By My internal alarm went off, an innate threat response learned in childhood. But for my son at his 5-year check-up, the request from the nurse to do his first vision and hearing tests didn’t set off the same visceral reaction.
He stood 10 feet from the chart as I covered one of his eyes. In my head, I’m saying “come on buddy, you got it…you got it” knowing how much I had and still somewhat struggle to read the rows of letters.
His barely audible, timid voice began rattled off the little icons:
“Sailboat…cross…American flag…heart…little moon…”
He did it! My wife and I sighed and showed him how proud we were, laughing that the “cross” was actually a plus sign and the “American flag” looked like the Texas state flag. He had no idea that this wall chart was something he was supposed to fear.
His innocence carried over into the hearing test. The nurse instructed him to say “okay” each time he heard a beep. Inside, I fended off the memories of hearing tests that often accompanied my many iterations of speech therapy, as if my hearing had something to do with the vice grip that kept my words from escaping.
Right ear, “okay…okay…okay.” Left ear, “okay…okay…okay.”
He aced it! He was all smiles, not even a flinch with the two shots he got next.
That night, my wife admitted after he started the vision test that she had thought about me in his situation. Everyone knows the routine in these tests and goes through the motions. But for me—and I would imagine other adults who stutter—sitting in the chair reading the letters aloud and saying “the first one” or “the second one” as the eye doctor flips through the different lenses to set your prescription awakens a subconscious reaction that elicits fear, struggle, and the uncertainty of whether I will be able to make it through.
I thought about how my son will have to find his own fears without me projecting mine or those that others who stutter typically face. There are certain situations and contexts that are inseparable from the traumatic experience of stuttering that my son knows nothing about, like introductions, the phone, and class participation. Will there come a time when someone comments on his stuttering and some fear or shame arises? Probably, though he won’t have the all-consuming pressure of fluency expectation that creates the hesitation before he faces those situations again.
My point is that, as a parent who knows stuttering, I see these contexts daily that developed into experiences that overwhelmed me and created the aforementioned hesitation that spawned my avoidance. While only 5 years old, my son is headed into his formative stuttering years with the approach gene that I never had the chance to develop. It is incumbent upon us to nurture his innocence and willingness to go through these routine situations and figure out for himself that he can not only do them but be entirely okay afterwards.
You might have noticed that I didn’t say whether he stuttered or not through the tests. That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that he flexed his “I can do this” muscle in two new situations and showed himself that they were nothing to fear.
As for me, the sound of his innocent voice saying “Sailboat…cross…American flag…heart…little moon…” is forever etched in my memory for the next time I’m seated across form the pesky giant E.
He is my strength.
For more on my experiences of being a parent who stutters of a son who stutters, see the following posts I have written since onset two years ago.
Why Don’t You Ever Say My Name?
The Freakout: How We React is How They React
Thank You For Sharing A Wonderful Day
Day One: He Noticed His Difference
The Wince: ‘Holding Space’ For Our Son
Letting Go of Control: My Reaction to His Stutter in Public
I Have A Son Who Stutters: Acceptance as a Parent Who Stutters
Every Waking Moment 