Good Job, Felix

My son Felix has been working on his delivery skills. As you can see from the clip, movements that most of us do with barely a thought, taking a roll of paper towels out of a box and putting it somewhere else, are not so easy for him. Equally hard won, but perhaps not so obvious, are the other capabilities at play: the listening, the interpreting of words, the acting upon them.

In the years following Felix’s birth, my husband and I were not sure if he understood language at all. But his eyes were so bright, his interest in doorknobs, music and certain people so vivid, and his laughter so spot on that we were convinced he was smart. This was the word we used at the time and I still like it when people recognize this quality in him. His academic accomplishments may be logged somewhere before the pre K level, but he is brilliant at being in this world, causing disruptions and delight, and generally getting his way.

Around his fifth birthday, Felix presented us with consistent proof that he had mastered at least two words. His response to our saying “ice cream” was so passionate and insistent, that when composing shopping lists, Jason and I learned to use the Spanish term helado, lest drama ensue. But we still didn’t understand much about how he processed language. Fifteen years later, we have become a little smarter ourselves. We know that if he feels calm, balanced, and willing, he can understand a great deal of what we say. However, if he is in a chaotic environment, or in pain, or undergoing some sort of neurological firestorm, this ability may fly out the window. Perhaps you have had a moment when the pulse of pain, fear or desire overcame the mechanics of your workaday mind. When words were spoken but you could not hear them, or they made no sense, or you could not respond. When language was a joke compared to what your body was going through. 

I do not mean to imply that language and the body are completely separate. Language is born of the body: the tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands of years of synaptic choreography that have led to our current version of English; the folds of the brain, the muscles of the tongue, the drum of the ear, the vibrations of the larynx, all this and much more contributes to each word we speak. I haven’t even approached tone–which can carry as much meaning as the words themselves. Please, if you will, listen to the video again. I do not know if Felix means to convey anything specific with his patter; but his tone strikes a chord which is amiable and sweet. And the simplicity and softness in his teacher’s, “Good Job, Felix,” makes my heart swell with pride and gratitude.

I am happily indebted to this teacher, and for all the generous and talented people at Felix’s school, who have helped him–and us–get to where we are today. I offer this video as a tribute to them, and also as a bit of medicine for us all. The precariousness and violence of our present political moment and the way public language is calculated to stoke fears and inhibit thought can get so overwhelming that we can forget all the beautiful ways that language and love still work to bind us together. May Felix and his team remind you of this. May you also be aware of how marvelous it is that you can read these words in the first place.