What Are You Chewing?

It’s a magic question that, as he’s gotten older, I’ve asked my non-verbal son less and less. Still, there are times when the world stops, and we lock eyes with that monumental question.

Lucas…what is in your mouth?

He does the same thing now, at 13, that he did when he was 3. He freezes. Like a statue frozen by one of Super Mario’s powers, my little man suddenly becomes completely still. If not for his eyes blinking, I’d be convinced that we were in a time-warp episode of Black Mirror.

It’s kind of hilarious, actually. Through the years, I’ve come to believe that he thinks he’s invisible when he does that. I’ve caught him mid-tiptoe a few times, trying to sneak a treat. When he’s caught, he freezes in place in exactly the same manner. I laugh out loud and hug him.

Then I let him have the snack anyway because he’s adorable and also knows I’m a sucker he can work into giving him whatever he wants.

Of course, this is different. I’m not stopping him from doing anything. I’m asking him a question that, well, I don’t expect an answer to. I say it to say it. Whether or not he understands the question is immaterial. It’s an abstract request at an abstract moment. He knows how to ask for a sandwich. He doesn’t know how to answer “sandwich” if that’s what is in his mouth. Does that make sense? I hope so.

Gestures don’t matter. If I point to a box of cookies, he’ll assume I am offering them. Next thing you know, he has a mouth full of cookies alongside whatever mystery meal he’s munching at the moment.

His communication device definitely doesn’t do the trick in this instance. In fact, asking him what he’s doing, wants, or needs with the AAC has a low rate of return in many cases.

You’d think otherwise. Nope. The entire thing turns into a non-verbal version of “Who’s On First” from Abbott and Costello. It’s happened on more than one occasion.

I’ll see him chewing and pose the question, “What are you eating?” He’ll try to ignore me and continue swiping away on his YouTube app. So, I take the entertainment iPad away in a fit of frustration and hand him the communication one. Again, I ask:

What are you eating? Tell me.

He then takes the device and swipes away feverishly through screens. I don’t know why I bother doing it because the second he swipes through the “toys” folder, I know where we’re going with this.

I…Want…iPad.

Yes, the iPad I literally just took from his hand in order to ask him what he was chewing. This happens constantly and is the ultimate paradoxical loop. You need to take away the iPad to ask him, but once you do, he asks for the iPad. Wiggle your way around that one.

I look at him with an upturned eyebrow. Most other kids would recognize how funny this is and laugh. Not my Lucas. He looks back at me with a serious expression, as if to say, “Yeah. I want the iPad.” The deadpan response actually makes it all even funnier.

The best part of all this? Nine times out of ten, he’s chewing nothing. How’s that for the ultimate twist ending? I don’t know if it’s his tongue or a bad taste in his mouth, but there’s nothing between his teeth but air and sketchiness. The entire thing had been a prank that neither one of us was in on.

As is the case with many of these stories of special needs parenting, there’s more to it than there appears to be at first glance. Having shared everything I have, it sounds as if communication, at least on a deeper level, is pretty difficult.

It can be, and in cases like that, we still need to work on getting him to prioritize my requests on the same level as his own. That comes with patience and maturity. I totally get it.

Getting him to comprehend the phrase “what are you eating” might seem like a big hurdle still left to overcome. However, believe it or not, it really isn’t. I think he already knows and, if not, I’m sure he will eventually.

Sometimes, like with the phrase “no mouth,” he surprises me. Lucas has a habit of gnawing on his sleeves, soaking them until they’re practically flapping in the wind. I call out, even from outside his room, “Lucas! No mouth!”

The second the words escape my mouth, the sleeve escapes his. He lets go of the grip with his teeth and lets the saturated fabric flipper fly from his mouth like a wacky sprinkler attachment. It’s disgusting but also proves he knows what “no mouth” means.

How did he learn it? I don’t know. I just said it a lot until one day, he responded by stopping. I can’t remember when I realized that he understood. All I know is that I never expected him to “get it”…until he did.

It’s the same with “go get the cup.” There was a time I didn’t think he could understand anything. Now, after years of asking, he brings me his cup. At first, he’d ignore me. Then he’d leave and come back with nothing, or maybe with a toy. But we kept going.

Today, he gets it right almost every time. That’s because I believed in him and gave him time to learn. I didn’t insist on perfection. I let him reach understanding on his own terms and celebrated when he did. Big hugs. Big smiles. Big drinks.

How did he learn that? It took a lot of time and repetition. I had to ask him over and over again for years. At first, he’d ignore me. Then, over time, he’d leave and return with nothing. After that, he’d go and come back with toys or throw pillows. Each time, I stuck with it. We just kept going.

Today, he does it right nearly every time. That’s because I believed in him and gave him the time to learn. I didn’t insist on perfection each time out. I allowed him to reach understanding on his own time and embraced the effects when he did.

And that’s why I know “What are you chewing?” isn’t out of reach. Repeat, repeat, and repeat. We live together and have all the time in the world to figure this out. But I don’t think it’ll take that long.

One day, it’ll be second nature to him. I just need to believe he can do it. If he sees that I do, then he’ll believe it too.