When My Nonverbal Son Pulled Me Toward a Group of Kids for the First Time
My son is autistic. He is also nonverbal. He struggles with social skills, but he does not lack emotions.
There is a difference.
When someone cannot talk, it’s easy to assume he has no feelings either. Not being able to express is not the same as not being able to sense.
My son has often been a victim of this assumption. I’ve been a culprit.
Every once in awhile I catch myself discussing my son with someone, in his presence, as if he is a non-entity in the room. “He cannot talk, so he does not have an opinion.” That’s what we tend to incorrectly believe. A seemingly insignificant incident helped shatter this myth, yet again.
It was a routine drop-off at his bus stop in the morning when something happened that changed how I look at my son. The weather was pleasant after a cold spell, and everyone wanted to feel the sun and the warmth. So, unlike a bleak winter day, today there were a bunch of kids playing around, having fun. I did not really think much about it. After all they were just little children, none whom my son would be interested in playing with. But then, I saw something different happen. I noticed my son watch them with longing and delight. I had not seen that interest in his eyes before. He could not tell me, but I felt like he wanted to play with them.
“Why isn’t the bus here yet?” I thought to myself. I had read stories about how kids reject a “different “ kid. I was not ready for a heartbreak this early in the morning on such a beautiful day. However, seeing my son’s excitement, I asked if he wanted to join them and he shrieked a huge yes. I was still apprehensive. He wouldn’t be able to tell them how much he wanted to be a part of that group right now. I thought this was a perfect recipe for disappointment.
Still, I walked him to the kids, stopped a few of them, prompted my son to say “hi!” and then requested if they would let him play. They shrugged the way only kids can while still looking cute and then resumed what they were doing. I left my son there and moved away, hoping he would know what to do next. He stood there, watching the kids play all around him but not with him.
Then something interesting happened. He came to me, grabbed my hand, pulled me towards the kids and said “Mumma, come.” Apparently he had not given up on people. He just needed me by his side to help him, guide him and be his friend. We both walked back to noisy group and mingled in. We didn’t fit in, but we didn’t give up.
My son struggles socially, but as I stood there in that bus stop, I wondered who was more socially awkward. As I watched all this unfold in front of me, I was filled with hope. In that brief moment my son and I shared a promise of a lifetime. Him being nonverbal might affect how others perceive and treat him but I understand him. My son may not talk, but he has feelings, and I will do everything in my power to make sure they are acknowledged just as much as anyone else’s.
The world is not going to change with just marches, ribbons and bumper stickers. It’s going to change with a conversation — a conversation about inclusion and respect that needs to happen in every home on this planet. Unless we learn to see beyond the obvious, we will never be able to see the beautiful world that lies in the eyes of people who have a heart but no words yet.
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Thinkstock photo by prudkov