As fearful as I was about sticking my neck out, I knew I must be on the right track.
Ward and I had attended another conference geared for parents of children who had Down syndrome. The revelation at this one was augmentative and alternative communication (AAC) systems. We didn’t know there were applications used on iPads that helped people communicate. We talked to the presenter afterward, and she recommended the Proloquo2Go application; it was easy, and children found it fun. She thought it would be a great bridge to talking in the same way signing had been. We purchased the software and an iPad, the mini version, for Thorin.
Thorin used Proloquo2Go on his iPad at home for communicating if he got stuck or if he was trying to explain how he felt. It also came in quite handy when I got a call from the school that Thorin had tried to bite a classmate. Given that he still didn’t have his front teeth, the extent of the damage was a little wet mark on the girl’s jeans. What the teacher told me was from the girl’s point of view, but I needed to hear Thorin’s side. Using the program, Thorin was able to tell me the girl was “mean,” “happy,” and “smiling,” which made him angry enough to try to bite her. It took me a minute to realize he had described teasing.
“Thorin did she say or do anything that bothered you?”
“Yesith!”
“Can you show me what?”
“No, can’t.”
“Thorin I want to help. Did she say something or do something?”
“Say.”
I tried moving forward, but he was stuck on how to tell me what she said. I pulled back as he got more upset. I was convinced there was a rationale for his behavior. I told him if someone bothered him, he should walk away and get help from an adult. Biting was not okay.
Ward and I realized that Thorin’s classmates might not know anything about him except for his behavior and his Down syndrome. He had stopped participating in show-and-share soon after the school year started because he was frustrated with not being understood. I asked Thorin if he wanted me to go in with him to do a presentation about himself for the class using Proloquo2Go. I got an enthusiastic, “Yesith!” I made arrangements with Ms. Charles who was thrilled.
Thorin and I rehearsed our presentation in front of Ward. Thorin decided which buttons he would share—name, birthday, sister’s name, dogs’ names, and friends’ names. He also wanted his class to know he liked flying in airplanes. After rehearsal, Ward clapped and gave Thorin feedback: “Great, Thorin! Have fun tomorrow!” As for me, he suggested Thorin and I not dress alike for the presentation.
The afternoon prior to the presentation, I had to fulfill my duties as a parent volunteer in the computer lab with Thorin’s class. I found this volunteering much more rewarding than the committee. Being around twenty-one kindergartners who do not have Down syndrome made me realize something I already believed but did not always know: Thorin is not that different.
Ms. Charles gave strict instructions as she left me alone with half the class: “Everyone, only do math games on the computer.” Other than a boy dressed in a sweater vest and tie, they all logged on other programs. I tried to sound cheerful and fun, “Did you hear Ms. Charles? Only math games, right?” For my efforts to stick the rules, students rolled their eyes and gave not-so-subtle side glances to each other.
One little girl asked sweetly for my help. I sat with her, feeling ever so helpful. But, I quickly realized she must have drawn the short straw to distract me while several of the others goofed off playing non-math games. I was betrayed.
I was also treated to the most unrepentant farting, ever. They were all farting with impunity. One kid’s atomic fart prompted me to ask, “Say, do you think you have to go to the bathroom or something?” But what I wanted to say was “Dude! Did you just shart your pants?”
Interacting with Thorin’s class also helped me figure out which girl Thorin tried to bite. In the course of ten minutes, a couple kids almost punched her, and three kids moved away from her. She absolutely did not deserve to get saliva on her pants leg, but I did want to warn her things would be much worse at the women’s correctional facility later in life.
I finished my computer lab duties and headed to Thorin’s classroom. As Thorin and I sat next to each other, waiting to be introduced for our presentation, I whispered in his ear.
“I’m nervous!”
“Me, too!” he whispered.
The Star of the Day, Ferrell, walked to the front of the class with us. Ferrell placed the iPad under a document camera that projected it to a screen. Thorin hit the first button. The computer-programmed boy voice said, “I use an iPad to talk.” The room erupted in squeals of excitement. Thorin ran through the repertoire pretty much as rehearsed. With each button he pressed, the feedback from the kids was immediate.
“I didn’t know you had a sister, Thorin!”
“What? He has a dog named Walt!”
“Your best friend’s name is Ella!”
In preparing, I hadn’t planned on what the reaction would
