I Love to Talk With You

Time for homework: “Read with your child daily for 20 minutes”. Most often, Aubrie likes for me to read to her. Sometimes, we take turns reading a page at a time. On this night, she declared that she would be reading to me.
What a treat! I snuggled up with a blankie on the sofa for my bedtime story. I haven’t been read to since I was a little girl. To my delight, she did a fairly smooth job of reading even the big words. This was a story with which Aubrie is extremely familiar. She has 3 different movie versions of the Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn story and has met Tom, Becky, and Mark Twain in Hannibal. Reading aloud about their adventures was a piece of cake. She knew most of the words, all of the names, and read the character’s words in quotations with great enthusiasm and emotion.
After the story, we began to chat. A random conversation about Tom and Huck, our new kittens, Broadway shows, the kids at school, bullies… anything that came to mind.
Soon, I said, “Aubrie! Uh, oh! You still have more homework and we’ve been chatting for nearly 20 minutes. We’d better go do it! But, you know, I’ve really enjoyed chatting with you. We haven’t done this in a long time.”
She agreed, “It’s awesome!”
When I again said how much I enjoy talking with her, she said, “Oh, yes, because you like my voice.”
With a chuckle and a hug, I said, “No. It’s not because I like your voice. It wouldn’t matter what your voice sounded like. It’s the words you say that I like. It wouldn’t matter if you didn’t have a voice. If you used a talking machine or sign language, I’d still love to talk with you. It’s about your words -- not your voice.”
She laughed at the absurdity of caring about a voice more than words and agreed whole-heartedly. In fact, we recalled a time when she first met a young woman with CHARGE syndrome. Some time into the visit, Aubrie asked, “Why does she talk with that voice?”
I had to explain that “that voice” was very much like Aubrie’s own voice. With hearing impairment, structural differences, and cranial nerve and oral motor weaknesses, the voices and articulation of people with CHARGE syndrome are not usually typical. At that time, Aubrie had no realization that her own voice was different to the rest of us. But she sure noticed when this young lady’s voice was not like others’.
Now she realizes the limitations of her own speech and actively works to speak as clearly as possible. She communicates with her classmates at the Illinois School for the Deaf using various combinations of voice and sign language. We both understand that communication and conversation have less to do with vocal quality or speech ability and everything to do with words, ideas, and connection.

Are You Talking to Me?

“Mom!” “Mom?” “Ma!” My preschooler hollered from the backseat the entire four-hour drive to Grandma’s. When I answered, “What, Honey?” it turned out he had nothing to say. I remember thinking, “Who taught this child to talk? And who told him my name??”

As a kid, I remember my mom’s exasperated claims that she would change her name and run away if we kept badgering her. Suddenly, I understood.

Fast forward five years to another trip to Grandma’s. This time, we have two children. My son is now 9 or 10; his sister is maybe 3 or 4. She complains, “Andwooz bodderin me!” My husband and I exchange a silent cheer for the accomplishment of this child who can argue with her brother. When she was born, we didn’t know if she would see, hear, walk, or speak. We certainly didn’t allow ourselves to wish for sibling rivalry in all its splendor. Now, she too talks so much that we sometimes wonder why we worried and when she’ll give us a moment of silence.

For both our kids, we rejoiced in their babbles, rhymes, and songs on the way to real communication. With our son, it was the wonderment of watching our first child’s personality and speech unfold. For our daughter, it was extra wonderment as some of our fears were put to rest.

We so longed for their first amazing words. Those first words eventually led to the annoying, pestering monologues of childish needs, imaginings, and demands. At times, our wonderment and joy became irritation and exasperation. How quickly a gift can become a burden in our minds when we are tired, stressed, or busy.

Fast forward again five years. Now our teen, at age 15, doesn’t want to talk to us. Again we long for words. Any words. Tell us your feelings, your imaginings, your desires. We linger on his every syllable just as we did on his every infant babble. Suddenly, the burden again becomes the greatest gift on our wish list.