language
Overheard in the Wolfe House #175
Sam: I don’t know what grass it is that gives me allergies, but it survived the drought.
Peggy: Yes, it did.
Sam: It just waited for the rain and [claps hands together]. Like a logic bomb.
Talk to yourself and grow your brain
I have overheard my children talking to themselves over the years. This is a habit I don’t have. Where I grew up, that was a sign someone had the crazies. But raising Sam taught me not to judge. He got the talk-to-yourself ball rolling for the younger generation around here. I asked Michael once recently, what did he think of all this talking to oneself. He was cool with it.
Apparently, so are the scientists.
Waiting for the cable guy
Yesterday, I had the pleasure of calling Tom “Smitty” Smith for a story I was working on. He’s with the Texas office of Public Citizen and I always learn something when I talk to him.
Overheard in the Wolfe House #161
Sam (watching Wheel of Fortune): The Talented Cast of Glee!
Word Fun
Things I Never Knew I Was Waiting For
I’m fond of telling my kids that their grandkids will be in awe of their childhood experiences — all of what a computer couldn’t do, how crude a smartphone was, how brutal medical practices seemed (that last idea comes courtesy of Star Trek IV The Voyage Home).
I tried to apply that perspective to all kinds of situations in raising Sam. Being aware that you are in pioneering territory is helpful. Lots of people have come before us to do the Lewis and Clark equivalent of defining the landscape of accommodating someone with a disability and laying the groundwork with the public policy that opened up this new frontier of living with a disability.
I try to remember this journey as the Wolfe family Conestoga wagon settling the autism frontier. Nearly every day something new, something without precedent. Sometimes it’s exhilarating. Sometimes the risks are clear and present. And always, always, exhausting.
The pioneering days of speech therapy are behind us. If someone in the discipline was interested in a exit interview, I have things to say about what worked and what didn’t. I would imagine Sam does, too.
Never was that more clear than when I read the following line in Diane Ackerman’s book, One Hundred Names for Love (a book about her husband’s stroke and continuing recovery from aphasia, which has some interesting similarities to Sam’s speech impairment). She describes a scene where her husband, Paul West, also an imaginative writer, struggles with fill-in-the-blank worksheets meant to help him regain his ability to talk.
“Choosing the correct answer could be as tough as herding cats. But, like most people, I did know the accepted answer. Selecting it, I had to ignore all other answers that spring to mind or were truer to my experience.”
Correct is not the same as accepted.
Furthermore, we cannot ascribe too much meaning when a client cannot come up with the accepted answer.
I tried to explain that in my book, when I relayed Sam’s experience of confronting vocabulary cards with images of things he’d never seen before. Diane absolutely knocked it out of the park, explaining the inherent social context of many speech exercises.
I think it could be a much bigger problem than those working in speech therapy might realize.
Throughout the book she describes “deliciously ambiguious words” and takes us on verbal joy rides with them. She sprinkles phrases without context and then gives us a fun house worth of perspectives to show how much we depend on context for meaning.
I wish I knew that two decades ago. I can only imagine how much better his speech therapy would have been. I wish I knew that a month ago when we were hit again with this problem.
I wish I knew these things I never knew I was waiting for.
Love Letter to Steve Jobs
In 1990, Mark and I didn’t know anything about autism. But our little boy couldn’t talk and we feared the worst.
Sam was drawn to a simple, hypercard game, “Cosmic Osmo,” that came already loaded on our first MacIntosh computer.
As he played, we saw that even though Sam couldn’t speak, he could think.
We never got to thank you while you were here, Steve Jobs. Today, I’m sure Mark got that covered.
Auto Identity Theft
Sam got pulled over again in Flower Mound.
He tried to tell me this once before, that his car identity had been stolen. It made no sense to me. His car had caught that officer’s eye because he was in the wrong lane for a moment, so I thought the license plate story was getting lost in translation.
Kind of like the aphasiac talk in Diane Ackerman’s book, One Hundred Names for Love.
But today, he explained it well enough that I knew I had to make a call.
You see, the officer recommended that he just get new license plates. That kind of recommendation doesn’t get lost in translation.
I made a follow-up call to the police department and the officer who pulled him over set me straight. Someone got a ticket in Balch Springs and didn’t pay it. When they issued a warrant for her arrest the warrant went out on both her driver’s license and her car license.
What got lost in translation was that girl’s license plate being entered in to the database. Sam got his tags at the Denton County Tax Office in 2008.
Guess where we’re going Monday? We aren’t going to try to bother telling Balch Springs his are not the tags they’re looking for. We’re going to solve this expeditiously.
Well, as expeditiously as a human being can experience the tax office.
Lights in London
I promise not to subject you to a bunch of home movies — especially as aged as these images have obviously gotten — but I couldn’t help myself with this one.
When the Dallas Symphony went on its first European tour in 1997, Mark was hired as second tuba. I went along for the first half of the trip as an orchestra groupie. We had a blast.
We left the kids — Sam was 9, Michael was 6, and Paige was 4 — in the capable care of my parents. But we took the camcorder to capture things we thought would interest them on our return.
The videos sat in a box for years after our VHS player died. I borrowed one from my parents this summer and, with the help of a Pinnacle Dazzle, have begun digitizing the handful of family videos we have.
We made this little ditty in London when we realized how much fun Sam would have had, if he had been there to play with the light switches.
This was the first time I’ve heard Mark’s voice since the week he died. I’m not sure who was grinning bigger tonight when we captured this first “movie,” Sam — re-living a favorite childhood memory — or me, remembering the sound of the love of my life.
Texting
With the upgrade to iPhones, Sam and I can now text each other. I’ve watched Sam play with spelling and language on Facebook and knew that he could handle some communication shortcuts. I’ve watched him use some numbers in place of letters. I was curious what our first crash-and-burn would be like texting.
Our first crash and burn came from the auto-correct.
Me: “Maybe charge the tractor when you fervor from work and let’s try to start it again tonight.”
When I pressed send, I saw that “fervor” was in place of “get home”.
(Awesome guess there, by the way, Mr. Auto-Correct Editor.)
Immediately, I followed that with: “Stupid auto correct. Get home, not fervor.”
Within 30 seconds, my phone was ringing.
“Mom, I did not understand your text message AT ALL.”
I didn’t even try to explain or translate.
“Sam, please just charge the tractor. I’ll explain what happened with the text when I get home.”
Damn You, Auto Correct.