Chapter 1 Continued
TUESDAY - The Second Day
The Sotos arrived at nine o'clock.
Jaime bowed when I opened the door. Before entering
the house, Francisca and Roby, both red-eyed, began
chattering simultaneously. The maestro put up his
hand like an umpire, slightly embarrassed to hush
his employers. Francisca indicated Roby would speak.
"A very strange and wonderful
thing occurred in the hotel this morning," he
said. "Normally, when Robertito rises, he sits
on the bed, flaps his hands or clicks his teeth Always,
he appears listless, confused, like he does not know
what to do. He'll just stay in that position until
someone comes for him. This morning was very different.
Robertito sat up in bed as usual, but his expression
appeared more thoughtful than at most other times.
He didn't flap or make sounds. With great determination,
he slid off the bed and walked directly into the bathroom.
And waited there ... in the bathroom!"
I nodded. Awed. Dazzled by the information.
In the midst of Roby's narrative, another significant
event occurred. Little Robertito had left us standing
in the doorway while he toe-walked through the living
room, down the hallway and into our bathroom. A connection
established and reaffirmed.
Suzi beamed like a proud mother,
her blue eyes ablaze. She waved to us as she jogged
through the house to greet the waiting student. "Buenos
dias, Robertito," she said cheerfully as she
closed the door to our tile classroom.
Addressing Roby and Francisca, I
said, "We'd like both of you to observe today,
one at a time. The only place possible is from the
bathtub. With the glass doors closed, you won't be
distracting. I put a stool in the tub so you can look
over the top of the bath enclosure."
"I would like Francisca to go
first," Roby insisted, tapping his wife on her
shoulder to bestow on her what he considered an honor.
We all agreed.
"One more thing," I added,
looking at Jaime. "We decided if Robertito has
some receptive language, some awareness of the words
which have been used around him, it would be all in
Spanish. So, in view of that possibility, Suzi and
I decided to speak only in Spanish when we're with
him. Can you give us a fast lesson, a list of familiar
words or even short phrases?"
"Of course," the maestro
replied. "I will sit with the Sotos and we will
write the words for you in both English and Spanish."
"Write big," I said. "I
want to tack that paper up in the bathroom for both
Suzi and me." Talking through Jaime had become
much easier. He had learned to mirror the tone and
inflections of our voices.
"Also," I continued, "Suzi
knows some Spanish. She already was speaking to Robertito
in Spanish yesterday. She's a natural with language.
Me? Well, I'd want to review the pronunciation with
you. I'm an enthusiastic student, but with a tin ear."
When they finished their list, we
carefully reviewed the words and phrases together:
agua (water), la musica (music), habla (talk), mira
(look), jugo (juice), leche (milk), los ojos (eyes),
las manos (hands), la boca (mouth), diga-me (tell
me), un besito (a little kiss), aqui (here), pongala
aqui (put it here), yo te amo (I love you).
With Francisca positioned behind
the glass doors, we began our day in the bathroom
with Robertito. Suzi had already turned on the music
and sat with him on the floor. They rocked together,
from side to side. A peculiar smile dawned on Robertito's
round face. If I wanted to jump beyond what I could
definitely know, I might speculate that this little
person appeared to be enjoying himself. One activity
gave birth to the next. Whatever he did, we did.
At lunch time, Roby replaced Francisca.
Having been closeted in the bathtub for hours, her
hair, her face and her shirt dripped with perspiration.
Nevertheless, she left the room smiling.
Sasha slipped in food for Robertito.
we fed him organic peanut butter and jelly on stone
ground wheat bread. Normally, he would feed himself
with his hands sloppily, depositing food concurrently
in his lap and on the floor. Since we wanted to develop
eye contact, we fed him ourselves, morsel by morsel.
At first, we had to hold a piece of bread beside his
flapping hand to draw his attention to us. Then we
placed the food between our eyes, inches in front
of our faces, and smiled. We also used soft, verbal
cues to try to maintain his attention. Robertito grabbed
the food awkwardly, moving his hands lethargically
as if they were only vaguely attached to his body.
"Mira," Suzi said each time she held up
another piece of food.
"Oh, Robertito, Robertito,"
she suddenly exclaimed, "Yo te amo, Robertito."
Suzi whipped her head around, barely able to control
her excitement. "Bears! Bears! He looked directly
at me for a fraction of a second. He really did. I'm
positive. Right at me!"
For the next several hours, we sensed
Robertito observing us observe him. On one occasion
when we flapped together, he stopped abruptly, leaving
Suzi and me still shaking our arms. From his peripheral
vision, he watched us curiously. We stopped flapping.
Then, he shook his hands again. We followed. An incredible
smile dawned on his face. He had it. I couldn't believe
it, but he had it! And only in a day and a half. How
could it be moving so fast? I thought to myself. Ah,
I chuckled, fast and slow; they're only judgments
and expectations.
We offered him puzzles and other
simple toys, which he discarded immediately. Suzi
and I stroked his legs on and off during the entire
day. Robertito moved away each time. Finally, toward
evening, he allowed physical contact. I moved from
stroking his legs to stroking his arms. Very, very
slowly and gently, I eased my hands across his belly
and around his back. The little man stopped flapping
while being touched. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet
and walked in circles again. We followed.
Dinner was also served on the bathroom
floor. I put each morsel of food between my eyes and
smiled, repeating our luncheon ritual. He seemed more
directed this time. On four occasions, he stared boldly
at me, though only for a few seconds at a time. Real
and spontaneous eye contact! These movements originated
within him. They were beautiful and profound steps.
A child coming from himself, motivated
from within, is significantly more powerful and effective
in growing and in getting what he wants. If Robertito
could ever climb the mountain, we knew he would have
to do it himself ... not as a function of anyone's
commands, but as an expression of his own wanting.
After the Sotos returned from their
dinner, Sasha and the children took Robertito into
the den again. In the distance, we could hear Raun's
enthusiastic voice: "I just love his cheeks.
Thea, look! They're so cute, those fat cheeks."
Jaime translated his words.
Clearing his throat and swallowing
noisily, Roby faced me and asked: "Will you teach
him how to eat with utensils?"
"Oh," I smiled, "in
a way, Roby, we aren't trying to teach him anything
specific at the moment. What we do is not important
right now. We want to create connections, build bridges.
Eye contact is so essential. Children learn by copying,
imitating. If Robertito does not look at us or hear
us, then, of course, he will not learn how we move
in the environment and how he can move in the environment."
I paused, wanting them to digest everything ... and
to question everything if they wanted.
"Since it's so, so much more
difficult for him to do that than the average child,"
I continued, "we have, to take special care,
create a special environment. For example, he's hypersensitive
to sound. When he's bombarded, he closes his hearing
down to protect himself. For you and me, a cough sounds
like a cough. Perhaps, for Robertito, it sounds like
an earthquake. So, we try to bring music and our words
to him in a gentle, soft manner."
"Yes, yes," Francisca said.
"I've noticed his tendency to flap his hands
more or pull away when there are many people in a
room with him. People make much noise."
"Also," Suzi interjected,
"people are visually very bombarding."
"Things begin to fit,"
Roby said with great excitement. "Now that you
have said that, I remember watching him took directly
at a small red truck we once gave him. Also at a doorknob.
Also at the chrome leg of our dining room table. But,
usually, he would never look directly at a person.
In fact, he is much more relaxed alone. He seems confused
when a lot of people move around him; it's his most
difficult time. I never realized that before."
"And what could you know from
that?" I asked.
Roby nodded. "That if we want
to make contact or teach him something, it's best
to do it without a lot of people around - one to one
like we are doing here. Now I really understand about
the bathroom."
"Beautiful," I commented.
"Your observations, ultimately, are more important
than ours. Roby, Francisca - it's you who will be
putting this together. In a couple of days, you'll
be on your own. You'll be watching for cues and deciding
how to respond. You said you wanted to work with Robertito
all day, every day. Okay. Your attitude is still the
key because if you're loving and accepting, you'll
also be a better observer. When we have expectations
or need things to happen, we're distracted by our
goals, by our fears. Being here moment to moment is
essential."
"Look at all the professionals
who told you Robertito was unresponsive," Suzi
said. "Yet we've noticed many small statements
... with his eyes, with his varied responses to being
touched, with the imitation games. It's incredible,
but some people discard such tiny bits of information
as insignificant. But we know, if you're sensitive
to all those cues, big and small, you create opportunities
to make contact in a meaningful way."
"He's very into eating,"
I added. "You can use it - use everything! Anything!
I'm not talking about bribing or conditioning. Each
morsel of food can set the stage for possible eye
contact. Our smiles, our warmth is just a way to say
hello. He doesn't have to perform to eat. Yet when
he takes the food, he might look past it and find
our faces. And in that moment, we can be there saying
something with our eyes, our expressions, our voices."
"Suppose he doesn't look?"
Francisca asked.
"Then we wait," I suggested.
"It makes all the difference in the world if
we let it come from him. There's quite a distance
to travel before we would try to teach him specific
things like eating with forks and spoons."
"Yes, I see," Roby said.
"You are talking about being there with him and
for him."
"Even more than that. We're
talking about going with him," I emphasized.
"First: acceptance, contact, joining his world.
Second: with our attitude and the responsive environment,
we want to draw him out ... have him be motivated
to try. Then, and only then, would he be ready to
really learn many different things. And there's a
bonus. If he's motivated, in touch, finally watching
us, then he'll learn much by himself"
"In a way," Suzi said,
touching Francisca's hand, "it's trusting the
child. And trusting yourself to trust the child."
"But he has very definite...
ah, how, ah, can I say it properly?" Roby stuttered.
"It doesn't matter how you say
it," I assured him.
"Well, he has a specific handicaps.
The on-and-off hearing."
I don't know if that's a handicap,"
I said, "as much as it's a way to take care of
himself. He can certainly hear and see."
"What about memory?" Roby
asked. "He can't remember from one moment to
the next. Every day he looks at his hand like he's
seeing it for the first time."
"I've noticed that, too,"
I said. "Especially with food, which we know
he likes. He follows the food ferociously until it
goes out of sight - behind my hand, in my pocket.
Once it's out of sight, he doesn't pursue; it's as
if he can't remember it or retain it without having
it in front of him. It's a kind of memory dysfunction."
"There's nothing we can do for
that," Roby concluded.
"Let's look at it in terms of
motivation. Research illustrates that doctors will
often predict that two people with identical brain
damage resulting from strokes will never be able to
talk or walk because the centers in the brain which
control those functions have been destroyed. Yet,
a year later, one stroke victim is speaking and moving
about easily; the other is still mute and bedridden.
When you ask for an explanation, the doctors say:
'Well, it's will-to-live.' In effect, the person who
learned to speak and move again had to find new pathways
in his brain, create new connections amid the debris.
Since it required an incredible thrust, the person
had to be highly motivated. And there's the key. Call
it 'will-to-live' or motivation, but that's the power
and energy we give ourselves to do what others might
label as impossible. And that's what I'd love to see
Robertito do. But you can't give him the spark. You
can only be there, like a mid-wife, helping him find
it within himself "
"Do you think he will find it?"
Francisca asked.
"We can't really know that"
I said. "We can only stay in touch with what
we want for Robertito, for ourselves, and then do
what we can to get what we want. Part of acceptance
is allowing him to come our way or not come our way.
Which leads me to a question. Francisca, how would
you feel if Robertito never changed, never learned
more than he knows at this moment?"
Jaime peered at me, his head cocked
slightly to the side.
"Maestro?" I called.
"Ah, Senor Kaufman. I wondered
why you were going back to that question."
"I'm not, Jaime, I'm going forward
to that question," I said. Jaime became very
pensive, then translated my words.
The Sotos looked at each other. Roby
sighed. Francisca turned to me and said. "Still,
it is a difficult question."
"Why?" I asked.
Her face became flushed. Her eyes
reddened instantly. Tears flowed down her cheeks.
"What are you unhappy about?"
"Being a mother was something
I wanted more than anything, more than anything else
in the world. To love a child and have him love me.
It's not ..." Francisca stopped herself. She
glanced at Roby, touched her fingertips to his face
and said: "I know it's the same for him, too.
We try to love Robertito and he rejects us."
"Do you believe that?"
"Isn't it obvious?" she
said.
"How do you see it as obvious?"
I asked.
"If I go to hug him or kiss
him, he moves away."
"That's a good question,"
Roby interjected, leaning forward on the edge of his
chair. "I think I always believed that's what
his moving away meant. But if he's oversensitive,
he could be protecting himself ... like with the hearing.
So when I call him, the switch isn't even turned on.
Then, of course, he would not respond. And maybe,
in some way, he's frightened." He rubbed his
forehead nervously. "I guess I was so busy being
hurt about being rejected, I never questioned why."
"And now?" I asked.
"And now," Roby said, "there
are other possibilities. I can see it differently."
"Let me ask the question again.
Do you believe moving away means rejecting?"
"I don't think I do any more,"
he answered.
"'Don't think' sounds like you're
not sure."
Roby smirked self-consciously. "I
guess I'm still deciding."
"About what?"
"About what this all means.
If Robertito is doing what he can to take care of
himself that would be okay with me. I would want him
to be able to do that for himself." A huge grin
radiated on his face.
"What are you smiling about?"
Suzi asked.
"Oh, I guess, at how you assume
things without ever questioning them. Somehow, I thought
Robertito's action meant something about me ... like
if I were a better father, he'd let me touch him."
"Do you still believe that?"
"No," Roby affirmed.
"And you, Francisca?" Suzi
asked.
"I can see how Robertito is
trying to take care of himself ... in the only way
he knows how. I can accept that. It doesn't have to
mean we're not good parents. But, Suzi, you know.
I want to hug my son. I want to hold him close. I
want him to hold me close."
"I know how much you want those
things. I was once there, too," Suzi said gently.
"But being unhappy about not having them is different
than wanting them. What is it about not having that
exchange of affection that's so painful?"
"I feel so empty."
"What do you mean?" Suzi
asked.
"Like something is missing.
There's supposed to be more."
"In what way?" I asked.
"Between a child and its mother,"
Francisca said, "there is a whole relationship
which does not exist between Robertito and me. There
should be so much more."
"Why do you believe that?"
"That's why I had a child."
"I understand what you wanted
in having a child. But why do you believe there's
supposed to be any more than there is right now with
Robertito?"
"Because I want it!" she
insisted.
"Why does wanting it mean it's
supposed to happen?"
"I don't know. I don't know,"
Francisca said, shaking her head from side to side.
"When I think about it, it sounds foolish. What
is, is ... but I still want so much more."
"That's what you want. But how
do you feel about 'what is' right now?" I asked.
"Okay," she said with a
touch of hesitation. "I feel clearer. You can
really drive yourself crazy trying to make your life
fit your dreams. I see that now."
"That's what we mean when we
talk about expectations, shoulds and supposed to's,"
I added. "We get into needing things to be a
certain way in order for us to be happy. If they're
not, we're miserable. And so, while we look anxiously
for what we don't have, we frequently miss what we
do have."
"I'm proof of that," Francisca
grinned, pointing to herself. "I have barely
allowed myself to be excited about what's happened
in these past two days because I'm still so concerned
about Robertito's being toilet trained, feeding himself,
talking. All the normal things a child is supposed
to do."
Francisca stood up and turned away
from us.
"What's the matter?" Roby
said, jumping to his feet.
"I'm all right," she said,
"I just realized something. In a way, I've never
really loved Robertito for what he is; I've always
loved him for what I hoped he would become, what I
thought every little boy should become."
"That's not rue," Roby
insisted. "You've loved him and given him so
much."
"Yes, I know, Roby, in a way
that's true. I have given him everything I could.
Tried to touch him, sing to him, talk to him, teach
him and ... and even discipline him. But maybe now,
I can give him even more by accepting him, loving
him as he is."
Chapter
1 Continued »» |
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