Logan, as you miraculously acquire new abilities where there were none before, I see a fine and noble and sweet and forbearing spirit. And it reminds me that all your outward symptoms that interfere so much with daily life -- even though we are learning a great deal through them and even because of them, like being reforged through a fire -- those things do not define you.
When I see your personality emerging beyond the autism, here's what I see:
Behind the stubborn refusal to request desired foods or juice with words that you do indeed know how to say, I see a strong-willed spirit that would rather not waste time when you know that I already know what you want. And I see a sweet smile as you hand over the peanut butter jar, or lift the sippy cup to my lips as a sign, or hold up the Nilla Wafers box.
I also see a wholesome desire to do it for yourself, as you try for the umpteenth time to get the snack off the shelf and open the package, rather than depend on us to do it for you.
When your little arms flap and you hop around the room or use your crib as a trampoline, making enthusiastic but inarticulate moaning sounds, I see the light in your eyes and I know that you have more happiness and joy than your little body can contain or express at the moment.
When you come over to Elinor's high chair and just gaze at your little sister with a slight smile, or when you sit patiently in the tub sharing the bubbles and bath time with her, or when you watch a cartoon standing beside her or let her crawl over and tap on you with a toy without rejecting her attentions, I know that you are beginning to accept her as part of our family and not just another source of irritating high-pitched squeals and cries that wreak havoc on your ultra-sensitive ears.
When you squirm and giggle hysterically as we try to put on jammies, you are anticipating with great hopes that we will rough-house with you and turn this time of attention into a gymnastics session of flipping and tumbling and climbing over Daddy's back. Those times of happy rough-and-tumble are all too infrequent in your estimation.
When you constantly run off into the aisle during the interminable 10 or 15 minutes of announcements at church, making distracting vocalizations during prayers, I know you are simply eager to begin a 1-on-1 session with a sweet volunteer who generously is giving up their worship time to interact, play, and teach you all kinds of social cues.
Even when you have a mishap in your diaper at nap time and make a mess of your crib, through our tears of frustration and bewildered anger, we know that your Houdini tricks of escaping any and all hindrances (no matter how many overalls, extra layers, or safety pins we put on) reflect your ingenuity when it comes to basic bodily comfort and changing your environment.
When you pat my back gently but heartily as I sing you a lullaby at night, I know that you are returning the affection and expressing your thanks and approval.
When you climb up eagerly into the stroller, or into the truck to go for a ride, or into the grocery cart to shop at Walmart, I know you are saying you're happy to go some where with Daddy, even if it means putting up with all kinds of sensory overload that used to terrorize you. You are patient. You are willing to put up with a lot and even learn to enjoy new things and get out of your comfort zone.
When you recite your ABC's or sing the entire first line of "Hushabye and Goodnight" as we try to make you sit down and not crawl up onto the dinner table -- even though we know it's a diversion tactic so that we'll praise you and momentarily suspend our rebuke -- we observe the sensitive, sweet voiced boy who loves music and has also learned the power of song. When you sing, we are under your spell !
You are so much more than the sum total of your challenging mannerisms. Those symptoms of the "spectrum" are obstacles that God has put directly in our paths, but those things are not you. I see you working hard, I see you struggling to break through them, I see you overcoming against great odds, piercing through a gate of steel.
I see you sometimes balking or even barking at the next hoop, but I know that in time you will jump through it because you know these are more than parlor tricks we are asking of you. You know how much you are loved, and you are willing to go through the pain of change. I learn so much just by watching you. Thank God for you, my sweet son!
