In the early days of my son Ethan’s life, a pediatrician suggested he might have cerebral palsy. I was standing in the NICU, a month into his existence, when this revelation hit me. My focus was solely on getting through each day, and the idea of his future was overwhelming. My initial question was straightforward: “Will he walk?” The doctor replied, “You should be more concerned about whether he will talk.”
At that moment, I had no understanding that cerebral palsy could impact speech, vision, and cognitive abilities. It’s a daunting realization, especially when you’re enveloped in the sterile ambiance of the intensive care unit. Now, at six years old, Ethan has become a familiar presence in the world of special needs, and I have learned so much about him. He navigates life in a wheelchair and communicates mostly without words.
What I’ve come to understand is that a lack of spoken language does not equate to a lack of comprehension. There are countless ways to express oneself, be it through sign language, assistive devices, facial expressions, or, as is Ethan’s favorite, animated gestures. Above all, I’ve experienced the profound joy of watching him learn to read.
To clarify, the true joy came when I discovered that Ethan already possessed the ability to read. This revelation unfolded during a visit to a teacher supply store, where I sought tools to help reveal Ethan’s hidden talents. I noticed how he eagerly flipped through the pages of the children’s books that filled our shelves, indicating he might be absorbing some words.
But how could I be certain? How could I know if it was merely the texture of the pages or the allure of the illustrations that captivated him? To eliminate any ambiguity, I acquired a set of black-and-white flashcards devoid of images. I wanted a pure test.
We began with three cards: “dog,” “red,” and “car.” I asked him, “Ethan, where’s the car?” His hand shot out, and he picked the correct card as if he had just won the lottery.
Could it have been beginner’s luck? We continued our exercise, and after going through all one hundred cards, I allowed myself to believe it: he could genuinely read. Tears streamed down my face as I celebrated this new discovery, one that he had achieved independently. Unlike the challenges of physical or feeding therapy, this was a journey he chose to embark on alone—the path to literacy.
Reading is a significant milestone for any parent. The joy of seeing a child unlock the worlds within books mirrors our own experiences. It mattered not that Ethan could not vocalize the words; he was reading for himself, enriching both his world and mine.
We explored classic tales like “Curious George,” “Goodnight Moon,” and “Where the Wild Things Are.” As a product of a librarian, I was determined to fill his life with the joy of literature. Recently, our shared love for reading has become a cherished bonding activity. We read in the park, enjoy book apps on his iPad, and frequently visit the library. Often, I find myself pretending to read, my eyes instead drawn to Ethan as he scans the pages, his engagement far more compelling than my own reading material.
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In summation, the joy of observing my son Ethan learn to read has been transformative—not only for him but for our entire family. His journey has illuminated the many forms of understanding and expression that exist beyond spoken language.