Monkey Do, Monkey Don’t

“Pick my nose, puddit onna couch!”

This delightful statement was recently uttered by my almost-two-year old daughter F. Hearing her put together this rather complicated sentence today made me feel both relief and fear: relief that she can talk, fear of what tiny, green treasures our sofa might harbor. (Everyone has their things; mine is mucus.) Obviously she does not have the language acquisition issues that her older, autistic brother H. does.

I could write a book called, “Why Doesn’t H. Talk?” – but it would contain only questions. I just don’t know. It’s a puzzle. But one piece might be this: he doesn’t imitate. Mirroring what he sees around him does not come naturally to him.

When he was about F.’s age, he had his first developmental assessment and I was asked, “Does he copy you?” I drew a blank. “Does he copy me? I don’t know…does he? Hm…maybe…he…nah, I don’t think so. Nope.” I didn’t understand how important this was – what a big clue to the fact that something in H.s’ development was far off track.

He’s never pretended to talk on a phone. He’s never pretended to cook food, feed a baby or brandish a sword. He’s never spontaneously repeated something we’ve said, just to try it out.

F., on the other hand, is an adept mimic, especially where language is concerned. She gets the tone, she gets the facial expression, and she even gets the idiom (F. on her play phone: “Uh-huh, uh-huh, riiiiggght…”). She copies H., too. She lifts her hands into the sunlight, flicks her fingers together, purses her lips and makes H.’s “dooooooooooooooooeeeeeee” sound. Now, in another kid, this might be cruelty – making fun of him. To F., it’s just doing what her big brother does.

In so many developmental areas, F. is sprinting past him. Perhaps the current she leaves in her wake will pull H. along a little ways. He certainly loves to watch her, and I love to watch him watch, love to see that slow smile of his as he observes her antics. Who knows? Maybe someday he will even try what he sees, or what he hears. No doubt H. has spread his share of boogers on the couch. He just hasn’t found the words to tell us about it.