The Boy is verbal. He can speak in short and long sentences, has quite a vocabulary, and is an incredible speller. But not always.
When he was a toddler, he didn’t have as many words as his peers, and we ended up in speech therapy. We used flash cards to get him to learn nouns and actions. He went to speech twice a week for several years.
He now loves words, and particularly loves word play, and puns and jokes where double entendres are at the center. But, there are times when he cannot speak. There are times when it seems he refuses to answer. His teachers encounter this often, and it isn’t (as they too often assume) because he doesn’t know the answer. He simply can’t.
And he wants to.
A few Halloweens ago, he was trick-or-treating with friends and I was following with another mom. A couple of giggly girls recognized The Boy, and came up to say hi. After they went off in a different direction, I asked him about them. “Who were they?” No response. Knowing he probably knew but couldn’t tell me, I tried not to make it a big deal and we continued on our way. Shortly after, we arrived at a house with two cars parked in the driveway. “Mom!” he said. “Er, look,” he said, pointing to one of the cars. “You know, the girls…” he said. He was giving me a clue, and excited he had a chance to communicate with me. After a little back and forth, I realized the car was a Lexus… and the girl’s name was “Alexis”. Then he told me the other girl’s name through another clue (she had the same first name as his favorite teacher from elementary school).
If you first understand that there are times when he can’t speak, and then also understand that he wants to, and finally give him the opportunity to give you clues, communicating is possible. It requires understanding and patience, though. And discrete labels aren’t helping, either. So I’ll stick with “Not-Quite-Verbal,” and keep working towards understanding.
For most, high school orientation is an exciting time. I watched the 8th graders sit quietly and listen to the high school administration and teachers speak in the auditorium, and afterwards wander the halls, almost running at times they were so excited to see their friends and figure out how the building was laid out. During the presentation they were told what classes they would have to take as a freshman, and that they may not got the electives they want because they build the schedule from seniors down. They were told about foreign language, core classes, Career and Technical Ed classes, and counseling services.
It is a front and back sheet with 15 open-ended questions on it. I get that they can’t supply multiple choice answers because they are trying to understand just what it is The Boy wants to do in his future, but really? Is this the best way? They really think that this is even a possibility for someone who is fairly nonverbal? And it’s “due” in three days?
This type of lack of organization has to do with executive functioning skills, often a deficit for kiddos on the spectrum, and many with ADHD. Without assistance and support, and regular lessons and routines to help them get their stuff together, they continue to not bring things home-bring the wrong things home-not turn stuff in.
It’s almost the end of February, which means it’s almost spring, which means, it’s almost IEP season. And at our next IEP meeting, I have to let the school know what we’ve decided about The Boy’s future – 
But I am especially grateful for those that just do it, as if they were put on this planet for that express purpose. They do it with compassion and insight, with fortitude and humor. The one who, in the midst of a less than stellar day, emails me to let me know that even then, she notices improvement. The one who, after a string of days of heartbreaking behavior, simply says, “Tomorrow will be a better day,” and I know she believes it. The one who always texts me after the meltdown to let me know it’s all ok.
Simple. I Just Do. 