and so down the Parkway we went on Sunday. Charlie’s anxiety reached a high point at the precise place where the same had happened going back to the beach twice earlier this summer and my mom got a big bonk on the nose. We stopped at a rest stop and my mom and I switched places in the car and Charlie’s rapid, nervous verbalizations peaked and then lessened as we neared the ocean.

Charlie ran right into the water. It was warm, and the lifeguards were in ultra-relaxed mode, with swimmers going far beyond the flags before being whistled at. Charlie made his usual headfist forays straight into and under the waves and, a couple of times, headed out to see swimming on his back, headfirst and happily smiling. We swam and swam; other swimmers were worrying about jellyfish but Charlie, occasionally scratching at his back, kept turning back into the waves.

We had dinner at a favorite seafood shack and Charlie, as he’s been doing all summer, ate a roll and went through a bunch of ketchup packets, then ate his lettuce and a Jersey tomato slice when I asked him if he wanted them or not, and some bits of burger. Most of Charlie’s French fries went untouched. Because of being gluten and casein free for so many years, Charlie’s eaten his share of crispy, oily potatoes many times over and it’s ok with me if he turns his nose up at them for newer tastes.

There was some, but not too much, traffic going back home on the Garden State Parkway. Charlie smiled and bantered with me (still in the back seat) about a game called Farm Families that he used to adore and some of his older, long-said-good-bye to toys (”Remember how you used to sleep with the garbage can by your bed?” I asked, at one point). We were three in the backseat with my dad on the left and Charlie on occasion stretched out his legs in the center console of the car and almost moved the gear shift.

After that, he turned his attention to the trunk of our station wagon and said to me, “Yellow boogie board.” Last week, coming back from the beach, he’d pulled out the boogie board and, in the midst of an unhappy beach house rentrée, scratched some deep groves into it. There was n room for a big boogie board in the beack seat and I told Charlie we’d get it out when we got home. He flashed me a look and then squirmed and leaned his head into my arm.

It was past 11pm when we got home. Charlie ran in and as I was pulling out the wet towels and swimsuits, Jim said to me, “You know, I left the yellow board by the showers at the shore—-I was going to rinse it off.”

Think I’m going to have to start telling Charlie to remember to tell me, and us, certain things because he’s not going to forget—-and I think he’ll do a real good job.

Since coming home from the beach on Saturday, Charlie’s seemed more in need of deep pressure, especially on his hands and feet. He’s been twisting his hands into his shirt all summer, and he’s now also burrowing his feet deep within the couch cushions (it’s a soft, blue, quite beat u couch). At night, as ever, he sort of self-swaddles himself all the way down to his feet in his fleece blanket.

He wasn’t doing as much of the hand and feet wrapping while were on vacation and last night it occurred to me that, when we’re at the beach, so many more of Charlie’s sensory needs are readily met. Endless amounts of sand, warm in the sun and squishy lovely wet and what equals the ocean, water in constant motion, cool or warmed, washing up every possible curious delight. Glistening jellyfish; stringy seaweed; sandy foam and waves over your head.

Not easy being beachsick.