He cannot talk.
Three simple words on my little Preslley's profile.
It sounds so final.
The end.
A non-verbal child.
Mute.
And maybe he is.
Maybe they are right.
But even non-verbal children have a whole lot to say.
Aaron came to us virtually non-verbal.
Yet, I've never seen a child who was able to convince you to give him whatever he wanted without uttering a word.
His eyes spoke paragraphs.
He used his non-verbal mouth to point with his lips at whatever it was he wanted.
He'd focus his eyes on the desired item.
He'd look at us with those pleading eyes and adorable dimples.
Non-verbal my foot.
He could get a piece of candy without saying one word.
He could get anything without saying a word.
Mary came to us virtually non-verbal.
The words she did speak would have made a sailor blush.
Yet she had us so twisted around her little finger without uttering a word that we never knew what hit us.
Non-verbal children can speak volumes.
Non-verbal children notice things. They watch. They see what the rest of us miss. They are patient. They know how to wait.
They get what they want.
I don't know how.
But I know I have been manipulated more times than I can count by the two most proficient non-verbal children in the world.
My two non-verbals talk up a storm now.
They were non-verbal because of physical reasons.
There were non-verbal because of developmental reasons.
They were non-verbal because of trauma.
They were non-verbal because no one took the time to talk to them. Ever.
They were non-verbal because no one took the time to listen to them.
They were non-verbal because they were diagnosed non-verbal.
They were non-verbal because it was the one thing they could control.
We never treated them as non-verbal.
We talked to them from day one as if they would one day talk back.
We cherished the simple words they began to speak.
We gave them time to speak.
We expected them to speak.
We required them to speak.
Simple words.
Good morning.
Hello.
Goodbye.
Baby words.
For one year.
Two years.
Three years.
Neither spoke in more than one to two word sentences for three years.
We of course wondered if they ever would.
We of course worried that they never would.
We of coursed longed for language to blossom out of their lips.
It's still a work in progress.
Little girl has been home four years.
She never shuts up.
She is now speaking in short sentences. Some of the time.
She struggles to pronounce words so that we can understand.
But she talks. And talks. And talks.
At night after we tuck her in bed she lays there and talks and talks and talks.
"Go to sleep, Mary!!"
Non-verbal my foot.
Aaron is eleven years home.
He never shuts up.
He still struggles to pronounce two and three syllable words.
Remembering nouns is difficult.
His sentence structure is rough.
But he talks. And talks. And talks.
He loves to chat away with anyone who will listen.
He loves when you listen.
He talks because he now has someone to listen.
He has so much going on inside his head.
His words don't come close to portraying the intelligence he carries inside of him.
He's a smart young man.
With oh so much to say!
"Preslley cannot talk," say the powers that be.
I doubt it.
I really do.
He possibly is non-verbal because epilepsy has damaged his language centers.
He possibly is non-verbal because trauma has stolen his words.
He possibly is non-verbal because no one has ever talked to him.
He possibly is non-verbal because no one has ever listened to him.
He possibly is non-verbal because he has been diagnosed non-verbal.
He may truly be non-verbal.
But even so... I guarantee he has a whole lot to say.
If you would give him the chance.
Listen to him.
Find the little boy inside the silent eyes.
Please - someone HEAR Preslley.
He may not be able to talk but I guarantee, he has a whole lot to say!
To all those who have given to his grant account. Thank you.
You have kindly given $510.00!!
We are $990.00 from reaching our MATCHING goal.
Please help me.
Share him.
Give to him.
Let's make it easy for his Mama and Papa to HEAR him!
