speech-language-pathology

How early? For how long?

Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Quotes, Reflections, Speech Language Pathology Tags: , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

book time

I’ve received a query from a parent: “I heard reading to children is good for them. Is it true that it helps language development? How early should I start reading to my baby and how long should I go on reading to her?–Parenting Neophyte…”

It is a good question and one I get often and love getting. It is always worthy of an answer.

Dear Parenting Neophyte,

The facts are clear: Reading to kids is great. Introducing children to books is important for language development, listening skills, later literacy, and general cognitive potential. Stories expand vocabulary, increase imagination, teach social skills, improve narrative. Reading to your children is good parenting and a good investment in their education and future.

As to how early one is supposed to start reading to children and how long one goes on doing that–the simple answer is: “as early as possible and for as long as kids would let you …”

The more detailed reply is that even newborns find interest in clear patterns and drawings, in contrasting colors, in faces (especially in faces), and pictures of familiar objects. They listen. They pay attention. They track. They make connections between sounds and experience. Unfold an accordion book when the baby is playing on the mat. In the stroller. In the playpen. Give them a soft-book to hold in the stroller or to reach for when they loll on the floor during some ‘tummy time’ (check for lead-free paints and non-toxic materials, of course–babies put everything in their mouth!). Certainly introduce picture books as part of every night routine. Talk about the pictures with your infant, point to familiar animals and items. It is not about testing how much they understand or what words they can say or point to. Rather, it is about having reading books become a link in the nightly ritual of cuddling and comfort, connection, familiarity, language, narrative, and stories.

Babies who are read to often gravitate toward books as playing objects, they leaf through, turn pages, pause, look, and ponder, even as they mouth the corners and tear out what they manage to … (all great motor and visual spatial skills, by the way). They also learn to point, to wait, and to associate pictures with words and sounds. They learn to anticipate the next picture, to predict what’s to come. They learn to trust their memory. They rarely tire of adoring the confirmation of seeing the same picture appear as it did the day prior.

For sure, the repetition can be tedious (you’ll know what I mean when your toddler asks for the same book in the two-thousandth time, and wants to read it “again” and “again” and “more time!”), but it is part of children’s normal development during infancy and toddlerhood to like things repeat. So take a deep breath and even as you introduce new books once in a while, and expand the child’s repertoire of stories, do cave in and read “goodnight moon” one more time …

As for the question of “how long to keep reading to children?” The answer truly is to do so for as long as possible. Many professionals recommend reading to children straight through middle school, and certainly throughout the elementary school years.

It tends to surprise parents when I recommend that. Very often they tell me that they’d stopped reading to the child when he or she learned how to read independently–sometimes during the first or second grade. They thought that the move to independent reading marked the end of “needing to be read to” and in fact often had reading time revert into the time of day when the child read to them … It was almost a rite of passage. A mark of moving into the reading world.

Granted, there’s still plenty of bonding potential in cuddling with your child and witnessing their reading progress. It certainly feels good to the parent to measure their child’s progress … and to a child to know their efforts are appreciated. However, being read to is a very different task than reading aloud as decoding practice. The two have very different goals and encompass very different language levels. The books children read are often matched with their decoding ability, rather than their language level. Also, even in later elementary grades, when reading skills allow children to decode most common words, books are chosen with the child’s comprehension level in mind, not necessarily their exposure to higher linguistic material.

Reading TO children is a whole other world of learning opportunity. It is primarily a listening task and allows the child to relax into the story and delve into language while losing oneself in it. Being read to opens space for a child to draw inferences about connections, context clues, idioms, character descriptions, sequence, cause and effect. It is a time for a child to consider possible outcomes, predict to himself what might happen next, check a hypothesis, internalize some of the story characters, discern who they like and who they don’t, who they may want to be, where, how, why. It opens an opportunity for discussion that is very different than the ‘reading comprehension testing’ that happens with school books or those the child reads independently. The books you read to your child become fodder for conversation and self-discovery: what did they like about the book? what did you? why did so and so do this or that? would you so the same? what is your favorite character? which is mine? how come?

Children who are read to through 8th grade, have larger vocabularies than children who are good readers but are not being read to (and we are talking vocabularies that are larger by tens of thousands of words–not just by a small margin!). As a group, they have better listening skills, better auditory processing and auditory memory skills. They have better narrative skills. They use a more varied lexicon in their own writing. They have bigger cache of idioms and expressions that they can infer meaning about. They can converse better and show wider world-knowledge.

Children who are read to tend to enjoy books better than kids who are not read to. They tend to love reading more. They choose a wider variety of books and have a wider foundation in classical literature (read: the books you read to them may not be books they’d otherwise pick up to read themselves … but having listened to them, they may get the ‘book bug’ to look for more classic literature on their own). Want another bonus? Reading to children improves connection with parents and allows children to feel comfortable talking to their parents more, and about more topics (not to mention that stories often bring up issues that they may otherwise not talk about …)

In some families, reading to each other continues as part of family time well into high-school, with teenagers taking turn in reading aloud. Sure, it may seem odd to consider teens today being gung ho about spending an hour “reading boring books aloud” and being commanded to have their thumbs idle (no music, no chat, no texting). However, for families who started early this is often a natural continuation. In families starting a little later (and it is never too late, actually), the benefits are real even if they are grudgingly (or perhaps never verbally) acknowledged. Having your undivided attention is a precious commodity (yes, you have to put down that phone, too …). Knowing you are listening is priceless. It opens yours even as you raise your child to have a more open mind.

Reading to your children builds your relationship with them while also building their relationship with themselves, their inner worlds, the world around them, and their academic and cognitive abilities. It is truly a ‘one size fits all’ intervention. There are no downsides, other than extra cuddle time, honest conversations, and the distinct possibility of difficult questions about life that literature inevitably brings up.

The only warning necessary is … that reading to your child can damage their ignorance …

reading

 

“He suddenly can’t talk!”

Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Reflections, Resources and links, Speech Language Pathology Tags: , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

It was an urgent message.

“I have a little boy. He just turned three, and he suddenly can’t talk!” The mother’s voice was pressed with worry. She forgot to leave a callback number and the number on my caller ID showed as “Private Number.”

She called again the next day and I happened to pick up. I knew immediately that it was the same person who’d left the message–the urgency in the voice was palpable. She was flustered when she realized she did not leave a phone number–she’d been waiting for me to call back all of the day before, late into the evening. My heart ached for her. It does not take much to worry a parent, and a major change in any child’s behavior is alarming.

“He’s always been a little talker, you see,” she said after I asked her to tell me a bit more about what the problem was. “He started talking really early, actually,” pride filtered into the concern, a hint of smile of remembering. “Said his first words even before he was one, and he was putting sentences together before his second birthday. We used to laugh, my husband and I, about how he never shuts up …” her voice caught. “But now he can barely talk! He tries, but it is like nothing’s coming out!” Her own voice rose in worry.

“Can he sing?” I asked.

“What?” My question surprised her. It was intended to, in some way, though I had other reasons for asking it. I didn’t want to describe the boy’s speech for her, didn’t want to put words in her mouth, but I did want to get some information about possible clinical presentation.

“Can he sing?” I repeated gently.

“Yea … actually …” her voice turned pensive, surprised, a little confused. “He sings really well. He’s not stuck at all when he’s singing! He loves singing … It is when he’s trying to tell me something that he gets stuck. He gets all red in the face from trying and I don’t know what to do to help him. He’s repeating the same sounds ‘mm….mm’ or ‘I I I I’ and can’t get a word out. It takes forever for him to say something.”

We spoke a bit more. Apparently this started the week before, though there were days in the week or two before that when when he would “stop” on a word, or repeat the beginning of a sentence a few times before “diving into it.” This first born little boy had no history of medical issues, there were no major changes in the house or in his life recently, no illness, falls, medications, ear infections. His articulation was stated to be “super clear” and his language was reportedly rich. He could tell stories and speak in sentences and “knew a ton of words.” He was a happy toddler and other than the occasional tantrum had an overall jolly disposition, which this ‘inability to talk’ did not mar. For all his red-faced stress, the mother admitted that she did not think that he was all that bothered by it and “just stood there and stayed stuck…” It was her who was alarmed, and her husband. “My husband has a co-worker who is a stutterer,” she said quietly, as if divulging a shameful secret. She did not need to add what she was fearing, what her husband feared–that their little boy was going to become that co-worker. A Stutterer.

I agreed to see the little guy for an observation and parent consultation, but had no opening till the week following. In the meanwhile I suggested to the mother to just let him be and not draw too much attention to his speech (including refraining from telling him to “start again” or “say it slowly” or “breath deeply”…). I recommended they continue reading to him, regular routines, and listen to him (even if it takes him a long time to get a sentence out) while maintaining interest and without making a big deal out of the dysfluency. I recommended lots of songs and music–for fun, but also because they can give a sense of fluency and reinforce a feeling of success and ease for the boy. We chuckled over how she’d just have to live with listening to the dude’s favorite playlist a few thousand more times…

She called me two days before our scheduled appointment.

“He’s fine!” she called into my machine. “It’s like he never got stuck at all! I don’t know what happened but he just woke up yesterday and he’s not getting stuck! I thought he was doing better but I thought that I was just hoping … but he’s just … talking up a storm! Do we still need to come?”

We decided to defer the consultation, and to have her call me if need be at a later date.  I explained that this might have been an episode of “Developmental Dysfluency” or “Developmental Stuttering” and that these sometimes recur, and if so, she can call me immediately, or watch and see what happens for a week or so before she does that. Whichever she prefers.

Developmental Dysfluency (AKA Developmental Stuttering) affects many children. In fact, 75-90% of children between the ages of 3-5 have times of dysfluency in one form or another and the vast majority of them do not continue to stutter. Sometimes dysfluency happens once. Sometimes it recurs. While dramatic, most times it is nothing to worry about. That said, if it recurs, if it continues for a long time, if the child seems upset by it, avoids speaking, seems embarrassed, etc., if there’s family history of stuttering, and if it causes stress and worry in the family; then an evaluation and follow up by a speech-language-pathologist are very important.

Stuttering can become a life-long issue, and it can impact people’s communication. Early intervention helps and can sometimes prevent stuttering from becoming complicated. It is also important to ensure that the speech issues are not related to problems with motor-planning, retrieval, processing, or other issues that need clinical help.

In this little guy’s case, his dysfluency recurred a few months later, and I got to meet him. His mother also brought a videotape of his interactions at home (including the cutest singing in the tub!) and took him to an ENT and had a hearing test done at my request. The boy’s language indeed was superb, and he showed no issues with motor-planning, social communication, or articulation. There were no issues of concern about his development or abilities. He was not bothered at the least by getting “stuck”, and commented to me, unperturbed, “sometimes my mouth gets a traffic jam.” His mother was not so alarmed this time around. The second dysfluency episode passed a few weeks afterwards, and did not return.

There are some theories about what causes dysfluency/stuttering in toddlers and young children. Many echo this little guy’s theory, and state that it is a ‘traffic jam’ of sort–a temporary mismatch between language skills that are improving and sentences that are getting longer and more complex; and motor skills that are not yet up to the challenge–literally too many instructions coming down the pipe for the coordination the child has at present to execute in timely manner.

Stuttering may have a genetic component, but that does not mean that having someone who stutters in the family dooms children in the family to same. Not everyone who is predisposed to stuttering does stutter, and whether one continues to stutter following dysfluency episodes depends on many factors. These include the child’s personality, and ability to regulate frustration, their other communicative and developmental strengths and weaknesses, their age when the stuttering begins, how easily frustrated they become, their life circumstances (e.g. trauma increases the risk), whether there are other speech and language issues, and the reactions of people around them (e.g. if people get worried, the child may become aware that something is ‘wrong with them’ and feel embarrassed or nervous or worse, ashamed), to name a few. The latter reason, especially, is why it is so important for those around the child to get support about how to react, what to do, and especially what NOT to do or say. It is always better to do what this mom did, and reach out to a professional for a consult, than try to ‘fix this’ on your own.

Treatment for stuttering is available, and can be very successful, especially in children (the more years one stuttered, the harder it can be to treat, though even adults can improve and sometimes overcome stuttering after years of difficulty). There are different approaches and methods to the treatment of stuttering, as well as different possible underlying issues that cause it in the individual person. So one size does not fit all–not one method works for everyone–and it is important to look for a clinician who will assess, consider, and match the treatment that is most appropriate to a particular person and be flexible to adjust it as need be.

I got a call from the little guy’s mom not too long ago. He’s starting Kindergarten and is into drama classes and theater. “He still sings in the bath,” she told me, “and sometimes I think that he does not shut up from the moment his eyes open to when they close at night …”

penguin chick

For more information about stuttering, click here.

Encourage!

Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Quotes, Reflections Tags: , , , , , , , , , , 3 Comments

encourage

How many times have you been tempted to point out what needs fixing? Wanted to highlight what is wrong, what “can use a tune-up”, what one should be doing differently, or more of, or with less drama, or with more oomph, more boldness, better self-image, assertion, courage, ease?

We have all been there, prodding someone along with good intentions (and other times with a bit of righteous indignation of “I told you so” and “no wonder you are as you are, if only …”). We see someone stuck, repeating old mistakes, mired in old pattern and fogged-up insight recognition … and we point it out–not to hurt, oh, no–only as an intended kindness. We hope a kick in the right region will do the trick this time.

We mean well, but we forget the price of shaming. We underestimate or look away from the price of boring holes in someone for the sake of our sense of having done something ‘for them’ (when we did it for our own need maybe just as much if not more). Shame stilts. It burrows. It slips whatever good intentions into the cracks between what already feels broken and has it ooze away into the void. It makes the distance from targets loom larger and comparisons ache harder.

Almost no one gets criticized as much as children do. Children bear the brunt of much correction. Often. And in what should be counter-intuitive, the very kids who struggle most with getting something right, are the ones to get the most critic for once again doing it imperfectly, for again being wrong. For not following the directions. Again. For missing something. For not listening well enough, not trying hard enough, not having the right attitude.

When criticizing them, we certainly do teach the children something: we show them we are focused on their errors, not their strengths; on the target, not the path; on the final product, no matter the effort or progress. Critic chips another bit of self-esteem and makes exuberance too pricey to risk finding. It does not build. It hollows out.

Showing the way works better. Breaking down a task to smaller steps aids faster. Pointing out what worked as a path to follow gets farther. Encouragement helps more.

Encouragement does not equal the blind empty phrasing for a mediocre effort with: “this is a masterpiece and you are always the most amazing child ever born and all you do is perfect”–kids smell the shallowness of that a mile away. Praising indiscriminately is as irrelevant as constant criticism. It is white noise. It does not help the child see where her effort mattered not lets her trust that you see a difference and even care to note the true wheat effort from off-handed chaff.

Encouraging means giving balanced credit for an honest effort. It means a fair praise that matches the magnitude of accomplishment for that child at that moment, while still providing firm support when efforts fail. It means letting the child know that you notice. That you see THEM and not only their ability relative to others, even as you help them find a better way to measure up.

Children meet plenty of critic without what we might think we ‘owe’ them as a way of caregiving. They don’t need more people holding mirrors to their flaws. The world will quite surely provide enough of that. Encourage. I’ve never met a child who cannot use a little more.

Some equate critic with being honest. With “saying like it is” and “facing reality” and “toughening up.” This is not honesty. It is boot-camp. Actual honest critic is only one that comes when the words one says (one’s tone, one’s posture–critic is communicated in much more than words), flow from a well of true encouraging. It is so only if the message is imparted with sensitivity and care that ensures it builds, rather than tears down, puts down, whittles, or compares. Only if on the heels of pointing out a place for improvement, there is the vista of all the effort put forth already, a detailing of the next step–and a helping hand.

A rule of thumb: critics abound out there already. Least of them being the inner critic that you’ll instill within a child with alarming speed. Be an encourager. An honest buddy offering support along the roughest patches and a ‘that-a-girl’ when each are overcome.

Encourage. It is nourishment for growing. It is like water on parched land.

Inside Your Hug

Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Quotes, Reflections, Things Kids Say Tags: , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments
by robert wagt

by robert wagt

She’s a dark-haired gal with doe eyes and willowy body. All arms and legs that find corners and bump into tables and spill things and break stuff and mess up what appear to be the most child-proof settings. She doesn’t want to be clumsy. It is just that her body is full of angles that don’t quite plan their movements and her brain does not quite catch up to what’s happening until it is a moment too late and the damage done.

She wants to be an acrobat or a ballerina. The graceful movement, the delicate balance, the painstaking patience–they are to her the incarnation of what she would want to be and all that she finds terribly difficult. She would do better at hip-hop, her caregiver thought at some point, only to find out that a child who cannot quite catch a ball or toss it without hitting someone or breaking a window, cannot quite coordinate her movements in an elaborately sequenced dance. The teacher all but fired her after one class. Literally too many toes stepped on.

Still, the girl dreams.

She adores delicate, filmy, whispery clothing. Her caregiver thinks it would be more practical to put her in iron-knees pants and canvas but had resigned herself to letting this elephant-in-china-shop gal wear tights and lace-edged shirts. It is an act of faith, as they last about five minutes before they don a massive stain or spring a hole (which, perhaps thankfully, the child rarely seems to notice).

This little girl is a life on steroids. A roller coaster of emotions–she is either elated or devastated, overawed or broken-hearted, eager or despairing. She tries so hard. She keeps failing, falling, disappointing. Adults frown. Teachers scold. Caregivers sigh and try to keep a restraining hand nearby.

It is difficult to make friends, or rather, to keep them. Oh, she’s never mean; in fact, she is quite sensitive at reading others’ emotions and wants to take care of their needs, real or perceived. It is just that she pulls too hard when she holds hands, she pushes when she only wants to touch lightly to call someone’s attention, she messes stuff up and breaks things, she barges into conversations, she speaks too loud.

Her official diagnoses are all kinds. Some of you who recognize the symptoms may have an idea what those could be. Some of you would know why in my work with her, we tackle symbolic language, idioms and stories, auditory memory and following directions. Why we talk about social situations and solutions, practice narrative and inferences, work with predictions, and rephrasing, identifying context clues and finding the main idea in what to her is a soup of details. Why we make charts, write bullets, jot lists, follow steps, check items one by one.

She’s a bundle of everything–stories, anecdotes, questions, observations, feelings spilling over, hands tapping, legs wagging, hair twisting, lip biting, noise making.

I love working with her.

Oh, she’s a handful–in more way than one–but that’s okay. I work with many kids who struggle with managing incoming information, who need help regulating what their body senses and require direction to make sense. Fidgety bodies don’t faze me. Nor do spilled water cups, sticky fingers, rocking on chairs or crumpled papers full of holes from erasing too hard.

What fazes me more is how some of those kids who have an alphabet soup of diagnoses and a history of testing enough to fill a filing cabinet, have internalized that something in them is somehow eternally broken or ill-fitting. How all too often adults around them have come to believe this, too. I absolutely see the places needing tending, but along with the fizzy energy, there is all too often an untapped possibility, just waiting to be helped along through less correction and more connection and an ample dose of calm.

This one? She fiddles with a top while we’re working. When she’s thirsty, I offer her a water bottle (I’m super fast at twisting on a cap …). I corral pencils, crayons, papers, tape, bits of this or that. She hums and makes popping noises while she’s writing–I don’t mind. There is enough control to manage while at school, where it can bother others. With me she can just be and is exactly and perfectly good enough. Indeed she is. She’s working hard. She’s trying even harder. She’s making small but certain steps to a less chaotic path.

And she gives great hugs. They go straight to the heart.

She asks to give one, at the start and end of every session. She wraps her arms around me and leans her head against me as we stand side-by-side. She breathes. Through my hand resting lightly on her shoulder, I can feel her body slow down some.

The other day before she left, arms still around me, she said: “You make my head feel more quiet. You don’t get mad or yell and I can think.” Then she looked up at me sideways, doe eyes filled with wisdom of those whose knowledge is hard-earned and dog-eared with practice. Her arms tightened around my midriff and she sighed: “My quiet place is right here, inside your hug. Sometimes I think about it when other people look at me mad and it helps me not feel I am bad.”

inside hug

Be You!

Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Quotes Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

beyourself

“My life is over!” the child’s tone says it all. It has been an especially rough day. He failed a test he’d studied for, got passed over for the team he wanted to play in, and just found out he needed glasses. Oh, and that he’s allergic to dairy. The food he loves most in the world is pizza. Figures.

I could see something was wrong when he came up the stairs with shoulders slumped and legs dragging.  He’s usually content enough to come here, but today the last thing he wanted was to have to spend time after school doing ‘after-school’ learning. He likes me well enough, but in the competition between play-date, video game, movie, or seeing me, I don’t stand a chance. It’s as it should be. I get worried if children prefer coming to me to having spare time or play time or get-home-and-relax time. He’s unusually unhappy to come this time. Or rather, he’s unusually unhappy, and it shows. Make sense that it would. Am glad it can.

“And I’m never ever going to be like everyone else,” he adds, having listed the tally of difficulty, bummers and unfairness.

“Why is it good to be like everyone else?” I ask.

He returns the look I probably deserved–the one reserved for adults who ask stupid questions when they should know better and when the query is not even worthy of the effort of forming a reply.

“Okay, okay …” I chuckle, hands up in trounce. “I didn’t mean it that way. I do, however, truly think that everyone is different and that it fine and often even better that way.”

Eye roll. At least he regained enough energy for sarcasm. “Yeah, sure. But you get to be really different and you end up being weird.”

Fair enough.

“And anyway,” he sighs. “I don’t have a choice. Everyone has to do the same stuff at school, and everyone is supposed to get good grades, and be popular and that kind of stuff.”

“Hmm …” (when I say less, the kids tend to say more … I wait).

“School is too hard and it is too boring. And my dad thinks I’m not trying but I am working hard. I’m not a genius or a nerd or something. I’m not good at reading and I suck at math. And science … I failed science … my dad is going to hate me when he finds out.”

I wish I could rush to reassure this boy–barely 11 and already so jaded–that he is not expected to be like everyone else, that he is not expected to excel in everything regardless of his relative strengths, that his perception of needing to be popular is not correct … or that his father would not have a reaction that would crush him. Oh, I know that the father would not hate him, but he can be critical, and he tends to view grades as the only reflection of effort. He would likely see a failed test as an immediate proof of his son not trying hard enough. Even if he does not ‘punish’ him by taking away computer time or confiscating his phone for a weekend, the disappointment alone will devastate this child.

“He doesn’t understand,” the boy adds. His voice catches and he looks away, old enough to have internalized the (mis)conception that tears are somehow yet a marker of weakness. He doesn’t want to show me how much this matters. “I studied really hard and I knew all the notes but then the teacher changed the questions. How was I supposed to know the answers to those?” the color rises in his cheeks, wetness in his eyes. He looks away again.

“I’m sorry,” I say. I mean it. “I know how hard you work and I can see how having different questions–even if it was about the same material–can make it much more difficult. It is hard to figure out what the teacher meant and what the questions are about.” He nods. This boy is not making excuses. He comes to see me because he has difficulty with retrieving information–the access to what he knows is hit-and-miss, his brain behaves more like one big dump of knowledge than a filing cabinet. Information comes in haphazardly and is later hard to recognize or organize. He is smart, and he understands the material. However, change it around and he gets lost.

The teachers only marginally understand it. His father thinks that there’s nothing wrong with his son that a bit more ‘motivation’ won’t fix. It is curious, you might think, that he is that harsh when he admitted to having had learning issues himself. Or maybe not curious at all: people can pass judgement like a hot potato–what they cannot stand to hold, they put onto another. It can be especially so between mother and daughter, between father and son. Mirrors are a painful thing for what one did not accept in oneself and sees reincarnated in their progeny.

“Would you like me to speak with your father?” I offer. I’ve done it before, and it helps some, if temporarily. The father is of the opinion that I am far too soft and that kids wrap me around their little finger and I think they can do no wrong. He is not all that far from the truth, actually. I do believe that softness and kindness get farther and build better than harsh critic and demand. To his credit, the father also respects my opinion, and he does–quite touchingly–love his son. He told me once, in a moment of vulnerability, “I don’t want him to go through what I did. I want him to fit in better. To be a better student than I was. To be like everyone else.” (Yes, the boy now worries about same. Children will take on our fears and worries–they are acutely tuned in to what we think, even if we do not say it. They will know, and take it on)

The boy nods. He looks up at me then, hopefully slightly relieved–if not with the possibility of his father’s understanding, than by being believed. “If it is so good to be different,” he challenges, “what am I good in?”

“What do you think?” (my standard answer-query. I figure, if a child is asking, they already have a hypothesis in mind)

Moment of thought, pursed lips, raised eyebrow. “I’m good at drawing,” he states.

I energetically agree. The cartoons this boy can doodle put my best attempts at stick figures to shame. He smiles. He knows–as I often emphasize to the kids–drawing is not one of my strengths (five-year-olds come to my aid on a regular basis. “Let me do it for you,” the munchkins offer, “you are not very good at that…”). He smiles.

“And at snowboarding,” he adds. I nod. He began snowboarding only the winter before last, and reportedly advanced super fast from level to level. He snowboards with children several years older now. “I want to be a professional snowboarder when I grow up,” he says, the spark back in his eyes, “and wouldn’t it be cool if I drew, like, cartoons of snowboarding stuff, you know, for newspapers and maybe comics and such? I bet I could do that. Would that be awesome stuff?!”

I smile. “That is pretty cool stuff! You have got to do school work because that’s just how it is, and you have to do your best with that. But I am thinking, there are a lot of kids who would love to know to draw as well as you do, and most can’t snowboard half as well as you can.”

He grins. Proud.

“So …,” I note gently, “maybe life is not quite over … and maybe it is not such a bad thing to have some stuff where you are not exactly like everyone.”

hopeis