Naked Man on the Roof

By Dan E. Burns

I was reading on the upstairs balcony when the cop car whipped around the corner and into my
parking lot. About that time I thought I heard my son Ben’s gleeful, autistic laugh behind me.
But that was impossible, because I was sure that Ben was in his room reading Dr. Seuss books.
Another laugh – a shriek, really. As the cop got out of the cruiser, my neighbor came trotting up,
arms windmilling. “Hey, there’s a naked man on your roof.” I looked up and yep, there stood
22-year-old Ben in all his shameless glory, tossing pecans to the squirrels.

Last week, a Dallas mom responded to my blog, commenting on her son with autism spectrum
disorder (ASD): “He's only 13 but he's taller than I am now. That scares me because looking like
an adult and behaving inappropriately can get him into so much more trouble now.”

Yeah, tell me about it. I hustled Ben back through the open window. I heard the cruiser door
slam as the cop walked toward us.

Ben’s been taking off his clothes more often this summer. It’s a hot, scratchy, sensory issue. For
children with autism, the skin can be hypersensitive, and it’s common for them to be
uncomfortable in clothes. Ben’s mom and I, former hippy skinny dippers, are not necessarily
alarmed by the sight of a bare-assed kid. Except Ben is not a kid anymore. And even in laissez-
faire Oak Lawn, some folks react to public nudity with fear, anger, and 911. To keep the peace,
we need to reform Ben. But how to do so effectively?

Ben’s older brother suggested a solution: brute force. If that fails it’s because not enough force
is being applied. I can sympathize. I used to believe in an unspared rod. If that had worked,
Ben would have no behavior issues today. But raising him has taught me that aversives like
spanking, beating, yelling, slapping, threatening, hand clapping, and their verbal equivalents may
have a dramatic short term impact, but aren’t effective for long. Turn your back and, like
Johnson grass mowed down with a scythe, the roots of the misbehavior sprout a new weed. So
it’s not enough to channel the fear and anger of the community and relieve your own shame and
embarrassment by beating your misbehaving kid. Long term, to be effective, you must address
the root issue – in Ben’s case, probably hot scratchy clothes. Fortunately, there are clothing
manufacturers specializing in fabrics for children with sensory/tactile issues. Beyond that, you
must replace inappropriate clothes-shedding habits with better ones, a much more difficult
challenge.

Ben’s mom and I are working on it. We’re using positive practice and overcorrection.
Basically, walking Ben through putting his pants on five times for each infraction. That’s the
same way we finally potty trained him. It’s a tedious, demanding, long-term process, but it’s
worked for us before. The good news for children on the autism spectrum and their parents is
that challenging behaviors can be managed without violence, seclusion, or restraints. But who’s
going to do that when we’re not here?

So I would ask my neighbors, and my family, for patience. The new epidemic of childhood
illnesses – autism, allergies, asthma, and ADHD – is like an increasingly heavy toxin tax on our

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abundant, risky lifestyle. “America is an industrial cornucopia,” said Dr. Kotsanis, Ben’s autism
doctor. “Computers, cell phones, SUVs. Hundreds of new industrial chemicals each year. The
trailing end of infectious disease, thanks to vaccines, but none of them safety tested in
combination. So who pays?” He turned around and pointed to Ben. “He pays.” For all of us.
Our ASD kids are canaries in the coal mine. And we all live in the coal mine.

Dan and Autism Trust of Texas

Dan E. Burns, Ph.D., former filmmaker, software developer, and businessman, taught
communication courses at Southern Methodist University, the University of Texas at Arlington,
and the University of Phoenix. In 1990 his third child, Benjamin, was diagnosed with autism.
Burns' memoir, Saving Ben: A Father's Story of Autism (http://www.SavingBenBook.com)
published by UNT Press, tells of a three-year-old child's regression as an infant into autism and
Burns' struggle with the medical establishment, the school system, and his family in the battle for
Ben's health as a father who never gives up. Planning for the time when he and Ben's mom pass
on, Dr. Burns is developing the Autism Trust of Texas, modeled on The Autism Trust (U.K.) and
focused on the creation of new communities to offer a future for the increasing number of
children with autism. They will provide a home base for life where adults with autism can work,
live and improve their skills and talents in a creative and supportive environment.