Where are the dads in the therapy process?
Working in the schools, I often don’t have the chance to talk to parents as much as I would like. Though there are the obligatory IEP meetings, it’s not the same as being able to see the parents every week and chat about speech therapy; or better yet, having the parents right there in the session with me.
To date, I have seen a little over 20 children who have Childhood Apraxia of Speech, and for all of them, it was their mother with whom I had contact first. Isn’t that interesting? Not 50%, 80% or even 90%. 100%!!
Now don’t think I’m going to start bashing men. Not at all. Actually, this post aims to praise these unsung heroes, often standing in the background, but I’ll get to that in a minute.
When I was at bootcamp, David Hammer touched on an interesting topic I don’t think many SLP’s think about. Men and women may be at very different stages with the child’s diagnosis. Though important, what really stuck with me that I wrote down, was that “women seem to sometimes form a symbiotic relationship with the child.” I nodded my head. That no doubt was true of me and Ashlynn. He went onto say, that may hurt a marriage. Men may not understand that relationship, and are left to wonder where their wife went. He always has parents fill out a questionnaire, he said. He asks the mother and father to rate their worry on a scale of 1-10. Mothers are usually on the high end, with fathers usually being on the lower end. I say usually, because of course there are exceptions to all broad stroked brushes.
Anyway, not only have I personally experienced this, but I see it time and time again with the mothers of whom I am now able to get to know better.
When a child is nonverbal, let’s say a baby, parents anticipate his needs. They know the different cries, the different giggles, the facial expressions, the body language. We do this because a baby can’t TELL us what they need. As Ashlynn grew but still couldn’t tell me when she was: hungry, thirsty, sad, hurt, or scared, my heart broke a little more each time. When she still couldn’t call out to me “mama” but would just wait in her bed until I came and got her, my sadness would mount a little higher. When she was frustrated and would resort to stamping her feet or throwing herself to the ground and I would plead with her to just say “no,” my desperation only intensified. When a piece of my hair had gotten itself wrapped around her little toe creating a tourniquet, so much so that we had to go urgent care, and she had spoken not even a cry; my fear and protective instincts kicked into full gear. I could go on, but suffice it to say, yes, yes I guess I did have a symbiotic relationship with my sweet daughter, because if I couldn’t anticipate her needs, who was going to? She NEEDED me, even if she didn’t know it.
I see those feelings of sadness, desperation, fear, and hope in all the eyes of the mothers I have met. In fact, on a recent intake, I was apologizing for having to ask questions about the child’s expressive language that I knew the parents would have to say no to. However, to maintain the validity of the test, I am still required to ask. As I ask those questions, I think about the stupid baby development questionnaires at the pediatrician’s office that killed me every time. Every time she was behind in EVERY area, and EVERY time, it freaking sucked…but I digress. Back to this client and his parents. After my apology, the dad interjected that it was really okay. They know the reality and it doesn’t bother him. Before I could answer, his wife snapped at him saying, “her daughter has apraxia too, so she understands. ” He looked confused, so I told him that even though I knew and continue to know the reality, it hurts every time I am faced with her delays.
Oh mothers. We become crazy over our own children don’t we?
That’s why I wanted to take the time to share what I see from those tall shadows hanging back in the corner. The realists, the fixers, the large shoulders who hold our small children and maybe our tears. Though they may not be who I meet first, they are certainly always there at the final finish line. When the mothers have been worn down from their endless worrying, on the verge of breakdowns from the exhaustion; it is the fathers who bring their children to therapy. It is the fathers who seem to have some amazing ability to compartmentalize their feelings of sadness and fear, and who push forward when their wives just can’t bear another therapy session.
One father I met basically took over my role and became the best SLP for his son. I remember toward the end of therapy, we were working on /s/ blends, and they had to skip a week because they were going skiing. When they came back and I was asking the kiddo about his vacation, dad kept interjecting “wait..where did we go? Was it SSSSSteamboat?” “Where did mommy and daddy get coffee? Was it SSSStarbucks?” and when the child dropped something it was dad who piped up “uh oh! Did you SSSSpill it?” I looked on and smiled. Yes, it was mom who brought him in on the verge of tears, but it was dad who picked up and finished the pieces. Well done team.
Currently, I have 6 kids in private practice with CAS. Do you want to know the track record for how many of the dads either share the responsibility of taking them to therapy or who are the only person currently bringing them to therapy? 100% Yep….you read that right. Once the child starts making progress and the mother feels she can step back and breathe, it’s usually the dads who see it through to the finish. No, they may not pour over every report, or remember the homework (to many a mothers exasperation), but they are there, every week. Many have red eyes from working all day, since I see kids on nights and weekends. Many have laptops in tow, working while we do therapy. All of them burst with pride at every success. I see it on their faces. I’ve seen the tallest, quietest, and burliest man cry. I see them pat their children on the head with big smiles.
I see you dads, I do. I see you and I thank you, with the biggest thank you going to my daughter’s dad. We love you. Thank you for sticking by us, even if you were criticized, misunderstood, and neglected. Thank you for maybe not being totally prepared for the race, but running the marathon while cheering all the way. Thank you for your strength, your reality checks, and your patience. But most of all, thank you for loving your child the way you knew how. The only way a father could.
