Magic Realism

One of the most disorienting aspects of this whole journey is that there is no map, no compass, no real plan and no last page we can sneak a peek at to see how it all turns out. And yes, life is like that, but with typically-developing children there is an expectation of order--that things happen in some reasonably predictable way, that they make a certain kind of sense.

But somehow we have landed in a different kind of storytelling. On the way to work today, I was listening to an NPR segment on the return of Gabriel Garcia Marquez to his native Aracataca, Colombia, on the occasion of his 80th birthday. (Aracataca is the inspiration for the fictional Macondo in One Hundred Years of Solitude, J.'s favorite book, which he has been urging me to read for all of the many years we've been together. I still haven't managed to do it. Why? I don't know--maybe it's some weird superstition. But I digress.)

So I started thinking about reading--how I don't get the chance to do nearly enough of it these days, and how I have always loved unconventional storytelling, where dreams intrude on daily life, language is elastic, and the boundaries between reality and fantasy blur. While I think that predisposition has made it easier for me to understand Isaac, I admit I still long for more insight into what's on his mind.

In the past year, we've definitely gotten some indications of what he's thinking about; namely, food, milk, us, steam trains, tunnels and bridges, cars and trucks, numbers and letters, going to the ocean, taking a walk, snuggling, saying goodnight and, lately, chocolate. True, all of this is concrete stuff, but I am happy to say that at nearly four, his language is almost always intentional and meaningful.

But there is another dimension as well. As challenging as it can be sometimes for Isaac to sequence physical play, he loves to take words, twist them about, rhyme them, omit letters or even syllables, or add new prefixes or suffixes (he recently dubbed us "Mommoon, Daddoon and Izoon", which he found endlessly hilarious.) So there we have joint attention, creativity, imagination, humor and, I think, an innate love of language.

From the beginning, well before Isaac had any words at all, both J. and I felt that we just...got him. And the people who have had the most impact on him have always been those who understand and respect him, and who appreciate the personality beneath the (emerging) language. And I am hopeful that, conventionally or not, Isaac will one day be able to begin to tell us his story, at his pace, in his words. That will be the best story ever, the greatest gift, the sweetest prize.

Comments

[kristen]

Susan, you really touched my heart with this one. I hope Isaac will bless you with more stories and more insights than you ever dreamed possible. In fact, I know he will.

[J.]

Excellent post, and he is a fascinating little guy. Loves words, as we do.

But 100 Years... is so NOT my favorite book. Not even my favorite GGM book.

Sheesh.

That would be Love in the Time of Cholera. I think my bestest, favoritest book of all time is either Grace Paley's Enormous Changes at the Last Minute, A.J. Liebling's The Telephone-Booth Indian, or maybe something by William Maxwell.

[jennifergg]

Yes, absolutely, a sweet dream indeed. It's my wish for Avery, too.