Upstairs, my son hums a violin-like, Flight of the Bumblebee melody. A volley of ceiling-shaking hops accompanies his next tune, which morphs into a chorus of odd fluty noises– part Oster blender, part baby’s babble. Nasal “mmm—mmmm—mmmm’s” and toneless, almost sinister laughter follows. More hops. The water in my glass ripples Jurassic Park-style.
Not even a minute has passed.
Now he runs–percussive footfalls sound like boulders bouncing down a wooden hill.
Then silence, calm and uncanny. In stillness, minutes are twice as long.
I peek in the computer room. Soft keyboard clicks whisper. Rapt, Tyoma composes a bedtime plan as tidy as any accountant.
“Look at this mama. I’ve decided to modify my bedtime schedule…”
As he rattles on, I smile. He speaks at me, rather than to me. Therapists might shake their heads at this observation, but I have a different perspective. Tyoma is energized, passionate. Ask yourself–when your favorite team scores and you cry out, “Hooray!” is your “hooray” a conversation or an exclamation from your heart? My son’s Super bowl is composing schedules.
After his plan is printed, violin humming and bouncing boulders resume.
Not fearful words, descriptive ones. His whirlwind of tics, hops, and songs are as a beautiful as his quiet typing. Nourish every child as a whole person. We are all part nature and nurture, but nurture is for nature, not against it. By accepting neurology instead of suppressing it, the worth and dignity you give now will sustain a child through a lifetime of difficult moments and judging glances.