Why I will talk to my son more

Speech is not just a tool for communication, it is often a measure of intelligence, confidence, skill, or sociability. People are judged by what they say or don’t say and how they say it. Speech is powerful. In most cases, it’s your speech that makes you visible in a room full of people. 

So, it does not come as a surprise that my son who is autistic and severely speech delayed is often invisible to most. I am equally guilty because I have often discussed him with people as if he does not exist in the room. I make decisions for him and I am not talking big life decisions, but everyday decisions like what he wants to wear, eat or do, whether he should lie down or move around, or if he should be pacing or sitting in one place. He is often ignored for what he is and treated like his feelings and opinions don’t matter- he doesn’t matter. All because he has still not found a way to communicate and express himself. 

Since I cannot really have a conversation with my son, and between the two of us, it’s me who does most of the talking, most of our dialogues are generally instructional and not conversational. While it’s not so on purpose, as a parent I fall into this trap of talking less and parenting more. After years of trying to communicate without words, we have fallen into a routine of mostly understanding each other’s cues and talking only when these non-verbal cues fail. I’m not saying that I don’t talk to my son but it’s definitely not like I would have if he could actually have a conversation with me. I’m still learning to have a two-way conversation with fewer words. I often forget to give my son the same attention and acknowledgment that I would have if he could talk. 

I partly get why people avoid him. In most cases, they don’t know how he would respond if they approached him and often they are unsure what to talk to him so they simply pass by him and pretend they did not see him at all. So, it’s always a pleasant surprise when someone acknowledges his presence. More than my son’s, my face lights up when someone actually speaks to him. I know, it sounds extremely unusual that I get so excited about people talking to my son, but trust me, it is such a rarity that I tend to make a big deal out of it !! 

Every once in a while, when at a store’s checkout, a kind cashier says hello to him, and when my son would not respond, I make it a point to clarify that he cannot talk, as if, it was important for them to know that my son is not rude, just non-verbal. Clarifying that my son is non-verbal is also my way of ensuring that those handfuls of people who do see him are not discouraged by his unresponsiveness. While I hope that someday my son will be treated no different from his peers, I feel like, over time, my own limited interaction with him makes this dream a mere velleity. I may not have been leading by example.

However, the universe has a wonderful way of reminding us of the obvious. It was a foggy winter morning. I was walking my son to his bus stop. Most days, as we walk to the bus, the street is pretty quiet except for the 1-2 odd students walking past, immersed in their own thoughts, headphones, or phones, too busy to notice anyone around. Even as we wait at the bus stop, while other students catch up with each other, no one really notices my son or cares to even acknowledge him with a nod, possibly because his “quiddity” throws them off. My son and I are used to this special superpower he possesses – of being mostly invisible to everyone else, so it doesn’t bother us much anymore that we are left on our own.

However, on this day, as my son hopped along the street on our 30-second walk to the bus stop, giggling and flapping, enjoying the peace and quiet of the morning, an elderly gentleman, walking past him greeted him. As always, my son walked on. I, as always, apologized for his failure to respond. What next happened was a lesson I will never forget. In a voice that oozed warmth, the gentleman said “ Well, he can hear, can he?” I mumbled a yes, unsure where this conversation was going. He continued “ Then it’s good for him to have someone greet him ”. He then smiled and moved on, his figure blurring in the fog. 

The sound of the bus screeching to a halt pulled me out of the moment that almost seemed like it was purposefully choreographed for my epiphany. Wrapped in the warmth of the exchange I just had, I walked my son to the bus, still ruminating over a single line of conversation that seemed to have suddenly reshaped my way of thinking. 

As I waved him goodbye, I silently promised my son that he will come back to a mom who would not just talk for him but also talk to him, a mom who knows he can hear her and see her even if he cannot talk to her and a mom who gives him that respect he deserves.