Body Language

I describe my son as “largely non-verbal”, by which I mean that he scripts, and will make simple requests, but does not communicate abstract ideas. Even so, he and I have conversations of a sort. We just have to rely on something other than words.

When we are in the house he comes to “check in” often. If he finds me in an armchair he will first perch on the back, and then insinuate himself into the seat, wedging between me and the armrest. If I am walking around the house he will appear from nowhere and interact with me in some way, wrapping himself around my legs or giving me a squeeze on the arm.

Before bedtime, when we are supposed to be reading books together, he will demand to be tickled, and I inevitably comply. At some point I taught him to cry “Uncle!” when he wanted me to stop. That is what he yells when he’s had enough, even though he usually insists on more a few seconds later.

When we walk he will hold my hand for a spell, and then let go, and grab it again later, depending on his mood. Each engagement and disengagement is a little exchange.

Even playing on the swing feels like a dialogue. He does quite well without assistance, but asks me to push him regardless. As he ascends he often twists to look back at me; if I miss a push because I am goofing around on my phone, I get the same look of disapproval that I would get if I ignored someone during a discussion.

I work in a corporate environment, and much of my day is devoted to status meetings and planning meetings and the reading and writing of email. A staggering amount of our time and energy is devoted to communication, and we misunderstand each other as often as not. It’s exhausting.

In the evening I go home, and my son greets me with “beard!”, and I lower my face so he can feel the texture of my whiskers. It’s the most fulfilling conversation I have all day.