Smile Happy

At this point, I cannot even remember what he had done, but I was angry and David knew it. But please tell me, how am I supposed to stay irritated at a little boy--no matter what the transgression--when he looks into my eyes, touches my chin and says in his sweetest voice, "Mom-mom, smile happy?"

Well, he received the desired smile. I couldn't help it. And the term, "smile happy" has become a staple in our house. Actually, David has developed two terms "smile happy" is the verb, used when he wants to see someone smile and the reverse "happy smile" has become the noun, a comment on your pleasant expression.

What a clever boy. Imagine, at one point I was worried that David would never learn to speak and now he is manipulating the English language to more fully express emotions and at the same time successfully manipulating his mother to forgive and forget.

David, when asked to make a happy smile.

Elevator Story Addendum

Apparently, David did not have his fix of elevators on our trip because since we have returned it has been all things elevator. The shower doors are an elevator, the miniscule guest bathroom, an elevator (with a tested capacity of three but don't tell the fire marshall), the pocket door leading to the basement—you guessed it—an elevator.

So I was taking David to speech therapy and, as usual, we were in a hurry. David rides the bus home from school most days, but on Fridays we pick him up so that he can make it to speech on time, or at least almost on time. This year they adjusted the elementary school hours 10 minutes to save money on transportation and I do not want to admit that those ten fewer minutes are causing us problems.

We arrive for our appointment only about two minutes late. The therapist is waiting for us in the lobby, but David has stopped in the air lock between the two sets of entry doors. Usually, he is anxious to press the button to activate the automatic doors, but not this time. Instead he reaches out with his index finger to press an imaginary spot on the wall.

Beep…Beep. It takes me to the second floor to realize that we are now in an elevator.

Beep…Beep. There is another therapist behind me who had walked a client out to the car and is waiting to get back into the building, so I explain what is happening to her.

Beep…Beep. "Evidently, this is a pretty tall building," I offer, apologetically.

Beep…Beep. And then the therapist behind me calls out "DING! We're here."

David and I both smiled at our shared experience. He was pleased that she had played along in his imaginary game. I was amused that sometimes when patience runs out, it tolls like a bell. DING!

Elevator Friends

I have already alluded to the fact that David spent a great deal of time watching elevators while we were on vacation. Suffice it to say, it was the highlight of his trip. I never imagined, however, that it would also be my favorite memory.

It seems like David spent countless hours in the hallway of our hotel, either in the lobby area directly outside of our room, or down by the first floor elevator adjacent to a side entrance. Although out of the way, this particular elevator was excruciatingly slow, so I did not allow David to press the call button but rather made him wait until other guests came to use the elevator and then he could watch the doors open and close.

So, there David would wait, steps from the elevator panel until he would see people approaching. Usually, they were engaged conversation, or on a cell phone, or generally not paying much attention until the precise moment when they started to raise an arm, finger extended to press that button and David would swoop in.

To this point, my story is not unique. Who hasn't been in an elevator with a kid who wanted to press the button? But for David, it is so much more. First, he would turn to look at his new found friends, smile and flash his big blue eyes. Then, he would return his attention to the elevator in anticipation of the car's arrival. It was as if David has just invited them to the gala of the century and could not wait for them to experience it with him. And, as usual, his enthusiasm was contagious.

A very few people would ignore David, like the group of three teenage boys. As they boarded the elevator, David made a second attempt to engage them by reaching his arm almost into the elevator, waving and saying in his best singsong voice, "BYYYEEE!" Still, no response. Annoyed by their behavior, David chastised them as the doors were closing, "Say THANK YOU," which really sounds more like "Say who-who" and again was lost on them.

Fortunately for David, however, most people would pay attention. They would return a smile, or try to engage David in conversation, which sometimes would lead to the obligatory explanation about why we were hanging out in the hallway in the first place. 

We met some interesting people. There was the preschool teacher who had a student in her class with autism. I noticed that after she high fived David with her right hand, she switched sides to see if he would high five with his left hand, as well. There was also an elementary school teacher and we had a great two minute conversation about the lack of autism training available to teachers in her school district.

By the middle of our stay, we would be walking down the hall and it was not unusual to have people stop and say, "Hey, David" or "How's it going, David?" I really am amazed at the number of people that David met in our short stay at the hotel, but there was one friend in particular that I will never forget. I was on elevator duty at the time and sitting in the hall reading a book. David saw him coming first. The cool factor increased exponentially because he was pushing a cart and you know how David feels about anything with wheels. David watched as this man polished the stainless steel elevator doors and frame. David briefly considered trying to hijack the cart by giving it a tentative push which made our new friend smile and then said goodbye after the elevator had arrived and the doors were closing. 

David and I saw this man the next day while we were swimming in the pool and he walked through the pool area, waving to David. We ran into him in the hallway once or twice more and then he stopped me the day before we were leaving and asked if it was okay to give something to David. In his hand he had a small, green toy motorcycle, apparently having noticed the fact that David likes wheels.

I do not know where he had gotten that toy. Maybe, it had been left behind by another family. Maybe, it belonged to his own son. It really doesn't matter. I made David say "who-who" but I was almost speechless, touched by this simple, surprising act of kindness. 

I spend much of my time trying to help David reach his potential, to bring out the best in him but I am constantly reminded of how he, in turn, helps me to reach my full potential. He helps me to see things in other people that I might otherwise have ignored or overlooked. Had I met this man without David, this man whose name I do not even know, who was missing a front tooth and who worked in housekeeping at a hotel where I was saying, I am sorry to say that we may not have even made eye contact. At most, we would have smiled at each other and said "hello." We never would have connected and I most certainly would not still remember him and his kindness to David weeks later.

Author Extraordinaire

Several months ago, someone referred to me as a writer.  Of all of the numerous and varied labels I may have attached to myself through the years (some complimentary and many others not), I have never felt very comfortable referring to myself as a writer.

Okay, I know I attended a workshop in June at the Iowa Summer Writers’ Festival.  Sure, I do a fair amount of writing, but in my mind the seemingly random ramblings that I send into cyberspace do not count.  I also blow my hair dry every day, but I would certainly not call myself a hairdresser.

And then, something happened:

I was invited by Lynn and Big Daddy, some of my friends in the blogosphere, to submit an essay for this book which, upon its release, has quickly shot up the Amazon Best Sellers Rank to # 17,533.  (Stop laughing, it’s true.)

I must admit that I was feeling pretty pleased with myself, even a little cocky when the book arrived on my doorstep a few days ago.  I showed it to my older son, Andrew, when I picked him up from school that same afternoon.  Momentarily impressed, he uttered something monosyllabic, something along the lines of “WOW” or “COOL.”  And then the kicker.  You know, the comment that your kid says to you that can send you screeching back to reality.  “Is this the book you have been waiting for--because you ONLY wrote three pages of THIS book?”

Three pages.  Just under 600 words, to be precise, but they count and I am pleased to now consider myself a writer, an author even.  I don’t assume that I had any wisdom to impart and my feeble attempt at wit may have missed the mark, but I do qualify as the parent of a special needs kid and we need to stick together.

After David was diagnosed, I high-tailed it to a local support group meeting.  I know that many people find great comfort in these types of groups, but it was too soon for me.  The diagnosis was still too fresh.  I was so busy trying to wade through the world of autism that I lost my ability to do things like quickly ascertain which committee for the upcoming Autism Puzzle Walk would allow me not to appear disinterested, but still not really require any meaningful time commitment.  I think I may have actually been screaming as I ran from the building that cold winter night, never to return.

Without even realizing it at the time, I turned to cyber support.  There are many, many parents out there who relay their stories and their struggles.  It has been comforting to know that many of the issues that we have, other families struggle with, as well.  Plus, things are somehow funnier when you read about them happening to someone else.

So, (insert shameless plug here) if you know someone who might benefit from a copy of this book, the picture above serves as a link to the book on Amazon.  If not, it was simply nice to reflect for a moment on my accomplishment and, to my 27 loyal readers, thanks for your support.