Sorry is a feeling.

Erika had a rough morning, like she hasn't had in a while (I won't go into detail, but here is an example of what a rough morning can look like). By the time the bus came, I was holding her hand and escorting her down the driveway, while she tried repeatedly to kick me. The bus driver watched as I expertly dodged those kicks, until finally, Erika pulled away from my grip and ran away in the opposite direction of the bus.

Clearly, this was not going to be a great day. I told the bus driver that I'd be driving her to school this morning. Good call on my part, because the bus driver informed me that she could not allow her onto the bus if she was exhibiting these kinds of behaviors prior to boarding. Fair enough.

The car ride to school
I have no idea why things are so rough on the bus right now. It's tempting to drive her to school for the rest of the school year, although I currently have a 9 a.m. class twice a week, so that's not really an option until my semester's over. Let's face it, any parent knows that by her not getting on the bus and me driving her to school, it is possible that I am rewarding (and even encouraging) the unwanted behavior. But I can't really look at it like that right now…her behavior prevented them from transporting her today, so I had no choice in it this time.

Erika had no problem getting in the car to go to school. She was neither defiant nor aggressive. She was very matter-of-fact about it. Once it had been decided that the bus was not an option for today, I also took it all in stride. She had tried to kick me and hit me while waiting for the bus, but now all was calm, and I was more than ready to embrace that.


She buckled herself in, and I asked, "Are you ready to go to school?"

Erika replied, "Yes, I'm ready to go to school."

She chattered away…happy and comforting scripts. Her school is 18 miles away, and she never minds driving places in the car. After a few minutes, I asked her a question that I knew she couldn't answer. I still ask it because there's a process in my mind, and I'm hoping that one day she'll be able to answer this question directly without my re-formatting it.

I asked, "Erika, how do you feel?"

She replied, "Erika, how do you feel?" (Note: Questions are hard for many kids with Autism.)

Next, I rephrased in a way that she could respond: "Erika: I…feel…_____."

She replied, "I feel sorry."

This caught me off guard. I was expecting "happy" or "sad." She was acting content, so I was trying to gauge her frame of mind (like many children with Autism, she can be difficult to read, because she is often lacking in facial expression). I thought this must be a fluke. She has never used "sorry" before in the context of "I…feel…____."

I "asked" again: "Erika: I…feel…"

She replied, "I feel sorry."

I burst into tears. I probably should not have even driven onto the freeway at that point. Emotional wreck. My daughter felt sorry. Not only felt it, but she could tell me that she felt it. She named it. "Sorry" is a feeling, and she is experiencing it.

The road to "I feel sorry."
This got me thinking. How long have we been working on "sorry?" It's been a long time. At least since Erika was two. The Signing Time videos featured the word/ sign "sorry." They paired "sorry" with "hurt." Somebody says they're hurt. You tell them, "sorry." Even if you didn't cause the hurt. You're sorry that they're hurt. Period. Nice job, Alex and Leah. So we were signing it and saying it, and Erika used this same context a lot.

"Hurt."

"Sorry."

There are a lot of examples on Sesame Street. Grover (as the absent-minded waiter) saying "So sorry, sir" to his unfortunate diner for the millionth time (since I was a kid!) comes to mind.

We have also made it a habit to ensure that her siblings tell her "I'm sorry" when appropriate and vice versa. We have gone through some rough spells when Erika would lash out at her brother. Showing her that the other person is upset, even if he isn't physically hurt, was always a prerequisite to saying "I'm sorry." It's often hard to know if Erika's just saying something you told her to say because she's playing along, or because she's echolalic in nature.

One of the first categories I used on ProLoQuo2Go with Erika with some success was the "feelings" category. Erika can't always tell you what's wrong if she's upset. It leaves a lot of room for guesswork. But if there's one thing I know for certain it's that every person has a basic longing to be understood, and for their feelings to be validated. So I added the icon, "I feel," and when Erika was visibly upset about something, or even very happy, I'd pull out her iPad and ask the question, "Erika, how do you feel?" Then I'd start her off with the "I feel…" choice. At first, she would push every icon. It was as if she needed to know what her options were. Happy, sad, mad, silly, sick…once through the options, I'd clear the sentence window, ask her again, and open the door with the sentence starter, "I feel…" And she'd make a choice. After much practice, the phrase became hers, like another tool in her language toolbelt. I can "ask" her by verbalizing, "I feel…" and she will respond appropriately.

There is power in that. Even if she can't verbalize exactly why she's sad, I want her to know that she can at least share with me that she is sad, and I will be there with a comforting hug, some sympathy, or support. I could tell her that I'm sorry she feels so sad. In fact, this may be one of the ways that she has figured out that hurting doesn't have to be physical. A person can be hurting emotionally, and another person can feel sorry about that kind of hurt, too.

"Hurt."

"Sorry."

When we were within a few miles of Erika's school, I "asked" her again, by saying, "Erika: I…feel…"

Once again, she said, "I feel sorry."

I wish I could end this on a storybook-happy-ending note. After all, things have been going really well at school lately. Erika entered her classroom as mellow as ever, and maybe I overstayed my welcome by chatting with one of her favorite paraprofessionals. As we chatted, Erika kicked her in the shin (it was a pretty hard kick, too). Before she was sent to the timeout area, I made her look at the person she kicked. I said, "That HURT! Say 'I'm sorry.'" (and she did).

So no happy ending this morning. We're still working on it. I'll keep you posted.