I hated those checklists. The school would send them home when my giant non-verbal son was still my little non-verbal son. Every year, it would rip my heart out to check “no” to everything they asked.
The early questions were easy to answer. After all, we were focused on Lucas’s lack of speech and life skills challenges. Things like “Does your child say more than two words?” were simple to answer.
Of course, they’d hurt a little bit. Lucas was my favorite boy on Earth. Admitting the things he couldn’t do was like admitting my own personal failures as a father, even if logically that wasn’t the reason.
Still, I thought, this is important. I need to do this for my son. I can check “no” to these items that I know he can’t do.
Every year, though, I forgot how much worse that list got as I went through it. Had we stopped at questions about tying shoes and stringing together words, we’d be alright. For some reason, though, the inquiries stretched to activities that, even if he were ten years older, he wouldn’t be doing.
Does your child follow complex commands (two or three requests together)
Does your child wrap presents?
Keep in mind, I had already said that he doesn’t brush his own teeth. So, no – my six-year-old son who hasn’t spoken yet doesn’t respond to multi-layered directions, tape up wrapping paper, or drive us anywhere. Do I really have to check these boxes?
Yes. Yes, I did. The pages and pages of “no” responses were enough to send any young parent into a spiral. It was painful on many levels.
For starters, there were the jarring visuals that came with seeing a sea of no’s marked for my boy. Before starting the checklist, I was aware of Lucas’s “delays.” There were a handful, but I knew we could get through them.
Now, having spent 20 minutes checking the negative responses across a booklet of action items, I knew that there was much more to worry about. It showed me that my son’s “disabilities” weren’t limited to those in front of my face. There were milestones still to come that I would have to worry about every step of the way.
I’d begrudgingly fill out the questionnaire and send it back with a note, venting about how difficult this type of thing is for a parent to do. Every time, I received either a note or a phone call telling me that this list “doesn’t define a child” and how “Lucas is a sweet and loving boy.”
Yeah. I know. Thanks. Stop making me fill these things out.
Had you asked me then, I’d have gone on an extended rant about these forms. What was their point? To plaster my son’s issues across my mind? How could this be helpful for anyone?
That was then. This is now. If you’re a parent dealing with these torturous checklists today and asking the same question, you’re in luck. I can tell you what makes them helpful through this recent encounter with my 14-year-old, still non-verbal, son.
I was in the kitchen, washing dishes when Lucas came over with a hand to his mouth. One of his catch-all motions, the gesture to his lips can mean a lot. In this case, I knew he wanted a drink. I was in the kitchen, he had just finished eating, and, well, sometimes a dad just knows.
Half-distracted, I responded to him. In my busy and tired state, I didn’t enunciate or do pantomime with my hands. I just said it.
Drink? Buddy, you have to get your cup if you want a drink. I think it’s upstairs. Bring me a cup and you can have a drink.
And with that, he disappeared down the hallway.
Lucas is known for that. He will desperately want a snack or drink but can change his mind on a dime. Take more than a minute to deliver the goods and he’s off to find another adventure. As he trotted off, I shook my head and kept washing dishes.
When he came back into the room, I didn’t look up. I was almost done, but saw him sit down at the table with his iPad. I made a mental note to find him a cup when the final dish was washed.
That’s when I looked up and saw it. His cup, the one that was up in his room, was sitting on the kitchen island. He had gone upstairs, retrieved it, and put it on the counter.
For those keeping score, my son followed multi-step directions and came back down like it was nothing. I didn’t have to speak in exaggerated tones or show him pictures. I simply said it, he heard it, he understood it, and he did it.
This was the same checklist item that I couldn’t imagine him ever doing when he was little. Today, he can.
Had it not been for that checklist and those disappointing answers that came with it, I would have had no idea that actions like that are considered a milestone. I wouldn’t have had ten years to take in the gravity of this moment.
Rather, I’d probably take it for granted and obsess about his speech. I’d focus on how his inability to hit that one milestone defined his struggle, rather than realizing the abundance of other expectations he’s reached.
Was it fun filling out those forms in his early days? No. Did I appreciate the point behind them at the time? Again, no. Did they give me a checklist of things to give me hope as I saw him accomplishing various items through the years? Absolutely.
Will Lucas hit some of the more advanced items on that list? I’m not sure. Then again, I didn’t think he’d hit the ones he has since then.
So no, I didn’t appreciate those forms.
But now? I get it.
They weren’t reminders of what he couldn’t do.
They were a preview of everything he someday might.
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