When "Yes" Means "No"- How Do We Bridge the Communication Gap?

My mother used to have an old poster with a perplexed looking chimpanzee scratching his head proclaiming, "The more I think the more confused I get". Lately, Gabriel has been verbalizing more, but somehow I am understanding less. This is probably the way he has always felt about these peculiar talking creatures inhabiting his world. I think I am understanding how disconcerting this must be for him, as I am beginning to feel some of it myself. For example,he seemed to have a definite grasp on the word "no" yielding it freely and with great certainty for over a year now. When he said no, we knew he was not interested in whatever we were offering him or demanding of him. However, in our attempts to cajole him into doing things that we wanted him to do, we have been reacted to his "no's" with our own "yes's"- failing to take into consideration his tendency for echolalia. Well, now we have a little "yes" man on our hands -only he doesn't actually mean "yes" when he says it. You know, having the sense of humor that I do, I can't help but dissolve into fits of laughter at a tantruming child shouting "Yes" at the top of his lungs. Still, there is the analytical side of me that, once I have picked myself off of the floor, rises in wonder at the process involved in turning a "no" into a "yes" or the other way round.

My son has an amazing brain, but I have only glimpses into it's inner workings. In the mornings, I am greeted by papers covered with random letters, numbers, words and math equations. all written in the practiced script of a three year old who has been writing for fully one fifth of his little life. The morning after my little sister (a vegetarian) arrived from steamy Florida, my son had scrawled the message "Stop Meat"(purely coincidence I'm sure, but the kid has a sense of timing) across the bottom of a Neighborhood Watch flyer. We have words that cover the household bills that were carelessly left on top of the desk; math equations adorn the bathtub walls, any piece of paper, every piece of paper that is accessible to him has been used and used thoroughly. My son is a great conservator of space, adapting the size of his text as less and less unused area remains. He loves written letters and words, revels in them, their images seemingly burned into his little brain. If I were to write a list of nonsense words, I have no doubt he could accurately reproduce them though I would, only moments later, undoubtedly forget what I had written. Effortless is this to him, as effortless as breathing, as effortless as speaking is...to me.

I speak without a great effort beyond the occasional grasping of words that has grown more commonplace with age. Speech for me and for most of us was not taught but absorbed, improved and enhanced with time, practice, and brain development. Words were heard, understood, reproduced without much concerted effort until later years when vocabulary worksheets replaced long conversations and workbooks tailored to precisely fabricated stories replaced the enchanting children's books that had been my staple as a preschooler. Somehow, in school, language changed from something that was naturally and eagerly acquired into something that was only painstakingly undertaken, lifeless and dismally uninteresting. Learning language systematically had a deadening effect for me- but what of a child who does not learn speech so readily? Is systematic teaching truly the best way to make up for this communication gap?

Many parents swear by the one or more of the alphabet soup of therapy programs designed to teach autistic children how to speak. Perhaps, the results for their children have truly been as remarkable as they claim, and I would be lying if I said that the sense of self doubt that I feel regarding almost every decison does not gnaw at the back of my brain when I hear these stories passionately retold by parents in chat rooms and forums, in magazine articles, and in books. I think about the fact that my son is in the target age group where such aggressive approaches are said to make the greatest difference, and you know, it may be a failing of mine, but the thing that keeps resurfacing in my mind is that my son might make great "progress" with such intensive work, but what of his happiness, his joy and excitement, his trust in me? Am I crazy to sacrifice a possible jumpstart in language development for the desire to maintain his emotional security? I don't know, but I know I don't want a child who has learned to speak by rote at the cost of something far dearer to him and to me. What, then, is the alternative? Do I let him continue to say "yes" when he means "no" and hope that he'll eventually learn the difference. That's one option, but probably not the best considering the fact that such words are so rudimentary to language. So, I've made a game out of it- made him laugh at his mother's exaggerated voice and gestures, and we've both delighted at the shared silliness- no tears or struggles, just a mom trying to help her son in a way that is right for him- right for us both. Certainly not the only way, and probably not even the best way, but at least this way my son gets to keep his smile...