Crabapple

So my beloved and (now) intensely gregarious son, from here on known as Peanut, was nearly two before he spoke more than two words (one of which was not actually a word in any language I've ever heard of). He had recently learned sign language, which led to breakthroughs in communication, albeit not verbally.

Peanut learned many signs, but the first one almost certainly had to be "apple." It's an easy one and looks like this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrV1KU3L3ek

Easy isn't the reason he learned it, though. He learned that one because my boy LOVES his apples. One time, a while later, after he was talking well, his grandmother asked if he wanted a brownie for dessert. He said, "No gram, I like apples better. Give me an apple, please."

So I show Sharon, our speech therapist, his enthusiasm over this sign and she basically tells me to stand and deliver for the little produce loving highwayman. If he asked for an apple with that sign, give it to him. Any time, as often as it took for him to realize that these symbols got him things he wanted. And so, for two weeks, I did just that. We went through some apples.

And some apples went through him. He was a prolific fecal producer during this golden age of golden delicious.

After those two weeks, Sharon said it was time to cut off the supply. No more apples for the sign. He had to say apple to get his treat. It didn't have to be perfect. It didn't have to be in the same ballpark as long as it was in the same league. Sign + Voice = Apples. I said no. She assured me it would be fine. I said no again. She said it would be foolish to squander so tantalizing a treat as this and I had to do it. I reluctantly agreed.

Bare moments after Sharon's visit, Peanut toddled up to me.

Me: What's up, kiddo?

P:

Me: Yes, apple! Good! Now say it. Ap...pull.

P:

Me: That's right, you want an apple. Say it with me. Ap...pull.

P:

Me: Kiddo, I can't give you one unless you try and say it. You don't have to be perfect, just try.

P:

Me: Right, I get it. You want an apple. Try and say app-pull.

P:

Me: Ok, I guess no apple this time.

I put the apple back in the fridge. Peanut glowered at me, then turned on his tiny heel, and stormed away as best as he could what with the fact that he tended to fall over every five or six steps. I signed, remembered how hard it had been to get him to use signs, and started mentally preparing for the next altercation.

It didn't happen the rest of the day. He didn't ask for an apple.

Day two, similar silence (ha ha) on the subject.

Day three, I got an apple out and showed it to Peanut. I asked him if he wanted an apple. I expected at least a nod or the sign, but instead I got an angry glare before he went back to playing with his blocks.

Day four, I ate a couple apples in front of him. This time I didn't even get glares. He just ignored me.

Day five and on to day seven, I gave up. I knew my boy was stubborn, but I hadn't realized it would go so far. It was a week without his favorite food. I was starting to feel bad about it. I called Sharon for advice. At first, she didn't believe me, but once I convinced her, she said that if he was going to be that stubborn, I had to stick to my guns.

Day eight, out of nowhere, Peanut toddles up to me. I think I was reading a comic book, because I remember having to put something down to look at him. The glare was back and those tiny, blue eyes shot daggers at me as I said, "What's up?"

He glared at me for a three count, then said, "Apple."

It was his first word that wasn't "mama" or totally made up and it had come out clear as a bell. Clear. As. A. Bell. After more than a week of refusing to even sign apple. I'm sure I stared, probably with my mouth hanging open.

"APPLE," he said again, more forcefully. So I jumped up, ran to the fridge, and I got the kid an apple. I got him a steady stream of apples. And after the second one, we were back to smiling at one another.

If this were a movie, you'd get a montage of the cute little boy suddenly talking like a champ, naming everything correctly, and even speaking in full sentences. It wasn't quite like that. We still had a lot of work to do, and with a kid that stubborn it wasn't always easy. But some kind of dam did break over that apple, because, while we had to work and practice a lot, his vocabulary started to grow leaps and bounds, sometimes it seemed every hour.

By the time he aged out of the program we were using, I was told he didn't need any more speech help. In fact, he was now ahead of the curve on vocabulary, usage, and complexity of sentences. And now, finally, we've got a kid who won't ever shut up and uses words like "heliophysics" because he heard it on a NASA video about the sun.

It's pretty hard to imagine a time when I hoped and prayed he'd start talking. Now I'm more likely to beg him to be quiet for a minute. Apparently, my wife and mother were more inoculated against this kind of behavior. They'd both lived with me for quite a while, after all.