Dancing to a Different Tune: Autism :: Personal Narrative Writing

Dancing to a Different Tune AutismIm sitting in Mrs. Mortons kindergarten class at 937 watching her dark false topaz leather shoes move back and forth as she recites the alphabet. unconsciously avoiding eyed contact, as she turns chain reactor the row and slowly moves towards my desk (Sperry 22). As Mrs. Morton approaches me, I cower back in fear, unable to deal with the unpredictable and repugnant nature of human beings (Dawson 112). Kenny, why are you not listening to me? olfactory modality vulnerable I remain silent, unable to cope with this social spotlight (Williams 159). So again Mrs. Morton asks, Kennywhy are you not listening to me? Responding with echolalia, I pervasively mutter back her words in a matted voice, Not listening to me. I Reply in a horrific attempt to convey meaning, but in the end only puddle meaningless jargon (Sperry 45). When Mrs. Morton hears my reaction she throws her manpower up in thwarting and returns to reciting the alphabet as she softly mu tters, This kid must be deaf(p) or something (DSM IV 68) Loosing interest in Mrs. Morton and her alphabet I bring forth to tap my pencil on my desk, unable to stop moving my hands. repetitive behavior such as this provides an escape from the constant state of arousal that assaults me at this moment (Dawson 67). I twist around in my desk, fidgeting as I try to expel some of my energy (DSM IV 71). Hyperactivity last gets the best of me, as I start meandering up and down the isle in my own Idiosyncratic fantasy world as though Mrs. Morton does not exist (Sperry 52). That night as my mom cooks dinner party I am drawn by fascination to the sparkling down(p) flame of our gas ambit. Without fear I slowly reach my hands up towards the burner and touch this dangerous flickering light. My mother returns from the bathroom and catches a glimpse of me with my little hands in the flame of the stove.No Kenny The stove is hot. Very hot, do not touch the stove. She screams at me as I wit hdraw my hand and look at her with a blank face. I didnt even feel the burn, until the heat of the flame began scalding away layers of my discase because my threshold for pain is so great (DSM IV 68). Trying to nurture me from injury in which I am unable to express any(prenominal) emotion, my mother and I take a trip to James shore which is just minutes away from my house in Rhode Island.