Lois Kam Heymann - The Sound of Hope: Recognizing, Coping with, and Treating Your Childs Auditory Processing Disorder

There are two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these is roots, the other, wings.

Hodding Carter II

This book is dedicated to the many wonderful parents and
children I have worked with over the years and
who have taught me so much.

PART 1:

PART 2:

PART 3:

M y two boys, Blake and Parker, have been getting their hair cut at the same barbershop and by the same barber, Nick, for almost their whole lives. For years now theyve each sat down in the chair and smiled up at Nick as he snaps a crisp white sheet in the air and settles it around their shoulders. Familiar sounds fill the place: customers and barbers talking and walking around, piped-in music from the mall outside, snipping scissors, and humming electric razors. A lunch of chili cheese fries at Johnny Rockets after the haircut has always made the day special.

When Blake was about to enter the first grade, he and I went off to find Nick. Blakes hair had grown quite long over the summer, and I was a little worried about how hed handle the change back to short hair. Compared with Parker, Chelsea, and our youngest, Vivienne, Blakey doesnt really do change so well.

How do you want it, honey? I asked. A crew cut like Parker? Just a trim? What?

No matter how I phrased it, Blake gave me the same sort of answer: A little haircut. I knew from recent experience that if I pressed him for detail, I could count on what had become his ultimate answer to just about every question: I dunno.

How do you want it, Blakey?

A haircut.

Yeah, but what kind of haircut?

I dunno.

You want to leave it long? A trim?

No, like a little haircut.

Okay, but how short?

I dunno. A little haircut.

At first, I chalked his vagueness up to distraction or simply not caring all that much. But then Blake seemed frustrated that he was not able to be clear with me or with Nick about what exactly he wanted. We didnt have all day, so Nick patted Blakes head, went to work, and gave Blake a crew cut like the one hed been giving Parker for years. I thought it was cute; my partner, Kelli, thought it was cute; Nick thought it was cute. Blake didnt have much to say about it right there in the barber chair. He seemed fine with it. Case closed. Off to Johnny Rockets.

But the next day, we were driving home from school and Blake was belted into the seat behind me. I asked him if anyone at school had mentioned his new haircut. He exploded! My adorable son, a kid of so few words but such deep feelings, started screaming. I told you not a haircut, and you did me a haircut, not a trim! He was beside himselfabsolutely melting down. I couldnt follow what he was saying exactly in words, but the emotions were raw and real and just broke my heart.

I pulled over, got out of the car, opened his door, and took him in my arms. Honey, Im sorry, I said. I am so sorry. I did not understand what you wanted, Blakey. Im very sorry.

I want my long hair, he said, tears streaming down his face.

You will never have to get a short haircut ever again, I told him. I promise you. It took him ten minutes to calm down.

When Blake first came into our lives he was the happiest baby Id ever seen. I know every mother says that, but he was just beautiful and everybody said so. As an infant, he cooed and smiled and his clothes were always wet with drool. Adorable. As a toddler, he continued to coohe didnt make sounds that seemed like words. I look back now at the videos we shot during vacations and birthdays when Blake was nearing age three and wonder how we made any sense of what little he did say.

When Blake was three and a half, a friend of ours suggested we get him evaluated by a speech pathologist. The tests said he was perfectly intelligent but was having trouble making and saying words clearly compared with other kids his age. At the speech pathologists suggestion, Blake had regular speech therapy for the next year. The sessions helped him shape his mouth to make certain sounds that had eluded him, but finding the words in the first place was still difficult for him. As he grew in intelligence and the world around him grew more complicated, Blake was increasingly less happy, more frustrated, and angrier than Kelli and I ever would have believed that sweetly smiling baby could become. When life threw him a curve, as it does for kids at any age, Blake simply didnt have the vocabulary available to express what was wrong, how he felt, or what he needed. Wheres my happy Blakey? Id ask him after the umpteenth misunderstanding climaxed in yelling and tears.

Your familys routine sometimes can make it difficult to spot problems with your kids as they grow. But Blakes haircut meltdown was just the latest in a series of misunderstandings, mixed messages, and miscommunications that were increasingly making him angry. These incidents were upsetting for us and just heartbreaking for Blake. He had so many things to share but no way to share them. It was like the words were stuck inside himhe couldnt find the way to get them out.

The challenge of using wordsunderstanding them and articulating themjust seemed insurmountable to him. Once, for instance, Blake and Vivienne raced back to our house to tell us about a family of ducks they had seen swimming nearby. Older and faster, Blake got back to the house way ahead of his little sister. Eyes alight with wonder, so excited that he was up on the balls of his feet, Blake stood there in the kitchen and tried to describe to us what he and Vivienne had just seen. Mama, Mama, we saw some, we saw some He clearly had a deep desire to communicate and share what he saw, but the words simply werent coming. When Vivienne came racing in behind him a minute later, it was a whole other story. Theyd had the same experience, seen the same details, and had the same feelings, but Vivienne could put it in words. A lot of words. And quickly.

Mommy, Mommy, she said, words pouring out of her excitedly, we saw a whole family of baby ducks, they were really cute, there were two boys and three girls, they were red and black, except for the mommy duck, who was mostly black and white and Vivienne went on and on in tons of detail. Unheard and upstaged, Blake knocked a magazine off the kitchen counter and stormed off to his room with tears in his eyes.

Blake is a smart kid. His ability to notice details has always been incredible. The things he observed and picked up on visually were remarkable for a kid his age. Even as a little guy, he identified and mimicked animals better than any kid Id ever seen. If a topic really interested him and he had a chance to find the words or could express himself through gestures, acting out, or imitations, what he sought to communicate was vivid and real. When he was three, I showed him a picture that accompanied a newspaper item about an escaped mountain lion. He pointed at the photo and said, No. It puma.

But the article says its a mountain lion, Blakey, I explained.

No. It puma. He was positive.

Finally I took a closer look. The photo caption read in tiny letters, Pictured: North American puma. He hadnt read ithe just knew it. A three-by-five black-and-white photo in USA Today and he still recognized the difference between a mountain lion and a puma. As long as it was something visual rather than something said or read, he had the opportunity to link a word with a picture, and he was engrossed in the topic at hand, Blake didnt miss a trick. Show him something, point to something, act out something, and he was up to speed. Talking and listening were, unfortunately, another story. He was so smart, yet at school his teachers said he hardly participated. The good news was that he had no temper issues at school. The bad news was that his teachers said he was barely contributing in class.