Evan is Thirteen

Evan crashed into our life - a scrawny, ribs showing, ravenously hungry six year old in 2012.  Evan was tough.  He was angry as hell.  Evan was completely independent (at 6) and had no use for the crazy lady who had shown up to take him away from everything he knew.  Evan was uncivilized.  Stop on the-busy city sidewalk and urinate wherever the urge hit you uncivilized.  Wave your fist at strangers uncivilized.  Stick your foot out to trip people in the Zhengzhou airport uncivilized. Jump screaming at a poor man sleeping in the airport to scare him uncivilized.

Meeting Evan was an experience that is seared in my mind forever.  Oh, I remember meeting Ben and Dominic, too.  Like it was yesterday.  But when I reminisce about their adoption days, I get the immediate rush of warm fuzzies.  I’d like to say it’s the same for Evan – but honestly, remembering that day and the days that followed gives me more the feeling of recalling a roll-over car crash that makes your heart race, and leaves you with the feeling of astonishment and gratitude that you survived.  

There are a lot of unknowns with adoption.  I will never know where Evan was from birth to age 3.  From 3 to 6 years old, he was warehoused with 200 other children in an old cinderblock building with peeling paint, open holes for windows and doors, and very little supervision.  I often use the reference of “Lord of the Flies” to describe his life there.  I have few photos of the place, but when I met Evan the physical scars and feral behavior told me more about his existence than a photo ever would. 

I. was. terrified.  What on earth had I done?  My life at home with Ben was idyllic.  I literally sat on the hotel floor in China and cried my eyes out.  My sister Anita had braved the trip with me, and she was a Godsend of emotional support.  Somehow, we made it through China. 

There are many delightful stories of adoption that start with, “In China, my son/daughter was wild, but when we finally got them home, they were a completely different kid.”  This was not one of those stories.  Evan was ever true to himself in China, and for the next two years, we walked through fire together. 

Evan had no language by age 6.  He was never taught to sign, and had no exposure to spoken language.  Child development experts will tell you that special window for optimal language development had closed.   

Today is Evan’s 13^th birthday. 

He is at least 5’6, and in the 150 lb range.  Lately, we’ve been trying to figure out: is he just a big kid, or is his age wrong, and his size affected by malnutrition?  I will never know. 

Today, Evan signs much better than I do.  We can have typical conversations: 

           

Evan: “Mom, make chocolate chip cookies for my birthday. Jose (his friend) loves your cookies.”

Me: Sure, I’ll make them.

Evan:  Ok, don’t buy them at a store – YOU make them.  Ok?

Me:  Yes, I promise. 

Evan reads – yes, below grade level – but he reads.  And he is improving all the time.  There are long lasting effects of language deprivation, and we have not escaped them, but we are working hard to minimize and overcome them. 

Evan loves cartoons, especially anime. He loves his X-Box.  He loves graphic novels.  Evan is extremely good at building anything.  If something I order comes un-assembled, I can hand it to Evan and walk away. 

Evan is afraid of the dark, and keeps a pile of makeshift toy ‘weapons’ in a pile next to his bed.  One can hardly imagine what went on in the pitch dark of the orphanage among hundreds of nearly unsupervised children, or adults with no accountability.  There are mornings I wake up, and every light in the house is turned on. 

Evan loves roller coasters.  The bigger and crazier the better.  Since the rest of his immediate family members are giant chickens, we brought Auntie Anita with us to our last amusement park visit. She’s brave enough to go on most rides, but Evan even went on the rides she refused to go on!

Evan loves school.  He loves and respects his teachers, his coaches and his friends.  He goes off to school willingly in the morning, and stays after school for basketball. 

Evan keeps his room very neatly, more so than Ben and Dominic.  He avoids most other chores, but will do something if I ask him. 

Evan still has off-putting behaviors, but with persistence at home and the wonderful team at his school, and the social correction that comes from his friends, we continue to polish this diamond in the rough. 

Evan has a beautiful heart.  His teacher recently wrote to me that he is often complimented in Robotics (an after school Lego building activity) because he is very conscientious about making sure everyone participates.  He loves to help the younger students. 

Evan is loved by his brothers, and he loves them, too.  Sure, they engage in the ordinary sibling bickering and aggravation, but if Evan sees Dominic crying about something, he will often try to give his younger brother a toy or treat to make him feel better.  Evan and Ben connect over video games, Pokémon cards, or occasionally chess. 

Today, on Evan’s birthday, I know my Grandmother is looking down on us.  Grammy loved all of my sons, but she had a giant soft spot for Evan.  When Evan first came home, he was repulsed by her.  He was unaccustomed to being around elderly people, and didn’t want to be anywhere near her.  Evan would mime to indicate that her drooping skin made him cringe.  My Grammy knew this, but she was not offended.  It would have been easy for her to reject him, to react to his behaviors, to focus on his rudeness.  Instead, she was determined to win him over, and often reminded me to give him grace.  In time, Grammy was victorious.  Evan would jump out of the car on Sundays to retrieve her walker, and open her car door.  He even surprised her occasionally with an unprompted, genuine hug. 

I stop at least once a day and marvel at the giant man-child that is my middle son.  Evan is ever amused that he towers over me, and I remind him that I am still the boss.  I have no doubt that Evan loves me fiercely, and the feeling is absolutely mutual.  Out of my three children, Evan has been the most challenging.  Even now, he can drive me to the brink and obliterate my last nerve.  But, he can also be very considerate and respectful. Evan has taught me more about my own strengths and weaknesses than anything else in my life. I have to remind myself that Evan, by age 6, had survived more than most people do in a lifetime.  Evan is incredibly bright, and the bravest person I know.

We are in a different place now, at 13.   I was not sure I would survive his younger years, but now I worry more about what his future will look like.  I think this is a normal concern for every parent, but Evan’s deafness and the lasting effects of the trauma he survived add another dimension.  I am so thankful that he is at a good school, with great deaf mentors who take time with Evan and have infinite patience and provide a warm, supportive environment.  Not everyone we encounter is as gracious.   I worry about future employment.  Statistics show that businesses are not racing to hire deaf employees. 

I could go on… 

Today, however, we will celebrate.  Evan is thirteen!  A teenager –God help me. J Today is Evan’s 7^th birthday as my beloved son.  We don’t do big, splashy birthday parties.  There will be cake, and some modest gifts.  We will celebrate at Evan’s favorite restaurant.  Most importantly, Evan will be surrounded by his family, who loves him to the moon and back.  The greatest gift of all.  

Chronic

            Chronic means persistent and endless…incurable; anything chronic is perceived as unfortunate. Chronic runs contrary to the neat, happy endings we all love so much.

            I often get asked, “How is Evan doing?”  People will comment on how far he’s come.  And he has come a million miles from where he was.  Truly.

            He came to me like a surly, feral 16 year-old, in a 6 year-old body.   He was determined to maintain control of everything, and he had little use for this Mama beyond a source of food.  Our first year was a 365 day, 24 hour struggle for control.  There were good times, but they were measured often in minutes, not whole days.

             Slowly, imperceptibly, things changed.  Our attachment grew.  Almost 4 years home, Evan is so much more secure, and he loves his family.  He has learned to hug, and wants to be close to me.  I still lie next to him at night so he can fall asleep.   Evan will sign to me that he loves me without any prompting. 

            He is doing well in school, and every year has brought great progress.  Evan, who had no language at all, is now signing in ASL, reading and writing.  He is excellent at math.  His social skills have advanced, noticeably.  But, we are nowhere near the end of this journey. 

            Today, I took Evan to the Laundromat with me, like I have every week since we moved to RI in June.  Evan enjoys the Laundromat because he plays with my phone, and I treat him to Subway.  Usually, Ben comes with us.  Today, though, Ben stayed with my Mother, and Evan came with me alone. 

            We went to Subway to pick up a sandwich before heading back to finish the clothes.  Evan and I climbed back in the car, and I started to pull away.  Fifty feet away from the Subway, Evan signed that his straw was broken.  There was a hole in it.  Uggh. 

            I turned the car around, pulled back into our parking spot, and signed to Evan, “Go get another straw.”  He looked back at me.  I repeated, “Go get another straw. Go.”  He hesitated.  I rolled my eyes.  Evan is not all that fond of any form of ‘labor,’ and I was not going to go retrieve that straw. “Go!”  I signed emphatically. 

            Evan opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk in front of us.  He took a few running steps towards the Subway doors. Then he stopped. 

            Evan turned to face me, his brow knit together with anxiety.

            “STAY.” He signed in a command. “STAY?” This time, a question.  He watched for my confirmation. I nodded, unable to quell the lump rising in my throat. 

            Chronic.  The knowledge that people will leave you.  Chronic.  Family can vanish.  Chronic.  Life can leave you on the streets alone. Suddenly.  Unexpectedly. 

            Oh, my dear sweet Evan, when I said yes, I said yes forever.  

           This journey will never be complete, but I am going to walk beside you each and every day through the good, the bad and the ugly.  I am not waiting for the day you will be ‘finished’ with your early experiences.  I know these will run like threads woven through the tapestry that is your life.  I hope the love you have now as my son will someday crowd out those colors and patterns from your earlier experiences. 

   Deep down, I know this is chronic…

   I know that you will only be sure…you will only truly know that your family will never leave,            when we never do.   

           

Equilibrium or Something

            I haven’t updated our blog in quite a while, and I had to stop and wonder, “Why?”  Is this hiatus merely due to the cyclonic pace of our life this past year?  Or, have we reached a state of normalcy with Evan, now home 3 years, and we are no-longer blog-worthy?

            Evan is now 9 years old.  Some days he seems older, certainly larger.  His appearance is deceiving - he has a wide, thick build, but next to children his age, his height is not unusual.   Our recent move means that he can now attend a school for the deaf, and he is doing quite well there. 

            Does this mean that I am Henry Higgins to Evan’s Eliza Doolittle?  Not by a long-shot, dear friends. 

Equilibrium.  A state in which all forces are equal.  This can be construed as peaceful state with no apparent changes.   However, in reality, it is a state of continued pressure from all sides, all competing forces cancelling each other out. 

            There are peaceful moments that give us pause to glance at each other and cautiously comment on the harmony of the moment.  Evan recently even started giving my mother an occasional spontaneous hug.  Mostly, I have learned to be the balance that keeps Evan’s sometimes tornadic (it’s not a word, but it should be!)  behavior in check:

            Evan embraced the fine art of instigation in his former life.  Surely, this was a very effective method of garnering attention, and he still resorts to this dark art with frequency.

             Evan has a huge personality, and he likes to ‘control the room.’  This doesn’t always work well within the dynamics of a small family. 

           

            Evan started out with a lot of anger.  These days, we see more smiles, but the fire still burns.

            Evan has more energy than the rest of the family combined. 

            This is all part of who Evan is, I do think he would be larger than life no matter what his history. 

            Some people join a family and fit neatly into the vacant space.  They fill a gap - maybe one you didn’t know you had until that person came along. They don’t change the landscape much – they complement the overall picture. 

            Others jump in, cannon-ball style, causing disarray and more than a few annoyances.  They change everything.  Waves ensue; some water is splashed out, permanently changing the surroundings.  There are complaints from some, laughter from others, and often moments of jaw-dropping shock. 

Evan is all canon-ball.

            But then…slowly….eventually…the water finds its new level.  Activities resume.  Even the irritation subsides (mostly).  The one who made the big splash also changes; he becomes part of the community.  You can’t jump in the pool, and not get wet.

            Sunday, I brought home two gold fish from the church bazaar.  Evan held his plastic bag and lovingly caressed the side of it with his cheek.  We poured both fish into a temporary jar until we could go out and get 2 proper bowls. 

            Evan cut a paper heart and taped it to the side of the jar.   Then, he took a copy paper print-out I had made with a photo of him and his brother Ben.  Evan neatly cut the small rectangle out, and taped this to the side of the jar also. 

At first, I thought he had made a mistake. 

The paper was backwards… I started to correct him, “Turn it around.”

            He didn’t notice.  Evan was busy.  His face resting on his hands, nose close to the glass, the Evanator was  lovingly staring at his new pets that were now swimming slowly past a giant mural of their two new boys.   

“To Poke, or not to Poke….and Pokemon”

            .        

            Summer ended, and we recently returned to school and the YMCA for before and after-care.  Evan clearly enjoys being back in his routine, but every once in a while, he just cannot help himself.

            Last week, I picked the boys up at the YMCA. It was “come clean” time: Evan has to show me his behavior report from school.  Most days, Evan gets a happy face.  Everything rides on this moment.  We usually end up at Applebees for kids’ night on Wednesday, and we go to McD’s on one other night.  But if Evan gets a sad or a straight face, we definitely go home. 

            (A few weeks ago, Evan lied to me and told me he got a happy face. He had been getting happy faces all week, so I didn’t stop to check, and it was McD’s night, so off we went.  Later, I discovered a sad face in his folder.   I told Evan he would have to bring home a happy face every day for a week to earn his ‘eating out’ privileges back for the following week. It just about killed him. )

            So, on this particular night, Evan approached me, shoulders slumped.  His face was pulled down in an exaggerated frown.  He gestured “sad face” and sighed, shaking his head, expelling a gust of disappointed breath. 

            “What happened?”  I signed, trying not to laugh because he looked so comical, but this was serious business. 

            Evan signed: "Stick – I picked it up – I poke –poke – poke - poked another student with it." (As he gestured, a look of glee momentarily crossed his face. “I know it’s wrong, Mommy, but I just – couldn't – help – it!! Arggghhhhhh!!!) 

            Suddenly a wave of sympathy came over me.  There was no place that Evan could actually just be himself anymore.  There are boys (and girls) who see a stick and desperately want to poke other people – just because it might be fun, just to see what would  happen.  There are others who see a stick, and leave it on the ground, ‘because you’re not supposed to do those things.’  Ben and I are leave-the-stick-on-the-ground kind of people.   Evan is definitely of the first ilk. 

            I should have been cross with Evan.  I should have put on my best scolding face and told him how wrong he was.  Truth be known, in that moment of insight about my youngest son, I was a little jealous.  The world is split into Poke-ers and Poke-ees, and Evan seemed to be on the better side of that equation.   I did finally muster a parental facade and told Evan, “You mustn't poke other children with sticks."

             Evan walked slowly to the car, bottom lip dragging, shoulders dramatically slumped.  He accepted his fate of eating at home.   It was the price of letting the Evanator out. 

            As we drove home, I spent time pondering the readings I did in college from Locke and Hobbes – two political philosophers who wrote about man in his ‘natural state.’  Without rules, (Hobbes) is man a wild thing, destined to bring on the destruction of self and society?  Or, (Locke) given the right information, will he make good decisions and act in the best interest of all? 

Will he poke, or put the stick down?

            The Evanator can abide by Mr. Locke on most days, but about once a week, he stands as proof of Mr. Hobbes philosophy.  Or, maybe – given the incentive of a meal out, is the Evanator living proof that Hobbes was right, and self-interest rules the day? I decided to leave that for further analysis on another day...

************

The Power of Pokemon

            I never did understand the whole Pokemon craze.  For those of you that are not parents, the Pokemon virus infects your kids from about age 8 to perhaps 13.  (And maybe beyond?)

             There are cards with characters with a variety of multi-syllabic fictitious monikers that resemble Asian sounding names.  Rest assured, your child (even the ones that struggle with reading simple sight words or pronouncing the /th/ sound) will know, and be able to read and pronounce, all of these names. You will think your child has learned a second language.   

            Each character comes on a card with points and powers listed.  Pokemon is Kiddie-Crack.  Schools have banned them altogether. Trading leads to wars where suddenly one child wants his ‘Avalugg’ back, or claims someone stole his ‘Tyrantrum’. 

            The YMCA only allows kids to bring them on Friday, yet children still sneak them in their pockets and hover on the side of gymnasium, making clandestine trades trying to avoid the eyes of the counselors. 

            When Ben first got bit by the bug, I was aggravated. 

            “Ben, you can tell me all about your dinosaurs, but I don’t want to hear about Pokemon.  Dinosaur knowledge is real.  I don’t have room in my brain for endless facts about make-believe entities that live on trading cards.”

            This seemed like a good policy. Then, Evan got bit by the Pokemon virus, and I finally understand what the big deal is.  

            Many times, I stood by and watched as Evan was left on the social periphery.  I have watched other ‘normal’ children at the playground back away from my son with his strange noises and inability to hear or respond in conversation.  My heart has broken for him too many times to count as I watched Ben easily make new friends, and Evan end up on his own.   Times like this, I become Evan’s playmate, and he pretends he doesn't care – but I know he does.

            Now, Evan has Pokemon.  This is a language – spoken or not – that other kids understand.  When Evan shows someone else his cards, they are interested and willing to look past Evan’s inability to express himself in spoken word.   He understands the point system and can actively trade cards.   Ben and Evan bond over Pokemon at home, too.  They compare cards and look them up in the Pokemon Essential Handbook.  Ben is able to be Evan’s teacher in this, and really feel like the ‘big brother.’ 

            The Pokemon phenomenon is all about fitting in and competing.  It’s a whole social system among kids where their own differences and shortcomings fade into the background, and there is a social hierarchy and economy built on the features of the characters on the cards.  From a marketing standpoint, it’s pure genius.  As a parent of a child who doesn't have an easy time communicating and fitting in, I find myself grateful for Pokemon these days. 

            In a related development, Evan announced to me on Friday that he is in love.

 Evan signed “Girl – at school – my girlfriend – LOVE” and he fluttered his eyelashes and held his hands in a heart shape over his chest.

“Wow,” I signed.  “At school or the Y?”

“School.”

“What color is her hair?” I signed.

“Yellow.” 

“Is she in your class? Where does she sit?”

Evan counted on his fingers...Five seats away from me.

Then, he signed “LOVE” again.    

Here we go, I thought.  Evan has always been very popular with the girls.  This was the first one that he had expressed an interest in.  I wondered why…

As if reading my mind, Evan signed:

 She gave me a Pokemon card.  One-hundred-thirty points!

It seems like she played her cards right. J  

           

           

           

Sea Cucumbers

            Sea cucumbers are soft, slow moving, innocuous looking  creatures that slightly resemble the salad staple they are named after.  They lack the shark’s sharp teeth, the barracuda’s awesome speed, or the sea turtle’s built-in armor.  Nature didn't take everything away from the lowly sea cucumber, however. When threatened, they have the unique off-putting talent of being able to self mutilate and regurgitate their own internal organs at a predator. 

            Every living thing has a way to defend itself.  In the absence of anything glamorously ferocious, that self defense mechanism will be anything that pushes possible danger away.   Evan crosses a crowded restaurant sometimes sticking his tongue out and making faces at people, much to the shock of other patrons.  People try to communicate with him, and Evan will look at them and sign, “Bad,” with the extra drama of drawing a flat hand across his throat as if to say, “Death to you!”

              In China, and as we made our way across the world, Evan horrified strangers (and me!) on two continents by jumping at them, swinging his fist in the air toward them.  One proper English gentleman harrumphed, “Well, isn't he charming?”  At the time, I didn't think so.  I smiled weakly, and apologized. 

           

            These behaviors continue to be off-putting. Adults and other children who try to make first contact with Evan are rarely greeted with what would conventionally be seen as a polite interaction.   Evan might give a scowl and turn his nose up and away as if to say, “Puh-lease! You haven’t earned the right to confer with the Emperor!”  Or, he launches into his ‘you are bad and die,’ routine. 

            In our early days together, I would want the ground to swallow me up whole.  I saw these behaviors on surface-level as RUDE, RUDE, and RUDE.  I agonized about how to get him to stop.  I would sign to Evan, “Be nice.”  Evan was not the least bit moved. Most small children learn early on to develop pleasing behaviors to attract friends and earn the approval and affection of adults.   I marveled that Evan did not seem to care if people liked him. Not one iota. 

            Then, the light bulb went on.

            Evan did not want people to like him.  Not at first.  Especially not at first.  You see, it is better when you are a sea cucumber, or a 6 year old orphan who can’t communicate with others, to vehemently push others away.  When you don’t know if the people around you are friend or foe, it is best to tip the balance of power in your favor by shocking them a bit and making them wary of you.  Evan is very skilled at this. 

            I once read that people only do things that they perceive provide a ‘payoff’ for them.  I would like to report that after almost two years within the safety of our family and under my careful guidance as a parent; Evan now enters a room, smiles and offers an outstretched hand for a handshake.  However, truthfully, Evan’s behavior in this area hasn't changed all that much.  I have thus far failed to convince Evan that being courteous has its own returns.

             What has changed is my perception of his behavior.  Instead of being appalled and embarrassed, I watch him with some amusement and a heap of admiration. Evan exhibits more confidence and self satisfaction than most adults I know. Evan does not invest a lot of time and effort wanting to please everybody all the time.  He gives himself the upper-hand by being unpredictable.  Then, if he decides he likes you, Evan may grant you the privilege of getting to know the sweet, loving boy he can be.  It’s brilliant, actually. 

            A few nights ago, we walked into Applebees and a gentleman was dining alone at the table in front of the TV that Evan prefers.  Evan ran past the hostess, vigorously tapped the man on the arm, and with a scowl and a fully outstretched arm signed, “GO!”        

            I hurried behind Evan, grabbed his hand, and apologized, explaining, “We usually sit there, but we can sit at the next table.”

             To my surprise, the man offered, “I can move. I just sat down; it’s no big deal.”

             I declined his generous offer since I didn't want Evan thinking he had the power to make adults bow to his wishes and move.

             Then, yesterday at the mall, Evan wanted to sit on one of those coin operated cars that move back and forth in the kiddie section.  An older child was sitting on the vehicle already.  Evan marched up to him; chest and bottom lip stuck out, and made his demanding gesture, “MOVE!”   Before I could intervene, the other child – though older and larger – meekly stood up and vacated his spot. 

            It may seem counter-intuitive in a world where there is a high regard for ‘please and thank you,’ but the more I understand Evan, the less I struggle to change him.  Sure, I do try to teach him manners, and hopefully as he gets older he will develop an appreciation for them as socially beneficial.  In the meantime, Evan has a system that works for him.

            Once again, Evan is my teacher.  I watch him and wonder, “What if we all gave up our compulsive need to people-please?”  Oh, I know that we can’t all run around being rude, but I’m sure everyone can think of times we politely allowed someone to invade our space and later wished we hadn't.  Sometimes, in an effort to become uber- civilized, we quell the very instincts that have allowed our species to survive as long as it has.  As most of you know, Ben is the polar opposite - unfailingly sweet and polite.  Ben is entering (gasp) middle school next year.  I actually worry more about him than I do about Evan.  Ben could use a dose of Sea - Cucumber – Chutzpah. 

            For those of you who worry that Evan will have a warped sense of his own power if this all continues, nature has a way of evening things out.  Yesterday, when we arrived home from the mall, Evan had his comeuppance.  Evan had to use the restroom and couldn't (or wouldn't) wait for me to unlock the door. He stood on the stoop and proceeded to urinate off to the side into the grass.  As luck would have it, his relief was a bumblebee’s agitation.  Every living thing has a way to defend itself.  Evan got stung.  On the lip.  It could have been worse. 

 Much worse.   J

           

           

           

Hearts and Caterpillars

            Last week, at the park, a boy of about 8 ran up to us, “Hey, remember me?” he asked breathlessly. 

            “Yes, I do,” I replied.  He had played with Ben and Evan the last time we were there. 

            “I had a dream about him,” he said, pointing at Evan. 

            “Really?” I asked, surprised at this revelation.

            “Yeah, I dreamed that he was all better, that his ears were fixed and he could hear, and his mouth was fixed and he could talk.”  The boy's brown eyes radiated compassion as he explained his dream.

             I smiled at him and thanked him for sharing that with me.  I didn't bother to explain that Evan was more than perfect as he is, or to illuminate the impossibility of that happening.  The three boys ran off together to play, and I stood watching, impressed by the heart of a stranger- a child - who was touched enough by Evan to find himself resolving my son’s  challenges in his nocturnal world. 

            I always supervise park time actively.  Evan is not mean spirited, but he is likely to be misunderstood.  He has a very active imagination, and the sounds he makes when he is playing can be confusing to other children.  I stand close by to assure children when he grunts and growls, “He is pretending to be an animal, don’t worry about him.”  

            On this day, Evan climbed onto one of the playground animals – a yellow duck - affixed to one of those mammoth springs.  Evan held onto the two bars which protruded from the duck’s head and rocked vigorously, propelling himself forward and back, hollering and whooping in what I’m sure, in Evan’s imagination, sounded perhaps like a cowboy riding a wild bull.  Only, it didn't.  It sounded like high pitched, ear-drum shattering shrieks.  Evan was attracting a lot of attention, which he either was oblivious to, or perceived it as admiration for his over-the-top duck riding skills.

            “Hey, you scream like a girl,” the voice rang out over the playground. 

Then, louder, because he assumed his comment was unheard and he wanted to be sure to correct that: “HEY, YOU SCREAM LIKE A GIRL.”

            I turned and looked in his direction.  A bloated, grey haired, old man sat on the cement ledge where many parents sit while their children play, yelling insults at my son. I wanted to yell back at him: tell him he looked like a sack of human waste, a pile of failure, had the jowls of a walrus….that he was obviously near the end of his useless existence and didn't he have better things to do with his last days than to sit at a park taking verbal shots at my child’s self esteem????

Instead, I just calmly said to him, “He can’t hear a word you’re saying.” 

            The man put his head down, sheepishly, and just said, “Oh.” 

            I turned away from him and continued to watch Evan’s exuberance on his duck ride.  I thought, “Would it have made it somehow less reprehensible if my child could hear the insult??  What the hell is wrong with people?”  Sometimes, it is good to be deaf.

*****

            This week I attended the beginning of the year meeting to discuss Evan’s academic progress and set goals for him.  This meeting was attended by Evan’s homeroom teacher, Deaf/Hoh teacher, his speech/language specialist and his ASL interpreter, and the Principal.  Evan is now in the first grade.  We marveled at how far Evan had come in a year.  We reminisced about our beginning meeting a year ago, when Evan knew almost no signs, no letters, and had very poor social skills.

            “When Evan develops more language, he should be tested for gifted,” one of his teachers asserted.  We all agreed.  The growth we had seen in a year was unprecedented.

            “He is like a sponge.”

            “Show him something once, and he has it.”

            “A year ago, he didn’t have the language to answer a yes/no question.  Now, he ‘talks’ too much.  He wants to tell you a whole story to answer every question.” 

           

            “One of his goals will be to count to 120,” his Deaf/Hoh teacher explained.  “He couldn't do that on our test.” 

            “Do you think this is just because he doesn't have the signs for the higher numbers yet?”  I asked.  Evan added and subtracted with accuracy faster than most of his peers in class.  Math was a strong subject for him.

            “Oh, absolutely,” she answered.

            “Can he write them?” I asked. 

            “Yes, let me tell you,” she said, “I gave him a blank hundreds chart.  He started to work diagonally down the page, and then he filled in some rows across, then up and down.  It was all correct. He is amazing.”  She was in awe. 

            “Also, we have to give all first graders the DIBELs test for reading scores. Naturally, he scores in the red.”  (DIBELs tests for phoneme awareness.  What is the first sound in ‘bat?’  The child has to answer: /b/.  Evan reads by sight, not sound.)

            “This is very frustrating to Evan,” she explained.

             I’ll bet, I thought. 

             His teachers and I know this is absurd, but this is one of the ludicrous features of the test/data-driven culture that has permeated education today.  They are required to give Evan this particular test.  In fact, not only is this supposed to be a measure of Evan’s academic ability, but it is supposed to be a measure of his teachers’ effectiveness for their professional evaluations.  We all agreed that petitions would be made to change this, and a new, appropriate test would have to be put in place.  In the meantime, I requested that they not test him with DIBELs anymore, even if they just had to manually input a ‘fail’ to spare him the experience.

           

***********

            We have come a long way in every area.  Evan is still a very mischievous little boy.  I awoke in the middle of the night recently with Evan, lollipop hanging from his lip like a cigarette, trying to gently ease the blanket he preferred off of me, while he simultaneously replaced it with a less desirable cover.  The living room light was already on, TV on (no sound), and his Halloween bucket was waiting on the tray table.   Evan was preparing to have a candy-munching-midnight- movie-watching good time. 

            One huge area of improvement is Evan’s emotional growth.  On October 20^th, Evan drew a picture and wrote on it, unassisted, “I love (heart) you Mom.” I cried. 

             In true Evanator fashion, he followed that up with another drawing in which I hung, dripping blood, from a dinosaur’s mouth.  He still wrote, “I love you Mom,” but he pointed to my unfortunate predicament on paper and laughed. 

            One day, he came home from school quite upset.  He signed to me that he was angry. 

            “Why?” I asked.

            Evan proceeded to sign to me that a girl had stepped on a caterpillar.  He was really upset.  One of Evan’s favorite books is, “The Very Hungry Caterpillar.” 

            Evan went to the kitchen and got a plastic container with a lid.  He explained to me that he wanted to put a caterpillar in it and keep it safe so it would turn into a butterfly.  He took some paper towel and traced the bottom of the container.  He cut this out and laid it in the bottom of the container.  Then he cut a small rectangle out of the paper towel, and signed to me that this would be the caterpillar’s blanket.  He balled up a small wad of paper towel, and signed, “Pillow.”  Then, he signed, “Eat??” 

            Evan didn't wait for an answer.  He went to the refrigerator and retrieved a boiled peanut.  He put that in the container.  Then he asked if he could bring his caterpillar haven to school so he could rescue one from the playground? 

            “Of course,” I signed back to him.  The next day, I walked Evan to class and told his interpreter that Evan had explained the entire caterpillar massacre the day before and had set up this safe-shelter.  Would she help him find a caterpillar? 

Without hesitation, because she is awesome and this was all too stinking cute, she agreed. 

            At the end of the day, I was excited to see if Evan had acquired his new pet.   He returned to my class room, container in hand.  The boiled peanut was replaced by a leaf, and he was smiling. 

            ‘Success?’ I wondered.

             I didn’t see a caterpillar.   Evan held up the container for me to see.  Inside, instead of a “Very Hungry Caterpillar,” was a “Very Angry Ant.” 

            I laughed and signed to Evan. “No caterpillar?”

            Evan signed back. “No, caterpillars turn into butterflies and go away.  Bad.”

He pointed at the ant with a big smile and gave a ‘thumbs up.’

            I have said before, and I will say it again: Children are the teachers, and we are the students.  If you are lucky enough to spend time with children, listen and watch carefully.   Sometimes you think you want a caterpillar, but what you really need is an ant.  Life gives us a lot of ants.  All we need is a simple shift in mindset.  Go ahead, give those ants a big ‘thumbs up!’  

           

           

 The Evanator, sometimes more sweet than sour.....

            

EVAN! the Glowworm

                      Evan signs his name with an exclamation mark.  Like this:  Evan!  

This is how he signed the school’s Code of Conduct contract.  He signs his name on the top of worksheets like this, too.  This demonstrates two things:  An understanding of the intrinsic function of that piece of punctuation; and a sense of self-esteem and self-awareness that is far more developed than most adults I know. 

            Who on earth would deem themselves worthy of a name end-capped by an exclamation mark?  This is on par with those stars who are so big - so famous - that they decide to go by one name: Madonna, Beyonce, Prince…     Is the world ready for Evan! ? 

            This summer we hit a milestone.  As of July 3^rd, Evan has been my son for 1 year.  We have all experienced epic changes in this past year.  Evan has grown and changed in ways I could have only hoped for in those first weeks (when he was still hitting me and spitting at me!)   Sometimes I wonder, how did we all make it?

            Evan has started his second year of school, first grade.  Coming back after the summer was difficult.  We’ve been back to school for three weeks, and Evan still signs to me every morning, “Enough school.  I’m done with it.”  Oh, little does he know! 

             Once he gets to school, he is happy to be there.  He has the same Deaf/HOH teacher, but a different interpreter and home-room teacher.  This was a surprise to him.  I’m sure that whatever version of “school” happened at the orphanage involved the same staff, day in and day out.  (A big shout out to Evan’s interpreter last year, Debbie, who is more like an Auntie to our family, now.  Debbie did phenomenal work with Evan last year and we love her!!) 

            Miss Sandy (interpreter) and Mrs. Davis (home-room) are already enamored with the Evanator, and in awe of his powers.  Mrs. Rogers, Evan’s Deaf/HOH teacher, believes Evan could be President some day.  I am sure that would usher in the end of democracy.

             Evan finishes his Math work faster than everyone else in the room.  He is facing a new academic challenge this year, though: SPELLING.  Evan does not have the use of phonics, so every word must be memorized.  Success, till now, has meant that Evan could look at the word and sign it. He is quite good at this and he is reading a lot of sight words.  However, this skill involves just remembering what that word looks like as a whole.  Now, we are asking him to individually remember the letters, in order.  

            Evan became quite frustrated when I tried to get him to practice the three (out of seven) words he did not know.  He had a major melt-down which went from anger to sobbing.  Thursday, I wrote all 7 words and had him write them in columns three times.  Then I gave him a practice test.  He missed: down, find, and come.    I attempted to have him do more work with those words and he went into a lengthy, volatile tantrum.   I waited for the storm to pass....and waited....and waited.......    


            Then, Evan, sobbing, took a piece of paper and looked at me.  His eyes were so sad it broke my heart.  He started to write some Mandarin characters.  Then, he got frustrated because (I think)  he couldn't remember those clearly, either.   He started to mime and sign about being back in China.  I think he was trying to tell me that the teacher there would write the character and he would just copy across.  He was sobbing now, and not angry, and I held him for a long time.  Evan is so resilient that sometimes even I forget how much change this little guy has endured in one short year.   When we got home, he requested that I take out his Mandarin workbooks and photo album from the orphanage.  He seemed to feel better after he looked through those. 

            After conferring with his teachers, it was decided that Evan should only test on the four words that he had down in order to feel successful with his first spelling test.  He scored a 100!  Now, the work begins for next week.  (I will work on more “fun” ways to practice the spelling.  I have to admit that I didn’t really do a great job with this last week, and as a former Kindergarten teacher, I should do better! )  Sometimes, being a teacher’s kid is like the shoemaker’s children who have holes in their soles. 

            At home, Evan continues to think bedtime is negotiable.  He tried very hard earlier this week to persuade me to allow him to just watch TV until he falls asleep.  I found him on the couch asleep one night when he must have waited for me to fall asleep and then went to the living room. 

            It is not just TV he wants to watch, though.  Evan has been on a crusade for the past month trying to watch “Mommy movies.”  I have a very small selection of movies intended for adults – Rated R, to clarify!    Evan discovered from examining their DVD cases that there are probably scenes not fit for children …scenes where he could see GIRL PARTS.   In the past month, I have found Evan hiding in his room on more than one occasion with his portable DVD player and a Mommy-movie.  After taking his DVD player away a few times, I decided to just take all of my movies and put them into my bedroom.  Both boys know my room is OFF-LIMITS. 

            Well, in Evan’s mind, “No” means “No” just until he can find a way around it.  Two nights ago I woke up at about 1:30 am.  You may remember from previous posts that I sleep between Ben and Evan to save Ben from being antagonized and sleep deprived.   I looked around, and Evan was not there.  However, I noticed right away, that there were toys in the bed.  In my sleep-fog, my first thought was, “Evan must have been playing in bed.”   Then, my brain began to clear….. and the scene in front of me came into focus….

           

            This was not some random selection of toys for my nocturnal son’s entertainment. What I was gazing upon was pure, diabolical, genius.

             Evan had set up an EVAN DECOY in the bed next to me.  He had two Mr. Potato head bodies on the pillow where his head should have been.  This was followed by the Lite Bright box for his torso. The long Sea Scope (like an underwater telescope) took the place of his legs.  A small, toy boat was place horizontally at the base of the scope for his feet. 

            I was stunned.  I had to stifle my laughter so as not to wake Ben.  I walked down the hallway looking for the conspirator.   I was surprised to see the living room was empty.  I went back down the hallway and realized the light was on in my room.  Now, the downfall of being deaf is that Evan cannot hear me coming.  I peered around the corner.  Evan did not notice me right away.  He was too busy rummaging through my movies, looking for something salacious.    Within moments, Evan looked up.  He was like the cat that swallowed the canary….BUSTED.  This resulted in a lengthy time out at about 2 in the morning.  I am also putting a lock on my bedroom door this weekend. 

            These glimpses into my son’s mind both amaze and terrify me.  I have a feeling Evan’s IQ is off the charts.  He is (thankfully!)  not mean or destructive.  Mischievous is the perfect word for him.  Ingrained into his behavior from the days in the orphanage is the idea that adults can be circumnavigated.  I worry that as he gets older, this will lead to bigger problems.  I pray that I can teach him to make good decisions, and that somehow the angels will protect him from himself.   

            I remember reading that Winston Churchill was a legendary mischief-maker and mediocre in school.  K. Smith, a Yahoo! contributor, wrote:

Winston was a man who waited for no one. He made his own rules and made the impossible possible. He gave everything he had into what he believed was right and would not stop until he accomplished what he was aiming for. Through his whole life Winston was always testing the limits and pushing the line. He refused to lose and saw winning as the only option. He once stated, "We are all worms, but I do believe I am a glowworm."

            Maybe I’m biased, but I think Evan is also a “glowworm.”  On one hand, it thrills me to think Evan has the potential to be in the same league with legendary movers and thinkers.   I have felt from the beginning that God must have a special plan for this boy.   At the same time, it makes me want to reach across the barriers of time and give Mrs. Mama Churchill a giant hug.   And a margarita. 

The difference a year makes....  When Evan first arrived from China...showing me how strong he is!

 This summer...I guarantee you cannot see his ribs anymore!