taleS froM the trencheS: Hey Daddy

Monday, April 26, 2010

Hey Daddy

“Hey Daddy! Hey Daddy! Hey Daddy!” The sing-song chorus was coming from the car seat behind me.
“What?” my husband, Charlie asked.
“Barney,” Garrett answered.
“Yes, Garrett.” Charlie sighed. “You can watch Barney when we get home.” Barney the Purple Dinosaur may be loved by children, but he causes quite a different emotion in parents.
“Hey Daddy!” We were so excited when our son spoke his first words. “Hey Daddy!” It did not take long for that excitement to wear off.
“What Garrett?” Charlie asked, again.
“Barney.” Our son had just started talking recently, so my husband was still very patient with this new game.
“Yes, Garrett. When we get home...” Charlie calmly replied. Charlie's temperament is a result of years spent worrying that Garrett's language would never develop. Charlie made countless trips through the stack of sign language flash cards, not to mention, actual trips to Children's Hospital Speech Clinic.
“Hey Daddy!” Garrett was almost two when he started speech therapy.
“Hey Daddy!” His third birthday came and went without so much as a sound.
“Hey Daddy!” Garrett's fourth birthday also passed without achieving this milestone.
“Garrett,” Charlie answered, yet again.
“Barney.” In this one quick trip to the grocery store, the miracle of speech is beginning to fade.
“I have already told you. Please, do not ask again.” Charlie has the patience of a saint.
“Hey Daddy!” As parents, the most challenging obstacle of our family's journey was learning that our firstborn had mental delays.
“Daddy!” We had dreamed of a collage scholarship, a law degree and even a term in the Oval Office.
“Hey Daddy!” My baby is not “smart”.
“Hey Daddy, hey Daddy, hey Daddy!” I am ashamed to admit how much that bothers me.
“Hey! Dad! Dee!”
“Garrett, enough!” Finally, Ward Cleaver's patience had run out. “When we get home, you can watch television. But, if you say 'Hey Daddy!' again, there will be no Barney today. Not at all!”
Ah! The peaceful sound of silence...anyway, as I was saying, my son is mentally dis-
“Hey Mommy!”

2 comments:

AnonymousJune 6, 2010 at 2:28 PM
Tina this is soo good! No-one waiting for there child to talk will understand the non-stop questions and repition of the same question til they get there! Love to all Hazel
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Missy LongmanJune 6, 2010 at 9:59 PM
I'm so glad I caught this link on Facebook - you are a wonderful storyteller - keep em coming:))
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Operation Order:

Although every parent dreads the day a sheriff’s deputy stands at the front door with her child; only we unique moms get to experience this event with our first grader, dressed in his favorite Dora pajamas, who tripped the home alarm system in the middle of the night. Yes, I said “his” favorite Dora pajamas. My blog, “taleS froM the trencheS”, tells the paradox of our “normal” family that just happens to be a little different.

When our first child, Garrett, was diagnosed with Smith-Magenis Syndrome (SMS) at 18 months, my husband and I were terrified to live in a world we had never even visited. Autistic-like issues, a disturbed sleep cycle and the self injurious behaviors that accompany this genetic condition can make life more difficult. But fifteen years and two brothers later, Garrett keeps us laughing despite the challenges.

Stories about our adventures are entertaining, but the bag of tricks we have acquired as Garrett’s parents are beneficial to any family living with sensory integration issues. The bus ticket he hands the driver each morning helps him make that difficult transition from home to school. (The bus ticket looks a lot like the roll of raffle tickets you can buy at Wal-mart for ten bucks.) We have a shopping bag with check lists and coupons to keep him occupied at the grocery. He has a bag at church with the directory of everyone’s picture and nativity finger puppets to act out the sermon. Sometimes we have more “bags” than “tricks” and are not able to stay this one step ahead of Garrett.

Another difficult step in the SMS Dance is trying to balance our younger typical children and their activities. My husband, Charlie, and I have to take turns staying home with Garrett or attending Little League games. It isn’t fair, but neither is life. I already know that my poor decisions today will employ a shrink twenty years from now, but I hope my awesome oatmeal cookies will keep a tether to my sons.

Although this is not the life we had planned, we are still going strong despite the extra stress of medical bills, sleep deprivation and a decade and a half of Barney videos. Did you catch that? Fifteen years. Of the purple dinosaur. We do not see an end in sight.

Laughter helps. But the cure is in the coffee.

taleS froM the trencheS