New Identities
There’s something about life at the beach that inspires new identities. It’s almost as though as the shore refreshes and reshapes itself we are all reshaped and renewed right along with it. I’ve found that it takes more than one week for me to shed the routine and slow our pace to the point that it feels normal to walk around sandy in our bathing suits and perfect to sit for several hours pushing our toes into the sand and surf. We’ve been at the beach since July 4th weekend. The funny thing is, it didn’t take the kids nearly as long to slide into beach-living. Riley became a wave-riding pro in a matter of days, and since Zoe preceded us here by a week, she was already single-minded (“Is it time to go to the beach?”) when we arrived.
After our first true full day as beach bums, I discovered an amazing thing: Autistic children have much less difficulty talking when they are removed from their sensory obsessions.:) After hours chasing the waves, laying in the sand, floating in the ocean, and dumping sand and water on his head with a bucket, Adam was spontaneously offering us full sentences (“Can I have some water, please?” “I need some help.”). The first few days, I had struggled to get him to say “Daddy” on the phone just so Kevin (who had to go back home to work, unfortunately) could hear his voice. That night, after hours and hours on the beach, Adam was actually paying close attention to what his dad was saying on the phone and responding, if often only repeating part of what Kevin had said to him. Still, this was such a far cry from the nothing (Is he listening to his dad or thinking of something else?) of the nights prior that I suddenly wished I had a whole six months of beach bum living. My son obviously just feels so happy and FREE out there. I told Mom that it was like he’d been released from jail!
I suppose that Riley has embraced her new identity with the most “gusto” of all. Last year while we were at the beach, she made up a silly word: TURgern. One of her favorite games (when for whatever reason we could not be at the beach) was to sit on Mom and Dad’s back porch and watch random people passing by on the street. Whenever she saw someone walking a dog, she’d yell, “Doggie, say ‘TURgern!'” and then collapse into giggles. This year, my brother Scott hadn’t been in the house very long when Riley sat on his lap and said, “Uncle Scott, you’re TURgern!” Boom. New identity. You know, Jesus did that. “Hi, nice to meet you. Your name is now Peter.”
When Jesus did it (or when God did it in the OT), it always signified some giant shift in a person’s life. Perhaps Riley is also trying to make some sort of major pronouncement.:) If we knew what TURgern actually meant, we might have some idea as to what she has in mind for her Uncle Scott.:) She has since only called him TURgern (Except every night in her prayers, when she reverts back to Uncle Scott. Hmm…Maybe she wants to be sure God doesn’t get mixed up.:)). When he walks in the door, she lights up (love has never been clearer on a face) and says, “Hi, TURgern!” He also frequently hears, “TURgern, what’s going on with you?”
A day later, Riley started telling us that she was now not “Riley,” but “RAAly” (think Southern and elongated). She has since blamed this name change on Aunt Monica (“Aunt Monica called me that.”), but she has embraced it fully.
The other day, she wanted some chocolate milk. She’d finished her lunch and I was still eating mine, so I told her she had to wait until I finished. Now, you need to know that at our house (with two hyperlexic autistic children), when our kids don’t seem to be getting something we’re saying, we grab a piece of paper and write it down. I had made it clear that if Riley didn’t leave me be and let me finish my lunch (you do not know harassment until Riley wants something from you) she would not be getting any chocolate milk. My last suggestion (“Why don’t you go read a book until I finish?”) was met with a reluctant, “Okay, Mommy.” When I got inside, I didn’t see Riley, but I found a note in the kitchen. It said, “Mommy. I just want some chocolate milk. Love, Raly” So now she’s RAAly and she’s leaving me you-don’t-get-it notes.
Oh–and just the other day, after trying her best to get someone to accept “Mr. Noodle” as a moniker, (“Mommy, you’re Mister Noodle!”
“No, Riley, I’m not a Mister. I can’t be Mister Noodle.”
“I’m not Riley, I’m Raaly! Why you’re not a mister?”
“I’m not a boy. I’m a girl. I’m not a Mister.”
“Grandma, you’re Mister Noodle!”
“No, Riley, I’m not Mister Noodle.”
You get the picture.)
she decided that my other brother, Tommy, was going to be Uncle Noodle (“Uncle Tommy’s a Mister!”). My brother is a wonderful man. When I told him about this, he said, “If Riley wants to call me Mister Noodle, that’ll be just fine.”
So, who do you want to be? Come to the beach and shed your shoes, your makeup, and your routine. Let the tides renew you as they reshape the beach. Or, if you prefer, I can set up an appointment for you with Riley. She is all into creating (and assuming) new identities these days. I’m sure we could arrange for you to be Smurfette, Mr. Potato Head (or, as Zoe says, “Mr. Tomato Head”), or just Doomaflotchy.
