Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH (08/31/17)
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TITLE: A Sheep in Wolves' Clothing | Previous Challenge Entry
By Marlene Bonney
09/05/17 -
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Four-yr.-old Noah, our youngest, is secured in the booster chair at the kitchen table, unconcerned with the flurry of activity and staring blankly at the bowl of cereal in front of him.
“That’s odd,” I think, “usually he fingers each little morsel before arranging it with the others in a straight line across his tray and then gobbles them up one-at-a-time and in the same order in the line-up.”
“What’s the matter, Noah-boy? Not hungry today?” a worried frown now puckering both of our mouths as I acknowledge how surreal it is how I have become a chameleon to his moods and emotions.
Noah is non-communicative, an autistic side effect of his condition. I have learned how to recognize his demeanors like a blind reader’s Braille script. Contrary to what the rest of the family thinks, I can tell by his facial muscles when he is sad or happy, tired or alert, aware or sleeping in his brain. This morning is different, but I cannot quite put my finger on its pulse. . .
By afternoon, though, Noah seems his regular self, watching me bustle around doing the laundry and housework as I guide his steps from one room to another. Noah has never spoken. Not a baby’s cooing, not a toddler’s lisping, not a peep of any kind. His vocal chords are fine and nothing physical is binding his speech. Everyday we home-school together, he and I, as I read to him, verbally address him and, by trial and error, learn what subjects interest him—hoping for that Helen Keller moment that might by the magic key to unlock his voice. . .
“Hey, Mom,” Carter excitedly whirls in, “our parent field trip is today—did you remember?”
Phooey! I had forgotten the class-imposed trip to the dog rescue organization. Why did we draw that occupation slip, I silently moaned as I called Stan at the office to remind him he would be tending Noah when he got home from work. . .
“Mom, pa-leeeeze? He’s so cute!” Manda having wandered into the ‘Adopt-a-Pet’ section of the facility.
Stan and I had promised the children a puppy ‘someday’ on several occasions, but the timing had never seemed right. Now, with three sets of pleading eyes ricocheting from the dog to me, I waver. The animal looks like a missionary barrel reject and, for the life of me, I cannot see any redeeming quality in the mangy specimen panting through a mass of matted fur. His short, stubby tail wags in overtime like the previous windshield wipers on our way here.
“Remember, kids—this is on a trail basis,” my unheeded warning my last ditch effort to discourage a full adoption as we put the dog on his leash for our trip home.
Stan is less than pleased with this newest addition to our family, barely concealing his disapproval of the “sorry spectacle of an ugly mutt.” It did not help that, within the first hour, the creature chewed up his new master’s favorite slippers and peed on the newspaper comics scattered on the living room floor. Shedding hair on our sofa and claiming squatters’ rights to Noah’s blankie was only the beginning. Manic (Stan’s nickname for the ‘temporary’ house guest) also woke up his sitters’ for mid-night potty breaks, nipped at the postman’s heels and devoured the complete bag of hastily purchased dog food that first week, threatening a future visit to the poorhouse.
None of this mattered after the moment he first met Noah. Manic ceased his wild antics, ambling up to our youngest carefully and laid his chin on our boy’s lap with an intuitive gentleness we did not know he possessed. A bond developed between the two, a mutual acceptance between two “misfits” that defies human logic and has opened the floodgates of Noah’s silence.
The first word out of our son’s mouth was “au-gee”. His vocabulary has expanded to phrases and short sentences that warm our hearts, even as Manic’s appearance and behaviors have improved; our mangy dog evolving into an invaluable tool for communicating with a special needs child who was previously unresponsive.
Manic and Noah are inseparable companions, and we are forever grateful for this permanent addition to our family.
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*American educator Helen Keller overcame the adversity of being blind and deaf to become one of the 20th century's leading humanitarians.
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I think you misplaced a modifier in the first paragraph. The school bus can't be impatient.
Blessings~