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| Jay is nine! Arriba, arriba! Jay is nine! Arriba, arriba! |
My son Jay is about to turn nine years old. Nine-year- old boys are much like Labrador puppies,
with their boundless energy and enthusiasm. Come to think of it, they kind of smell like them, too. Jay wears the same shoe size as I do now, and is almost as tall as I am. As unbelievable as his physical growth has been, his language development has been no less incredible. Just a little over fi ve years ago, when Jay was diagnosed with hearing loss, his speech was very unclear and most of the time people looked to me to translate for him, which I would try to do in a way that was not obvious to him.
Now everyone understands every word that he says, although sometimes he uses the wrong verb tense or a word in the wrong context. Occasionally he will mispronounce a word by pronouncing it strictly according to the spelling, but I blame the English language for that. Compared to where he was when he first got hearing aids, his expressive language is nothing short of amazing. I remember so many frustrating years of speech therapy, working with him for endless hours to make the "f " sound correctly, and I was convinced at one point that adding "s" to plurals was going to be forever out of his reach. His improvement since then has made even a cynic like me reconsider miracles. He still has his little quirks, like pronouncing stomach as stom-itch but, to be honest, I let that one go because it's just so darn cute.
Those first years of laying the foundation of language were so hard. I felt like I was constantly correcting Jay, endlessly repeating speech exercises. To this day I occasionally find myself wanting to emphasize the "s" at the end of words along with the cued speech sign. I remember that feeling of being overwhelmed, like when I realized that my four-year-old son did not know the names for everyday objects: stove, hair dryer, camera. As a writer, I have always loved words and how the choice of one over another can completely change the tone of a sentence. But during Jay's preschool years, I found myself cursing the diversity of our language. Why do we have to have so many different words that all mean the same thing? Why can't we just call something "big" and be done with it?
Back then, all new words and sentences Jay learned were triumphs, even if they weren't cloaked in proper etiquette. What people didn't understand was how much of an improvement "I want the truck" was to just pointing and grunting. In the South, where we live, one could just as well be raising a child to hate kittens or the elderly if he's not taught to say "Ma'am" and "Sir" when speaking to an adult. I found I could live with people thinking I was raising a rude child because "May I's" and "Excuse me's" weren't always there. Of course, we emphasize manners to Jay, but when we are constantly correcting almost everything coming out of his mouth, while simultaneously trying to encourage more conversation, we have to choose our battles. I'm happy to say that Jay is a very polite young man today well, if you discount the fascination with flatulent humor (but I'm pretty sure that's human nature for nine-year-old boys).
Learning to ignore the judgment of others was one of the hardest lessons for me to embrace as a parent. Jay threw more than his share of toddler tantrums. Although I realize that his difficulties
communicating played a major role in his behavior, that realization did not diminish the humiliation I felt whenever there was a public meltdown. Haircuts in particular were a nightmare. I don't know why, but Jay absolutely hated getting them. A trip to the barber usually resulted in tears on both our parts and it seemed to me that everyone else in the salon was shaking their heads as if to say, "If that were my child" I think those incidents were probably the hardest on my already shaky confidence as a mother.
One thing that helped me get through those times was the realization that I was not alone. During the years when I spent two hours every week in the waiting room where Jay received speech therapy, I got to know many amazing mothers and took comfort in sharing experiences. Many had children with autism and I empathized as I heard stories of embarrassing episodes in grocery stores and the unbelievably rude remarks people looking on would make. Since then I have reserved judgment whenever I see so-called "problem" children out in public you just never know what is really going on in people's lives. Some parents are under enough stress already without the added condemnation of bystanders.
Today I look back at those difficult times and feel a lot of pride in how far we have all come. When Jay was first diagnosed with hearing loss, I never imagined that things would work out so well for him. When I contemplate his progress, I'm reminded of a Christmas party we attended once. A jingle bell was handed to each of the children and they were told that if they heard the ringing of the bell it meant that they believed in Santa Claus. I remember my stomach clenching in knots as I looked at that tiny little ornament and prayed, "Please, please let him hear it ring," and the immense relief I felt when he did. For days afterward I would wake up to the ringing of that bell and Jay whispering to himself, "I believe."
So do I, Jay. So do I.
