Five conversations with Cam: comedians, electric teeth and other appliances

(Verbatim)

Conversation 1: Aquarium

Cam:      Mom, can you take me sometime to the comedian?

Me:        Um… the comedian? Um, ok, ja, I guess we can go to the… Just say again…?

Cam:      (Exasperated) Mom! The comedian! You know, the zoo that has all the fish.

Conversation 2: Speed

Cam:      Mom, can I get an electric toothbrush?

Me:        Ok, I guess. Maybe when you’re a bit older. For your birthday.

Cam:      Yes. I want an electric toothbrush that also makes my teeth electric, so that I can chew my food even faster…

Conversation 3: Travel

(After Lachlan – who lives in Taiwan – had stayed with us for the weekend.)

Cam:      Mom can we go to Taiwan to visit Uncle Lachlan?

Me:        Sure! That’ll be so cool… We’ll have to save up lots of money ‘cause we’ll have to fly there in an aeroplane; it’s really far; etc. etc.

Cam:      But I want to go to Taiwan in our car.

Me:        No, you can’t drive to Taiwan. You can only fly there on an aeroplane or go on a ship, but a ship will take really long to get there.

Cam:      (Sighing. Resigned.) Ok. Then can we go to Taiwan in a spaceship?

Conversation 4: Role play

(Murray got home the other night just in time to tuck Cam into bed.)

Cam:      How was your day, Dad?

Murray: It was fine thanks, my boy. How was yours?

Cam:      I had quite a tough day at work. The boss is a bit of a slave-driver.

(Seriously. I have no idea where he got this.)

Conversation 5: 1 Corinthians 13:12

(Over supper)

Cam:      Mom, will I still need contact lenses when I’m older?

Me:        Ja my love; you’ll always need lenses.

Cam:      But Greg and Graeme (older cousins) don’t need lenses.

Me:        Yes but Jesus made us all different… Greg and Graeme can see fine and don’t need lenses but they might struggle with other things that you are really good at; and I need reading glasses but Dad doesn’t ‘cause my eyes also need a bit of help; and Meagie (another cousin) is very clever with numbers and painting but you’ve got such a beautiful singing voice.

Cam:      But maybe Jesus can give Meagie a nice singing voice sometime?

Me:        Ja… He could! But she’ll definitely have a beautiful singing voice in heaven one day. And you won’t need lenses in heaven ‘cause we’ll all be perfect in heaven, etc. etc.

Cam:      When are we going to heaven? Why can’t we die yet?

Me:        Because there’s still lots of work for us to do here in the world. There are still lots of people here on Earth who don’t know that Jesus loves them, so we’ve got work to do for him, etc. etc. [including a toddlerised explanation of the peace of heaven and that we have no fear of death.]

Cam:      I think I don’t want to die. I just want to move to another house with a swimming pool.

For parents of blind or VI children who follow this blog, here’s a note on Conversation 5:

When Cameron was a baby, I always dreaded the day that he would realise.  As in, understand that he was different and that he couldn’t see as well as most people. I thank God that for Cam it’s been a slow dawning of reality – a gradual gentle bit-by-bit piecing together and acceptance.

Significant days and conversations stand out; many of them are recorded on this blog and this one. God has opened up natural opportunities for us to talk and explain and encourage, as situations have arisen or Cam’s questions have prompted. Cam definitely knows. Though I don’t think he fully understands. I’m not sure we do either.

The way we as parents respond to Cam’s visual impairment will directly, powerfully and irrevocably affect how he responds. So, here are a few things we believe in:

1.       Be honest. Answer every question, explain every reality, as truthfully as you know how. Don’t insult your child’s intelligence or his ability to absorb facts relating to his physical, emotional or spiritual journey.

2.       Be brave. Don’t cry if you can help it. Leave the room. Cry later. This doesn’t contradict the point above. I’m not saying be fake. I’m just saying that if you blub every time your kid asks you about her eyes she’ll stop asking, because she doesn’t want to upset you. Worse, she’ll feel that there must be something seriously wrong with her, because the people she loves most aren’t celebrating; they’re sad.

3.       Be open. Don’t shy away from the stares, questions and tactless comments of other kids (and their parents). Respond, inform, be casual in a no-big-deal kind of way. Your child is not a freak. It’s your job to educate the rest of the world.

4.       Be clear. I read about a blind girl who was convinced that when she was an adult she would be able to drive, because all the adults she knew could drive. Her deduction was thus that when she was an adult she would be able to see. When these sorts of things come up we try to be realistic and practical and honest, without detracting from the possibilities of miracles and Cam’s astounding tendency to exceed all realistic expectations. (e.g. We’ve told Cam that we will definitely teach him how to drive, but that he won’t be able to get a driver’s licence.)

5.       Be fun. I heard about a blind boy who wanted a cricket bat for his birthday. He got it. Would he ever be able to play cricket? Of course not. But so what? Every boy wants a cricket bat. As far as it’s in your power, give him every sense of a full, dynamic sensory life. Another blind boy was told by his grandmother that he couldn’t be a policeman when he was big (for obvious reasons), and yet everyone encouraged his cousin most enthusiastically, whose dream job was to be one of Santa’s elves….? Let your kid dream.

6.       Be over-the-top. Don’t just accept your child’s blindness or visual impairment. Embrace it. Give thanks for it. God’s ways are far above our ways; his thoughts are far above ours (Isaiah 55:9) And his plans for your child are bigger and better than any you could dream up on your own. 

 Lachlan and the boys...

A week full of days

I think that about the most wonderful thing you can say of someone when they die is that they were ‘old and full of days’ (Job 42:17). The past week has had that hectic, deeply satisfying full-of-days feeling.

The moments were crammed with quiddity a bit like this:

We keep finding Scott standing on the piano. Or on the kitchen counters. Or climbing the burglar bars. There’s a broken toilet seat. Hmmm. The writing is on the wall. And on the biscuit tin. And on the kitchen shelves. And on the stairs. And on the building blocks. Mostly in red crayon. And there’s a unique carpet collage of pink-yellow-blue chalk. There are grazes and sometimes blood from falls and scrapes and there’s Lola biding her time unblinking below the high chair because she knows Scott will hook her up with some chicken or drip yoghurt on her head. There are two sea monsters on our bed, roaring and thrashing and tickling. Fascinatingly, the smaller monster copies the bigger monster’s every tentacle movement. After bath time the sea monsters become naked giggling chasing maniacs. Cam finds the fly swat and reports valiantly, ‘The fly situation is better now, Mom.’ There are three miracles in one night: Cam sleeps through, in his own bed, in dry undies. We celebrate with Top Deck at 5:30am. At swimming lessons Cam rejoices with those who rejoice (‘You did a good swim! Vinnig!’). The flu catches up to me at last. At last Murray catches up on some admin. And so it goes full moment to full moment of intermittent chaos and quiet and I catch myself thinking how much I love God and how much I love life.

Advice

Boys, don’t fold your arms

And say, ‘Nothing gets to me.

I’m too cool.’ Rather:

Live with both your arms

Outstretched – to catch the blessings

And hurt. Really live.

I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world. – Jesus

(John 16:33)

Three fairly random haikus about today

Watching

God, let them see you

As I work shop cook drive talk
About your glory.

Gross

Why do boys think that

Burping is funny? Who tells?
It’s like they just know…

Peace

The house is quiet

except for crickets – mozzies –
and soft slow deep breaths.

You will keep in perfect peace all who trust in you, all whose thoughts are fixed on you! – Isaiah 26:3

I am THAT mother.

Dear Cam and Scott

I’m a teacher and I know all about The Paranoid Mother. She is the butt of staffroom jokes. There are warnings and alerts and the rolling of eyes when she’s on campus. When she sidles up to your table at parents’ evening, you go into self-preservation and parent-appeasement mode. You smile and agree and try not to get that really glazed-with-terror look on your face. You nod at her suggestions, complaints, concerns and emotional offloading and inside you’re going, ‘Whatever, lady; your kid is just not the brightest bulb in the tanning bed.’

I’d like to apologise, because I think I’ve become that mother.

Today was your first day back at Heavenly Babies and Tots. Scott, you cried and cried when I dropped you off and I pretty much left my heart there on the carpet of the Fishy Class in a soggy weeping mess. I sms’d, BBM’d and phoned the school within the following forty-five minutes to check that you were fine. Of course, you were. You had eaten your porridge, walked to your cot and fallen asleep, your beatific perma-grin, as Paul Prozesky calls it, fully restored. Teacher Nadea is an absolute gem. She didn’t seem surprised that I just could not possibly have a good day unless I knew that you were ok.

Cam, you just beamed. (Even though all holiday you were adamant that you still wanted to be a Tortoise and that under no circumstances did you wish to graduate to the Penguin Class.) You kissed me goodbye, waved me off, and were immediately absorbed in an embrace of penguin-type activities. I, on the other hand, cornered your new teacher with a lengthy elucidation of contact lenses, visual therapy, and classroom management. Every now and then I thought that I detected the glazed and terrified look.

So, I just wanted to say that I am aware of my mounting paranoia when it comes to leaving you in the care of others (even kind, qualified, professional others). And I am aware that I need to be gentle with fellow paranoid mothers that I come across in the future. I am determined to keep the paranoia in check through lots of prayer, stern talkings-to with myself on a regular basis, and frequent reality checks regarding my changing role in your life as you grow. You are welcome to tell me anytime you feel that I’m being ridiculous. Also, you should totally tell your teachers you think they are awesome for putting up with me.

All my love goes with you into a new school year, and my every prayer that God would fill your brave little hearts with his overwhelming joy and peace.

Mom

xx