Love in Translation

The wood planks on the landing shine like honey in the afternoon light. Long lines of “plucks” trace the baseboards. Thin, bright pieces of plastic, each pluck is under two inches long. My son has pulled hundreds of pieces from a sensory toy I bought because it seemed like it would be engaging without being messy. He used it a few times the same way most kids might, pressing his hand into the plastic pegs to make an imprint. But our son is autistic; his brain works differently, so he plays differently. The pegs inspire him, and he patiently pries them out, one by one. He arranges them just so, and loves them enough to name them. It will be a mess to pick up, but I can see the lines are part mandala, part modern-art installation. A celebration of line and color. Plucks! A small fun word to describe a small fun thing. Like many other words our son invents, it sticks, because we don’t have any other word to offer, and this one seems to fit. 

Language changes and adapts to suit our needs. And yet I’ve found motherhood to be indescribable. How do you convey the swirling, contradictory layers that reveal themselves in glimmers and waves? How do you name something that is both expansive and calls for tunnel vision? How do you tell someone the newborn phase is just the beginning of a primal change that will unfold into an epic evolution for both mother and child? There isn’t a word to describe these experiences. We cast about, sometimes clumsily, other times more poetically, trying to translate the visceral moments that live in our cells. 

Our son has his own bumpy way of translating his experience. Like many autistic people, he’s a gestalt language processor. That means he learns to communicate in chunks, rather than word by word. It can take gestalt language learners time to understand they can change the order of words and use them in different formats, moving from “I like big buses” to “I like yellow buses.” Gestalt language processors tend to listen to the inflection of our voices, and they’re often naturally musical. Puggles sounds like he’s singing, even when he’s talking. He can perfectly hum the sounds of the garage door, microwave, and timer. 

We’re still working on questions and answers. When our son doesn’t know the word for something, he doesn’t ask “What’s that called?” He invents his own word for it. It’s a bit like talking with someone in another language. If you forget how to say, “It’s raining” or “I like the rain,” you can say, “Oh my silly raindrops.” The vocabulary may be limited. The phrasing sounds quirky. But if you listen to the meaning in between the words, the gist is clear.

My son’s creativity with language allows him to express his love for the things that delight him. For years, “siggie” was the highest compliment my son could give something. If something was siggie, it was the best of the best. A “heybanner” is a very tall collection of bright lights that line the freeway. A “ka” is a road sign that has a curved arrow and a wobbly little island shape next to it. A “gamon” is a circle inside of a circle. Sometimes. Sometimes it’s another interesting shape we don’t have a word for. I think a “scuttle” is a tiny piece of rubber that hangs off the tire of our car, but I’m not sure. I know “lumondon” is what you say when the windshield wipers go left, right, left. As botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer says, “finding the words is another step in learning to see.” Naming something means we’re paying attention, taking care to witness, remember, and share our observations. It says, This matters to me. Often the words my son invents point to details in the world that bring him joy. If I ignore his language, or spend all my time correcting him, I will miss out on sharing his joy. So instead, I delight in the silly words right along with him. 

Of course, sometimes I want to ask my son, “What’s wrong? How can I help?” and get an answer that doesn’t require some degree of mind reading. His unique form of communication isn’t efficient, but it is expressive and poetic. I worry less about how he communicates with me, and more about how he will communicate with others. I know people will underestimate him, thinking he doesn’t understand or assuming he isn’t paying attention, because his answer feels like a zigzag in the conversation. The kindergartners in his class adore his funny sounds, but what will they think when they’re in middle school or high school? There’s so much ahead that is unknown. But our son is still learning and growing, and I hope our world is growing more accepting of differences right alongside him. 

We can all bring a more playful spirit to our communication. Poets know that the sound of words matters nearly as much as their meaning. The syllables, vowels, consonants, and cadence work together to set the mood. “Shh, love” has a different effect than “quiet please,” even though the meaning is the same. Children’s books celebrate wordplay with silly rhymes and made-up words. Wordplay encourages kids to see reading as fun (and funny). Rhyming makes essential concepts easy to remember. Onomatopoeia seems to follow children everywhere. Portmanteaus are easy ways to point to something new. Puns are a quick way to make someone smile. Even compound words can wake up our brains. And where would we be without “argh” or “ooh”? As children learn to speak, read, have a conversation, make friends, and play games, they must be willing to make mistakes, experiment, and invent ways to share their imaginations and make their needs known. They must be willing to play with words. No one goes from “goo goo ga ga” to gorgeous prose overnight. They must cross through the land of gobbledygook, while mothers serve as translators for their young travelers, which sometimes means helping others see a mess of plucks as art.

Nonsense words connect us across time and space in surprising ways. My husband and I nicknamed our son Puggles after a distant uncle who was known as Pug. We imagined him working at the docks, saying, “The name’s Pug.” Puggles was a nonsense name with a lot of personality. It fit when he was a newborn, cawing like a pterodactyl, then later as a toddler bumbling around the house, chasing after balls. And now as a happy kindergartner, Puggles is the perfect name for a boy who is full of joy and mischief. It may still fit him when he’s an old man, wearing a cardigan and playing cards, maybe even answering to Uncle Pug himself one day.

Bridging the space between personal experience and a mishmash of cultures, neurotypes, and values, words are vague and slippery. I’ve often wished my son had a little door on the side of his head, so I could peek into his brain and see what he was thinking or feeling. I long for that direct understanding, when even traditional conversations can leave us feeling confused or misunderstood. Synesthetes hear colors and see sounds, but they don’t agree on which sounds go with which colors. Maybe words and their meanings are just as personal. Or maybe not. Simple words like “the” don’t evoke any strong feelings in me, but “pluck” is so fun to say! The pleasure we take in it feels universal, at least in our little family. We all communicate to express our wants and needs, but communication is really about connecting, saying “Look at that!” and “Wow! I see it too.” I’ve learned to enjoy nonsense words as a reader, a writer, and as a mother. It’s like knowing a secret language. My son’s love of words stretches the limits of my technical vocabulary and imagination, just as motherhood has stretched my capacity for joy and heartbreak. As mothers, we are constantly translating the world to our kids, trying to explain why this not that, why now not later. And some of us are translating our children to the world, trying to help others understand why they say hello differently or play in their own way. As with all translation, meaning is lost as it moves between languages. But if we listen, we might discover new words and appreciate small details we never thought to notice. My son reminds me how siggie it is to play with language. More importantly, he shows me why it’s important to keep trying to communicate, even when it’s messy. We may bump between unfamiliar words and unclear meanings, but when we name what brings us joy and share our experiences, we translate our love.