The Language of Childhood
By Marie Green
Editor's note: The opinions expressed herein are those of the author exclusively.
By Marie Green
Editor's note: The opinions expressed herein are those of the author exclusively.
Somewhere, the phone is ringing. “I've got it!” I yell, as I navigate my way through an endless sea of boxes. It's moving day, and the house is a disaster. I locate the phone by the front window. We don't have service inside the house yet, so our phone is connected to the box out front. I hang out of the open window to speak since the cord isn't long enough to make it inside. It's my sister-in-law, calling from Germany. “I'm in labor!” she tells me, laughing nervously. It's
her first baby and she's apprehensive, but mostly excited. “I can't believe it!” I tell her. My husband gets on the phone and now we're both hanging out of the window and laughing. He can't believe that his baby sister is about to become a mother.
That was the day that my nephew, Tristan, was born. “He's a beautiful boy with jet black hair, blue eyes and red lips,” my sister-in-law tells us. He sounds perfect, and he is. Tristan is a wonderful baby and an active toddler. He masters all of his milestones on schedule – crawling, walking, and talking. He loves to line up his toys and spends hours neatly arranging toy horses and soldiers in rows. He likes playing outdoors. His father builds a swing in the backyard, and Tristan swings for hours. Like most children, he doesn't always come when he's called. My sister-in-law can be heard calling his name over and over again on the videotapes she sends us. “Tristan! Tristan!,” she sings, as she tries to coax him out of his bedroom on his birthday, or at Christmas. My husband teases her, “You're always yelling out Tristan's name. You shouldn't talk so much when you're recording!”
When Tristan is around three years old, my sister-in-law comes to visit. We drive to the mall so we can get a group picture of all of the cousins together. We're at the studio and Tristan is crying. He's having a meltdown and doesn't want his picture taken. No one understands why Tristan is crying; no one understands why Tristan is running away.
No one understands why Tristan isn't talking as much as he used to, why he won't make eye contact. No one understands why Tristan has a difficult time communicating frustration, disappointment, fear, pain or exhaustion. No one understands why he doesn't want to play with other children or why he seems content in a world of his own. No one understands why Tristan is “different.”
No one understands that Tristan has autism.
When he was three and a half years old, Tristan was diagnosed with autism, and my sister-in-law moved back to the United States. “The care and therapy available to children with autism is so much more advanced in the US,” she tells us. My sister-in-law moves halfway around the world for Tristan, wanting the best for her son. She becomes a single mother; Tristan's dad remains in Germany. She spends hours researching options, treatments and care becoming an advocate for autism awareness.
Tristan is a child with autism. He is also a child who has made exceptional gains through intensive therapy, both clinically and at home. Tristan speaks two languages, is an incredibly gifted artist, loves riding horses, has a fierce fondness for snowmen, and can stop you in your tracks with his striking good looks. He is so much more than a child with autism. He is a child who loves to jump and play and laugh. He is a child who brings great joy to others and who has taught our family about tolerance and patience. He is a child who has shown us the value of embracing differences and celebrating diversity.
Tristan has given my son, Garrett, a broader understanding of the abilities, talents and challenges of others. When Garrett sees a child who is ‘different,' he will walk up and introduce himself in hopes of making a friend. Garrett adores Tristan and cherishes the time they spend together. He looks forward to the annual Walk Now for Autism event and is proud to ask for donations for ‘my cousin, Tristan.' The bond that Garrett and Tristan share is like the bond of brotherhood. Although they rarely speak when they're together, Garrett and Tristan find their own way of communicating, through play and laughter – the language of childhood.
Tristan is so much more than a child with autism. Tristan is ours, and he's perfect.
That was the day that my nephew, Tristan, was born. “He's a beautiful boy with jet black hair, blue eyes and red lips,” my sister-in-law tells us. He sounds perfect, and he is. Tristan is a wonderful baby and an active toddler. He masters all of his milestones on schedule – crawling, walking, and talking. He loves to line up his toys and spends hours neatly arranging toy horses and soldiers in rows. He likes playing outdoors. His father builds a swing in the backyard, and Tristan swings for hours. Like most children, he doesn't always come when he's called. My sister-in-law can be heard calling his name over and over again on the videotapes she sends us. “Tristan! Tristan!,” she sings, as she tries to coax him out of his bedroom on his birthday, or at Christmas. My husband teases her, “You're always yelling out Tristan's name. You shouldn't talk so much when you're recording!”
When Tristan is around three years old, my sister-in-law comes to visit. We drive to the mall so we can get a group picture of all of the cousins together. We're at the studio and Tristan is crying. He's having a meltdown and doesn't want his picture taken. No one understands why Tristan is crying; no one understands why Tristan is running away.
No one understands why Tristan isn't talking as much as he used to, why he won't make eye contact. No one understands why Tristan has a difficult time communicating frustration, disappointment, fear, pain or exhaustion. No one understands why he doesn't want to play with other children or why he seems content in a world of his own. No one understands why Tristan is “different.”
No one understands that Tristan has autism.
When he was three and a half years old, Tristan was diagnosed with autism, and my sister-in-law moved back to the United States. “The care and therapy available to children with autism is so much more advanced in the US,” she tells us. My sister-in-law moves halfway around the world for Tristan, wanting the best for her son. She becomes a single mother; Tristan's dad remains in Germany. She spends hours researching options, treatments and care becoming an advocate for autism awareness.
Tristan is a child with autism. He is also a child who has made exceptional gains through intensive therapy, both clinically and at home. Tristan speaks two languages, is an incredibly gifted artist, loves riding horses, has a fierce fondness for snowmen, and can stop you in your tracks with his striking good looks. He is so much more than a child with autism. He is a child who loves to jump and play and laugh. He is a child who brings great joy to others and who has taught our family about tolerance and patience. He is a child who has shown us the value of embracing differences and celebrating diversity.
Tristan has given my son, Garrett, a broader understanding of the abilities, talents and challenges of others. When Garrett sees a child who is ‘different,' he will walk up and introduce himself in hopes of making a friend. Garrett adores Tristan and cherishes the time they spend together. He looks forward to the annual Walk Now for Autism event and is proud to ask for donations for ‘my cousin, Tristan.' The bond that Garrett and Tristan share is like the bond of brotherhood. Although they rarely speak when they're together, Garrett and Tristan find their own way of communicating, through play and laughter – the language of childhood.
Tristan is so much more than a child with autism. Tristan is ours, and he's perfect.
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