Being a professional communicator has offered up many object lessons to me - especially, in light of how I have been, once again, reduced to being a domestic engineer whose days are inundated with caring for my family's needs. Not that I mind, but this has given me ample material to use.
One of the most poignant ones has been the experience of teaching our daughter better speech skills.
I have mentioned she has Down Syndrome. What I haven't told you is she has, unfortunately, inherited her Dad's allergies and, for the first few years of her life, her eardrums were housing fluid. It affected her hearing and, in turn, her speech acquisition, which has been delayed even more than the average person who has Down Syndrome. As a result, she is 13 and still hesitates to form full sentences. Which is OK because she is, despite it all, a very well adjusted little girl and I figure she will catch up sooner or later.
Here's how it all went down.
We took her to an ENT when she was a toddler who told us, after testing her, she was hearing sound as if her head were immersed in water - not unlike when we lay back in the tub. In turn, it even affected how she was hearing her own voice. This affected her confidence, because she actually is high functioning and could hear just enough to know she was producing speech which sounds much different than that of her peers. As a result, it is hard to get her to try real speech, at times.
But she has her own little language she has developed.
Let me explain this one to you.
Over the past years, we have used speech therapists who have given us all kinds of tips and strategies; even suggesting we teach her sign language, because studies show, with normal babies, it decreases frustration and thereby motivates the children to attempt real speech. I instinctively objected, strenuously, however, and I am glad I did. In the absence of clear speech, she developed, all on her own, this homemade sign language, which, frankly, became a crutch for her, actually having the opposite effect. It seemed to keep her lazy.In response, we have not allowed her to use it, by refusing to reward it with what she wanted. Whenever she does use real speech, no matter how faulty, I have discovered she is more apt to try again if I give her a high five and a big hug. Works all the time.
She knows what we want and, slowly but surely, she is picking up some pieces of legible speech and has, more or less, ditched the sign language. But, for the most part, she still speaks haltingly and with timidity.
This is not to say she does not talk. Au contraire, mon amis! Nothing could be further from the truth. She talks non stop - it's just that most of it is illegible gibberish. Let's just say, we ALWAYS know when she gets out of bed in the morning because we can hear her enchanting, made-up chit chat from anywhere in our house; and we have a big house.
You know that adage about the silver lining in every cloud? Well, I had a chance to see this in application this past year as our daughter's delayed speech turned out to be a blessing for us.
You see, I read this article about how people thwart telemarketers. There are, apparently, all kinds of methods used, from the rude to the subtle, all of which, according to each user, work well enough. Some have blown whistles into their phones, others have faked foreign accents; the list goes on and on.
Now, we get our share of these calls, like anyone who has a land line. And they are annoying. I won't even begin to talk about that subject. What amazes me, even in light of the fact that there is technology out there to address call making for business purposes, these calling centres keep insisting on using live callers. To me, this is a downfall, an oversight, of which anyone can take advantage.
And that's just exactly what I did recently.
The setting is early evening. My family is home and we are sitting at the kitchen table. Grace having just been said, we are enjoying our meal when, you guessed it, the phone rings and it is one of these offensive callers. Now, of course, I can refuse to answer the phone by allowing it to ring, or I can even turn off the ringer. But you know what would happen if I did that. That's just when someone important would call. It's bound to happen. So I refuse to do that.
Essentially, we are sitting phone ducks.
This one evening, I decide I have had it. There is almost nothing I won't do to protect the privacy of a family meal - it is sacred to me and I am quite serious about this. In this day and age, families, with their hurry scurry and individual schedules, benefit from honouring some cherished, timeworn traditions and eating the evening meal together is one we still engage in as it offers up one of the only times we have for regular, good quality interaction. There are plenty of studies that show that, surprisingly enough, Canadians do this much more than those in other nations and because of that, negative, family-related issues are, apparently, much lower. And I believe them. It's too darned cold to go outside and, besides, Canadians are notoriously careful about parting with their hard earned cash. So what is left is eating supper together at home.
Which brings me back to my story.
So, without explaining what I am doing, I put my right index finger to my lips, shushing everyone while I pick the phone up and quietly hand it to our daughter. She starts talking and, of course, it is her energetic, personal language she is using. Once my husband and her brother grasp what is going on they can barely hold in their infectious laughter, made all the more taboo by the fact that they know they have to keep absolutely quiet, or her cover is blown sky high.
But she is oblivious. Either that, or she simply does not care. She doesn't get too many phone calls, so she's making hay while the sun shines.
Her chatter continues, dotted with actual English phrases like, "Daddy, gone town," and, "Mommy (pause) work," and other such illegible stuff and, finally, I realize the caller has hung up. I honestly don't think they ever knew what hit them. Then I politely take the phone from her and put it back on its cradle.
Our daughter says, "Gone, Mommy?" and I nod and reply, "That's the idea, Sweetie."
I smile. My work is done here.
Still laughing, but with volume now, both my husband and son applaud. They get it.
I am pleased to say we didn't get any more telemarketing calls for about three weeks afterward.
Perhaps that is the average turnover in those calling centres.
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