Egg Hunts and Autism
This year was the first year I chose to take my son to a large Easter egg hunt. I wasn’t exactly sure how he’d react. He doesn’t care much for crowds, but has made recent improvements. He does cling to me, or whomever takes him to a social event, but rarely goes into full blown panic mode like he would in previous years. He is verbal, but he easily gets distracted and occasionally wanders. He won’t always respond when asked a question, especially in a public place. All the sights and sounds can be too much for him to take in causing him to “shut down”. He falls heavily into the “overly responsive to stimuli category”. His autism is level 2, primarily due to his significant sensory issues. Having never gone to a public egg hunting event before, we really weren’t sure what to expect. At five years old, this was the first year we had made enough progress to feel confident he most likely wouldn’t bolt or meltdown. I still had my reservations, but was staying hopeful.
When we arrived, the line was much longer than I imagined. He did get impatient, tugging on my arm and complaining a bit. There were times I had to reel him in as cars were pulling up the gravel drive on the left of us. But I’ve grown pretty accustomed to my son’s attempts at darting off, so aside from my wrist being a bit sore, the line waiting went through without a hitch. He did pretty well, especially considering I had forgotten his sunglasses, an offense that would have warranted a full blown meltdown a year ago. When everyone filed in, I could see they had the hunt separated into three age groups. I initially found the age separation to be helpful. We got in our section, and I watched my son chat with another little boy. Choosing the PJ Masks Easter basket proved to be a win, as it turned out to be quite the conversation starter. Their exchange was cute and I began to feel more at ease. Unfortunately, when they began announcing the rules my calm feeling quickly dissipated, replaced by frustration
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The speaker happily announced the strong discouragement of parents in the 4-7 age group from entering the egg hunting area with their children at all. Tacking on that “if we feel we must” to please not help in the gathering of eggs (as if to imply how unnecessary closely supervising our children was). I sighed heavily looking out to the vast field with the eggs spread out, a cluster of houses a short distance from the field. The only attempt at separating anything being the flimsy caution tape designed to specify the designated area, not to physically keep children safely in their area. I know Aiden can’t go by himself. There was nothing to prevent him from leaving the premises, not to mention the 40 plus kids in his section I’d have to maneuver around should I need to quickly reach him. The egg covered field was much too broad for him to be within reasonable catching distance.
Beyond the obvious safety issues, Aiden has fine motor delays. He has to move a bit slower when trying to balance something in one hand than other kids do. Running while holding something is a different skill set than running empty handed. He will be eggless if no one helps him. I watched as all the moms, save one or two with small girls, push their kids to the front. I walk towards the front as well, with Aiden holding onto my hand. Aiden would be the only five year old boy whose mother went with him. I can see the other parents staring at me inquisitively. Aiden looks around immediately noticing, a frown forming on his face. He leans into me, wrapping his arm around mine and squeezing my hand anxiously. At this point, I can tell he is nervous, there are too many kids for him to be comfortable. I know even if he could gather the eggs and stay in the premises, he’s not going without me.
My husband approaches telling me what the announcer said, “I heard him. I just don’t care. It’s not safe!” I snap, harsher than necessary. It’s taking longer than expected to be released for eggs, everyone is staring at us because it’s obvious I’m going with him. My mother pushes through the crowd to approach me and tell me what the announcer said, her attempt at being helpful, oblivious to the situation. Several moms watching the exchange look annoyed at me. They seem excessively worried we will take all the eggs. Such an absurd notion compared to my concern of losing track of my child. At this point I succumb to my emotions, “I do NOT care WHAT the DAMN announcer said. It isn’t SAFE. He could wander off. He has AUTISM and I will tell ANYONE who has problem with it JUST THAT! It’s not fair, not for kids with special needs….” I trail off, feeling my eyes beginning to burn. I glance around met by gawking faces shocked by my seemingly unprovoked episode. They stare, then go back to focusing on their children.
My mother, whose feelings I have now unintentionally hurt, slips back into the crowd. I turn to my son, afraid I’ve embarrassed him. I sigh, relieved to see that at least he’s smiling, pleased that I’m still going with him. The egg hunt FINALLY starts and we are off. I have to all but drag him to get him moving quickly enough to actually get any eggs. Everything in the first half of the field is picked over by the time we reach it. Luckily, I spot a section the kids ran past towards the side of the hill and place a few eggs in his basket. Once I’m sure he won’t leave empty handed, I let him attempt gathering eggs. He abandons his basket repeatedly and struggles, finally managing to snatch up two eggs. “Put them in the basket”, I gently remind him. Altogether we gathered maybe nine eggs total.
The announcer begins counting down, in an attempt to reel all the kids back in. On the way back, we walk past multiple boys Aiden’s age with overflowing baskets. Thankfully, Aiden doesn’t seem to notice. We spot a girl crying because she only got three eggs, her mother trying to console her. Aiden and I stop, turning to look at each other simultaneously, without a word he nods at me. I place two of our eggs into her basket. I whisper to Aiden, “don’t worry I’ll buy you Reese pieces on the way home for sharing eggs.” He smiles and hugs me as we exit the field.
Afterwards, we played at the playground section of the park. I spot an adorable boy with Downs and find myself wondering if they just went through the same range of emotions. Altogether, I would rank the egg hunt a success. It could have been better had the people in charge of the Loudon County Municipal Park Egg Hunt bothered to take children with special needs into consideration. If perhaps, rather than announcing parents shouldn’t help their kids, simply stating to please not over fill baskets and to take the amount of children into consideration. I do feel we will go back to a large hunt next year, but may seek out a more special needs friendly location. At least until Aiden’s fine motor improves, and we feel fully confident he won’t wander off.
