After completing our ritual of returning books and examining the library’s fish tank, my son and I headed to the children’s nook. A woman and a boy sat reading in the comfy armchairs. Philip pulled out a car from one of the toy bins. He pushed the car across the cityscape carpet. He didn’t follow the streets nor did he say “beep” or “vroom.” He hummed and vocalized using his own unique repertoire of sounds. Hearing him engrossed in play, I turned to browse the board books.
“Use your words,” said the other mom. I flinched and glanced over. The woman was pointing to a frog in the picture book her son was holding. She touched the corresponding word. The boy was smaller than my four-year-old, but appeared close in age. I suddenly felt . . . anxious? Annoyed? Jealous? Judged?
She probably thinks I should be doing the same with my son.
My son’s noisy play attracted the other boy’s attention. He leaned forward to watch Philip as his mother read until, no longer able to resist, he hopped out of the chair, picked out a car, and tried to play with Philip. Philip remained focused on the car.
The mom patted the chair, and the boy returned to his seat and book. A few moments later, the mother repeated the phrase, “Use your words.” I noticed that she paired a signal with the phrase: her index and middle fingers closed on her thumb, imitating a mouth.
Meanwhile, Philip’s vocalizing was becoming louder as he happily found a different toy to roll across the floor. The little boy got out of his seat once more, came over to Philip, and gestured in has face just as his mom had. “Oose or ords,” he ordered Philip.
Use your words.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Bless his heart, that little boy understood what his mom wanted and recognized that Philip wasn’t doing it. The mother looked at me, then smiled at her son and said, “Yes, use your words.”
I was tempted to bolt before I burst into tears, but I worried that yanking Philip away would cause a meltdown. Just then the other boy spotted a Curious George hand puppet on the floor. He picked it up and took it to his mom.
“Let’s find a book to go with the puppet,” she said.
As the mother of that monkey’s number one fan and an incurable busybody, I knew exactly where to look.
“Here you go.” I handed her one of Philip’s favorites.
“Thanks. I haven’t been to the library in years,” she said.
“We’re here almost every Saturday,” I explained.
“Does he go to school?” she asked, nodding to Philip.
I named the preschool, an integrated program for both typically developing children and children with disabilities like my non-verbal autistic son.
We discovered that her son is in a class just across the hall. I felt a pang of jealousy. Her son was in a full day classroom. Why didn’t I insist on full-day? I admonished myself. Maybe Philip would be “using his words” by now.
I stifled my envy and guilt to ask, “Are you going to the PTO event next Saturday night?”
“I saw the signs, but I don’t know what it is,” she said.
I told her what I knew, including the time. I could see her hesitating.
“Well . . ” she began and then explained: she and her son were homeless. They were being sheltered in a network of local churches. The timing of the PTO event conflicted with the scheduled meal time.
“My son’s not developmentally delayed, I just didn’t provide him with the environment he needed,” she confessed. She also confided that, in addition to being homeless, she is disabled. Suddenly, I realized that “Use your words” wasn’t a dig at me. It wasn’t about me at all.
I was no longer indignant or jealous. Here was a child that really needed to be in preschool all day, every day, not just for instruction, but for breakfast and lunch. Here was a mother, having been told the importance of reading to her child, had brought her son to the library. Here was a mother doing the best she could for her child under very trying circumstances. Here was a mother who opened up to another mom she thought would understand her and who, it turned out, needed to be understood, too.
Without using his words, Philip let me know he was ready to go.
“Maybe we’ll see you next Saturday,” I said before we left.
“Maybe. Thanks for your help,” she said.
No, thank you, I thought, but I didn’t use my words.
23 thoughts on “use your words”
It’s so easy to create narratives for other people – I do it all the time. But you took the time to learn the real story. We should all do that more.
At the time (and, truth be told, occasionally still today), I was always on the defensive, assuming people were judging me. I’m glad I didn’t storm off before letting her tell her true narrative.
Your narrative gave me chills. I’ve been dealing with a lot of self doubt these days. Have I done enough? Is my “good” good enough?
We are ALWAYS harshest critics. At times, we forget what our daily objectives because we are consumed with the guilt of “What if?”
I’m proud of you and your heart full of compassion.😘
Part of me gets so protective of my son that I forget that other people have capacity for compassion, too.
Oh, Cyn, this got me right in the heart. ❤
That’s where I was aiming 🙂
You’re a good shot. *hugs*
Reblogged this on justliveyourlifeokay.
This is really important to remember. Other people have their own circumstances and are caught up in their own lives that we can’t see on the surface.
I think we get condition in this “us vs. them” mentality that it’s easy to jump to conclusions about others.
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It is funny how we jump to conclusions and make quick judgments about people without knowing the full story and how much our perception changes when we do fill in all the pieces. Your story really underlines the need to consider that we shouldn’t just assume…we should find out their story but if nothing else at least reserve judgments.
You’re right – it’s better to keep a blank slate rather than to make up a story for strangers.
I love that the children brought you together. Very touching.
I’m glad that little boy made the effort. He was really quite sweet.
When we let go of judgements, how much we learn. Such a lovely post, Cynk.
It’s so easy to forget that everyone has a story; I do it all the time. So glad you both had the courage to move through those assumptions.
Everyone has a story – I have to remember to let them tell it instead of making it up in my own head.
Wow. Such a moving story, Cyn.
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Cyn, this gave me shivers. I do this ALL the time – in relation to my son, my work, everything. I spend so much of my energy reacting to what I think others are thinking. I try to catch myself but I need reminding. There are a couple of stories that have done that for me, prompting me to check that instinctive response – have you read “Stop pointing your avocado at me”? http://www.huffingtonpost.com/glennon-melton/quit-pointing-your-avocado-at-me_b_3492304.html
Anyway, that one and now yours. Thank you.
Thank you for sharing that link. I loved the way she could laugh at herself.
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So much we can learn from others if we allow ourselves to do so, and so much you taught all of us with this touching story. Thanks for sharing it.
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