The Uncommon & Magnificent Mikey
Unspoken Powers of The Pond
“Quick, come look!”
Janet’s high-pitched plea startled him. He saw her wide eyes of excitement. She frantically waved her hand, beckoning him to join her. Was this a good emergency?
Why, yes. Yes, it was indeed.
They stared in awe at the vision before them. The pond never looked so beautiful as it did right here and now, in this magical moment.
It wasn’t actually the pond, that they believed held mystical powers, but what was in the scenery with the pond that stopped them.
Big Mike sucked in his breath at this ‘first.’ They both marveled at the unexpected behavior from their once resistant little boy. More than resistant, he had been all-out fearful.
He sat in the grass.
He sat in the grass!
No one else would think twice about this minor happening. It was such a common sight in the summer at the pond. Kids of all ages played with abandonment.
They ran, swam, and climbed the trees. They squealed and played tag. A game of Keep Away was a big hit, too.
They longed to see their son blend in with the neighborhood games.
He didn’t.
He was an exception.
He was not common.
Mikey despised grass for 5 years. He had gone to great lengths to avoid touching it, at all costs, for his entire life.
It was bigger than huge.
Only a select group of specially chosen parents would understand the magnitude of this development.
They first noticed little behavioral quirks when little Mikey wasn’t quite a year old. He was their first baby and remained an only child.
People thought them overly protective. Doting. They listened to Mike and Janet’s concerns or questions and smugly walked away knowing so much more than this young couple.
“He’s a baby. All babies are different. Stop second-guessing why he does or doesn’t do something. You’re too hyper-focused.”
Janet’s least favorite response was always, “Relax! He’ll be fine.”
They knew he was fine in a sense. Maybe he would be even more fine, later?
Right now, though, he was not fine.
He was an exception.
He was not common.
They watched.
Carefully.
When he was about 6 months it struck them that he never really cooed or even whimpered. He either smiled or reacted with blood-curdling screams.
There was no in-between emotion.
They would hover him over the soft grasses until it tickled his little toes. His response was a warrior’s agonized wail of pain. He drew his legs up tight to his chest to escape getting close to it. Every time.
They privately noted these oddities of sorts but had not spoken of it to many.
The pediatrician downplayed Janet’s queries. Most times, he just talked over her in response. He saw overly anxious Moms all day long.
Milestones came and went. What Mikey did achieve was never on the ‘expected normal schedule.’
Late crawler, delayed walker, never talker.
Mikey never said, “Mama” or “Dada.” He only pointed and never attempted to ask for a toy or snack. No gobble-gook or babbling echoed in the walls of their home.
Silence.
His eyes told stories. They soaked in everything around him.
Mikey constantly assessed his surroundings. That was what Big Mike and Karen told themselves, anyway, to justify his fixed gazes.
They could see him thinking.
Alarm bells were finally heard by others when he didn’t talk by the time he was 3 years old.
Behavioral, hearing, and medical testing all pointed to the now obvious. The doctors involved all concurred.
Autism Spectrum Disorder.
Mike and Janet learned that about 1/3 of ASD children were non-verbal. Some would eventually talk to different degrees. A small percentage would never speak.
They couldn’t know where Mikey would fall in those statistics. Until they knew.
They did their homework.
They cried. They researched and cried some more.
Determined to give their child every advantage, give him the world, and to help him navigate life, they came up with a plan.
They sold everything they didn’t need, packed up, and moved upstate during the spring that Mikey had turned 5. The plan was to infuse him with nature. They purchased 3 acres. The new house was situated closest to the pond but the neighboring properties all shared use of it.
They were drawn to that pond and pulled toward it by the slate and stone walkway that led to the edge.
The horse farm, less than ½ mile away was the initial appeal. Therapy with these gentle giants would be easily accessible. They learned of an Autism support group from the friends they made there. Each family fell on a different leg of their journey and shared where they were as far as any progress.
Mikey loved the stables.
Initially, he was cautious of the horses and hung back. The majestic animals whispered to him and whinnied soft reassurances until he dug his hands into their manes. He hugged the mare’s neck and smiled from ear to ear. He laid his head on her mane and stroked it until the lesson was over.
It was a good start that seeped into his eventual participation.
Spring rolled into summer. August 25th was the fateful day and they would never forget it.
Janet had returned home with Mikey from the farm.
He loved all animals but his number one favorite was the ducks.
Mother and son would walk to the pond to see if they were near and maybe hungry. He dropped his little baggy of bread crumbs. A chunk bounced off the walkway and rolled into the grass. He froze and stared.
“It’s okay, Mikey, Mommy will get it.”
He didn’t do well with change. Once the errant bread was back where it belonged, he settled, and they continued down the path.
Too many ducks to count today. Mikey was in his element. His unspoken words, that he felt at peace when at the pond, showed in his quiet and settled spirit. This was his world and he was comforted by the sights, smells, and sounds.
Once the ducks were satisfied, they paddled and played to the other side of the pond.
The heat was oppressive as they ambled back to find cool refuge in the house.
Mikey gazed up at the tall oak tree where all the birds sang to him in the morning. He stopped, stepped walk off the walkway, and bee-lined to the tree.
He sat under it, right in the grass, like he had done this every single day of his life.
He stared at the pond willing the ducks to return.
Mike and Janet seized this moment and went into overdrive. A breakthrough, no matter the magnitude, will do that. Out came the flashcards again. A card with C-A-T accompanied by a picture of a tabby was his favorite.
Behavioral and speech therapies were reintroduced with vigor. Maybe now he would mimic the words placed on his little table where he perched in his little chair. Fingers were crossed, prayers were continued, and hope re-ignited.
Mikey offered his million-dollar smile that lit up his eyes. But, no sound or even an attempt to verbalize was forthcoming.
He was an exception.
He was not common.
Mike and Janet lived their days in repetition.
And when they crested into exhaustion, some days filled with despair that Mikey would be stuck doing only what he knew to do, he would present a tiny surprise. Glimmers of hope for his future would appear randomly. Maybe it was a new food that he would try. Sometimes it would be the lack of a responsive scream that used to be immediate.
He was a magnificent boy.
A silent, deep thinking, beautiful boy.
Autumn turned the leaves into an elegant frame for the scenic pond. Fiery reds and golden oranges brought a new appeal as they blanketed the grass. They brought breadcrumbs to the pond just like they did every day. Mikey would sit under that big oak tree once the ducks had their fill and the bread supply depleted. He took handfuls of the fallen leaves and crunched them in his hands. All the while, he kept a close watch on the pond.
He was mesmerized by it, too.
Janet worried as the temperatures lowered. The chill in the air was refreshing but what of the pond? What of the ducks? What of Mikey?
The cold snap came fast and furious.
As did Janet’s anxiety of what Mikey would do with a frozen pond and no ducks.
He stood at the door in all of his almost 6-year-old innocence. Standing there, waiting, was Mikey’s signal that he needed a visit to the pond.
Layers upon layers, his hat, scarf, boots, and gloves covered any vulnerable skin to the temperatures. The struggle over wearing mittens was frustrating.
Janet resigned herself that it just wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t want gloves. “Keep your hands covered, either up in your sleeves or inside your pockets, OK?”
The cold smacked as they opened the door. Cheeks reddened. Clouds of their breath led the way down the path.
Mikey stopped at the edge and looked around in confusion. The ice-covered and thoroughly frozen pond didn’t move.
No ducks. No ducks. No ducks.
Janet prayed he wouldn’t panic.
She braced herself for the screams of discontent.
Mikey stared for a long time. His beloved pond was different.
He slipped his hands out from his pockets and bent down.
The little boy outstretched tentative fingers and touched the top of his magic pond.
Mickey looked at the crystals stuck to his palm and simply said,
“Cold.”
Clearly stated and like he had done this every single day of his life.
He was an exception.
He was not common.
He was 100% Mikey. He was fine, just the way he was meant to be.
Better than fine.
Mikey was magnificent.
