The Aberrant Behavior Checklist is a symptom checklist for assessing problem behaviors of children and adults with developmental disabilities and autism spectrum disorders.

Inappropriate Speech

• Repeats Words/Phrases

“Time for a bath, boys.” I brushed back my too-long bangs with a swipe of my hand and tried to insert a cheerful tone to my voice. My sons didn’t need to see that their newly single mother was overwhelmed with parenting two young children less than five years old, one of whom had a genetic disability – Fragile X Syndrome.

“Naked, Naked,” Zach said in a sing-song voice as he fiddled with the buttons on his shirt.

“Let’s get naked and take a bath.” his younger brother reached up to help him.

“Let’s get naked and take a bath,” Zach repeated.

Standing in line at the local grocery store’s checkout counter a few days later, I pushed the cart with my chattering boys up to the counter. The gum-smacking buxom blonde checkout girl looked at Zach and said, “Why, sweetie, aren’t you cute?”

“Let’s get naked and take a bath,” Zach sang out in her direction. The burly guy behind me exploded in laughter, his tool belt jingling with every sway of his big belly.

Hyperactivity, Non-Compliance

• Will Not Sit Still

I reached out to grab Zach as he ran past, but he was too fast, and his shirt ripped out of my hand.

He held the spoon to his face, shouting, “My name is Guy Smiley, and this is your lunch!”  mimicking his favorite character from Sesame Street. Then he grabbed a dinner roll off the table, cackling as he continued to do figure eights around the other diners.

The couple sitting next to us in the restaurant looked at me with a look that was at first horrified and then disgusted. I tripped over my purse, and its contents flew out as I kneeled, paralyzed, saturated with shame.

“It looks like you could use some help here.” I glanced up to see a tall, gray-haired man with a kind smile. “Why don’t you see if you can corral him, and I can get this picked up for you?”

I smiled, gratefully.

Noncompliance

• Disrupts Group Activities

“Every day for the past week, when it’s time for Math, Sara starts screaming for her favorite toy, Fluffer Dog. She screams and throws things when she doesn’t get what she wants, so we have to clear the classroom. I’m not positive, but I think he has something to do with Sara’s outbursts,” Zach’s special education teacher continued.

“Why do you think Zach has anything to do with it?” I asked calmly.

“He hates Math.” She was right about that. Fraggles (The nickname mothers of children with Fragile X Syndrome lovingly give to their offspring) notoriously struggled with Math.

A few days later, she called me back. “We caught him! He was whispering “Fluffer Dog” in her ear right before Math! We told him you can never, ever say “Fluffer Dog!”

All is quiet for several weeks, and I get another phone call. “It’s happening again!

“Well, if you told him he can’t do something, he’s usually very compliant. Are you sure it’s him?”

“I don’t know. We’ll listen and see if we can figure it out.”

The telephone rang the following week. “We caught him. When he thinks no one is looking, he puts his wrists up, flat against his ears, and his fingers hang down to resemble dog ears.” She huffed with indignation.

“Well, you told him he couldn’t say Fluffer Dog. You didn’t tell him he couldn’t make dog ears.” I laughed.

She wasn’t nearly as amused as I was.

A few weeks later, we’re sitting at the kitchen table, eating dinner. “Who forgot to lift the toilet seat in the bathroom and made a mess?” I asked, cranky.

Zach looked at me, raised his hands, and made “Fluffer Dog ears.”

Stereotypic Behavior

• Meaningless Recurring Body Movements

My nephew sat on the blanket on the floor of my living room. I listened as he made high-pitched keening noises and looked expectantly at my younger sister, also a carrier of Fragile X Syndrome.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “He’s fine. Quit bugging me to get him tested.”

I knew not to say anything, or there’d be an ugly argument, one of many on this subject.

Zach came in from playing outside, looked over at the toddler sitting on the blanket, and, flapping his hands like some great winged bird, said, “He’s a disability kid like me.”

My nephew looked up at Zach, a smile spreading across his face, as he raised his hands, flapping them in the air, ready to take flight.

Irritability

• Depressed

“Bye-bye, Miss American Pie.” I turned the radio in the car up a few notches, hoping Zach would start singing along. He remained curled into a fetal position. His tee shirt slid up; his ribs starkly outlined against stretched skin.

How many pounds had he lost now? Eighteen. He’d lost eighteen pounds from his already thin six-foot frame. I’d tempted him with all his favorite foods, but he wouldn’t eat and spoke in monosyllables.

My usually funny, wise-cracking son was lost in a world where I couldn’t reach him. Was it his impending high school graduation and the loss all of that entailed causing this slide into major depression – no more football and basketball manager, no more hanging out with the team, no more social life with his friends who didn’t go to the special ed program?

“What am I going to do with you, Zach?” I said out loud, more to myself than to him.

“Put me in the funny farm,” he said in a muffled voice. The dark clouds following us broke open to reveal a few rays of sunshine. I started laughing and heard a soft chuckle from underneath the ball of arms and legs in the seat next to me.

We’d made it this far; we were going to be okay.