Mrs. Holt continued, “I have a program I downloaded for Thorin and some other kids, Pictello. He can tell a story about himself in class. On the program, you can upload photos and write text with it. He loves photos!”
I talked to Mrs. Bruce who approved the presentation. We downloaded the program on Thorin’s iPad at home and started working on the presentation. Ward, Thorin, and I had a blast putting together a story about Thorin. First, we made a list of what Thorin wanted the class to know: he likes helping Daddy cook; he likes the Avengers; he likes the beach; he has two dogs, Coco and Walt; he has a Bubba, an uncle, and an aunt; and he likes taking photos. Thorin took the photos for the presentation, and Ward and I helped him create sentences using his own words.
As we were wrapping up, Thorin said, “Wait! One more!”
He ran into his room.
I yelled, “Do you need help?”
“No! Stay!”
After a few minutes, he came into the kitchen dressed in his Thor costume, including helmet and hammer. He grabbed the iPad.
“Here! Here!” he said pointing to the camera. He pushed the icon for video.
“Do you want me to video tape you?”
“Yesith!” He took his place in front of me.
“Okay, action!”
He smiled and said, “I am Thor.”
I stopped recording. “That’s what you want them to know?”
He nodded his head and then danced around the kitchen.
“Well, Thorin, I think that’s brilliant,” Ward commented.
When Thorin and I went to the front of the class on the day of the presentation, he stopped me.
“Can’t do it.”
“Will you sit with me up here? I can do it,” I told him.
“Okay.”
I looked out at the classroom and said, “Has anyone ever been afraid of talking in front of a group?”
Everyone’s hand went up, including Mrs. Bruce, who said, “I still get nervous teaching, Thorin. It’s scary.”
Thorin looked up at the class and said in a quiet voice as he pointed to the screen, “I did this.”
The presentation went off without a hitch. There was wild clapping at the end, then Mrs. Bruce asked for questions. The first one was from one of the boys.
“Why can’t we do fun stuff like that? I want to tell my story, too!”
“Thorin, why can’t you talk?” asked another student.
Thorin hooked his thumb at me.
“First, Thorin can talk, but sometimes it’s hard to understand him. He works really hard to be understood.”
Another boy stood up and said, “I know why. My dad told me.”
Thorin and I looked at each other. We both reflexively made a grimace.
“Is this okay, Thorin?” I asked.
Thorin smiled. “Yesith, okay.”
The boy continued, “You have an extra cell in your body.”
Thorin nodded his head; no more questions were asked. Thorin was thrilled at the response he received. He did the presentation later that week for family and friends.
Thorin’s high was short-lived. He was up every night after the presentation. One night in particular, he couldn’t go back to sleep. We sat in the den, watching Don Knotts in The Incredible Mr. Limpet, eating popcorn, and drinking juice. I called my mom the next morning and explained what was happening. She offered a sage observation: “He got a little taste of communicating. It’s probably even harder now.”
I surveyed everyone at school who had direct contact with Thorin about the communication device. It was not being used for its intended purpose—communicating with others—because it was too difficult to use and took too long to create a response. Instead, Thorin was inputting words from books in it. That sounded like busy work. Ward and I sent an email to Ms. Shay, the principal, his teacher, Mrs. Holt, and the Ed Techs.
We are respectfully asking that use of the communication device be suspended immediately. Thorin expressed, again, after school yesterday that he is sad and mad. If we can reduce stress for Thorin, that is most important. Ward and I told Thorin he can take a break from using it, so let’s have that start today. If that is an issue, please notify us ASAP.
Thank you,
Kari and Ward
The school staff listened to us. That night Thorin slept through until morning.
Thorin’s outside speech therapist had to change one of his appointment times to 2:30 P.M., which was twenty minutes before school ended. I made arrangements with his teacher and had notified the front office that I was picking up Thorin early that day. When I pulled in the parking lot, I saw the vice principal standing where the school buses parked, holding what looked like a cell phone from the 1990s, which I think must have been a walkie-talkie. As I walked toward the building, I saw a few Ed Techs coming from the sidewalk that ran along the street. I went into the office. The principal stood next to the both receptionists; no one said anything to me. Then, the office door flew open. Two more Ed Techs and the lunch lady filed in.
“Anything?” One of them said, then stopped short on seeing me. They all backed into each other with the last one squished against the closed door. One of the receptionists looked at me.
“What do you want?” she said in an aggravated tone.
“Um, I told you I was coming early for Thorin.”
“Can you go get him?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, bye!”
“Don’t I have to sign in and get a pass?” The week before, I was reprimanded for not signing in and taking a pass.
“I’ll sign you in!” offered the receptionist.
Then, the principal grabbed a pass and threw it at me. As I walked to find Thorin, I had the distinct feeling I had interrupted a posse. I got Thorin, and we went back to the office to return the pass and sign out.
Only the receptionists remained in the office. Thorin sat down and picked up a book while I signed out and handed in my pass. As I turned toward Thorin, I saw
