Not just a dip in the pool
Day camp gives autistic children the chance to play, learn and adapt
By Jenny Diamond
August 10, 2003
If the young Fett brothers had their way, they’d spend hours filing hundreds of videocassettes into tight, neat rows.
Alphabetize first. Match movie to case. Face label to front.
The boys have autism, and the world would be much less confusing, less jarring, calmer – if people would just catch on and stay put. Or line up. Or be quiet.
Camp I CAN
In California, an estimated 21,000 people have autism, according to the state Department of Developmental Services. Autism is a brain disorder that affects a person’s ability to communicate, form relationships and respond appropriately to the environment. It is typically diagnosed by age 3. There is no single known cause. For more information on Camp I CAN contact the San Diego County Chapter of the Autism Society of America at (619) 298-1981 .
A camp finally caught on.
This summer, Brock and Derek Fett spent a week playing at the pool, indoor playgrounds and a water park. The counselors understood why Derek clamped his ears when noises got too loud, or why Brock jumped up and down when things or people suddenly shifted position.
And the boys were free to line up anything that didn’t move.
Camp Including Children With Autism Now – Camp I CAN – is the only camp for autistic children in San Diego County and one of a handful in California.
A group of parents made it happen.
“As my boys got older, I wanted them to have typical kid experiences,” said Shirley Fett of Clairemont. “But it was hard to find camps that understood what they needed.”
Fett is president of the San Diego County Chapter of the Autism Society of America. She was a major player in the creation of Camp I CAN.
“There was burn camp, epilepsy camp, asthma camp,” she said. “Why not autism camp?” In 2001, Fett and the local autism chapter raised $62,000 in grants and donations. The Mission Valley YMCA gave the nod. They were in, and so were 80 eager children.
A waiting list formed.
This summer, Camp I CAN stretched in size. It added a Teen Week and expanded from 80 children to 112. During the four-week day program, based at Missile Park in Kearny Mesa, about 25 children are paired each week with their own counselors.
“Do you know what kind of eagle lives in the grasslands of Africa?” 7-year-old Willy Inman-Goecke quizzed his counselor last Monday
Willy didn’t wait for her answer.
“The crowned serpent eagle,” he said, waggling his fingers and rounding the corner of the indoor playground at Mission Beach’s Pirate’s Cove.
Some of the counselors have autistic family members. More than half of them worked at the camp last year. All have a background in special-needs children.
“Did you know that Willy’s mom followed the bus in her car this morning?” said his counselor, Sarah Sharit , whose 16-year-old brother is autistic.
She watched Willy climb into a slide tunnel. “His mom was so worried, but there he goes. He’s doing great.”
For most of the children, this is their first camp, said coordinator Caroline Pentland, who works with special-needs children at Chula Vista elementary schools.
Every day, the children and counselors ride a yellow bus to typical day-camp destinations: the pool, indoor playgrounds, a water park and the beach. The day begins with a detailed schedule. Small pictures with words tell the children exactly what is going to happen during the next eight hours.
“We don’t leave out a thing,” said 27-year-old Pentland, opening up the schedule that each counselor shows his or her camper before and after every activity.
“Transitions are the hardest part,” she said.
Autism is a developmental disability that usually appears the first few years of life. Ranging from mild to severe, the disorder derails development of the brain in areas of language and social and emotional development. For many autistic children, sensory information from their environment arrives jumbled.
“It’s like a ping-pong game going on. Back and forth, back and forth,” said 18-year-old Megan Christian, the camp’s leader-in-training.
Christian was diagnosed with autism as a toddler. Sounds are louder. People talking at the same time sometimes causes anxiety, as does prolonged eye contact. Touch can be painful.
“Take a needle, sew it through here,” she said, holding her wrist. “That’s touch sometimes.”
Her perspective on the much-misunderstood condition is priceless.
“I know what kind of obstacles these kids are going to face,” she said. “People have low expectations for autistic children. People told my mom I’d never learn to read, that I’d never graduate.”
Christian graduated from James Madison High School and plans to study psychology at Mesa College.
At the Mission Valley YMCA pool, she cradled 6-year-old Wyatt Montero in the water. He clung to her neck. She adjusted her hands on his back every few moments. The pressure, the sensation for both, was a challenge, but important.
“The kids almost make you work for their affection,” said Amy Gorton, a fellow counselor. “It’s about trying to break through.”
Brock Fett’s counselor worked with him at last summer’s camp and during the year at a local Boys & Girls Club. The 12-year-old now calls Gorton by name. He makes eye contact. These small steps are signs of success, said Gorton as she hugged him.
No sooner had she squeezed than Fett peeled himself away and launched down the hall of the indoor playground. He tumbled into the corner and began flapping and rocking, behaviors that help him relieve stress. Gorton knelt beside him.
“How about we play first then we have some pizza?” she asked. “How about it?” Fett stopped jerking his arms and legs. He propped himself into a sitting position, reached up with his right hand and tapped her gently on the forehead. It was an agreement, Gorton said. Or a maybe a caress.
Either would do.
Jenny Diamond is a Union-Tribune intern.
Thank’s for the article.