All We Need is Love and Shaving Cream

“Oh my God!” Liam laughed.
“Liam! Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain,” I reminded him. It was an appropriate exclamation, which made me proud. We’d come such a long way with his speech. But his teacher had admonished him on several occasions for saying God irreverently.
Now, he didn’t learn it from me. I will take the blame for when he started saying sh-t, but that’s another story. He learned it from the other love in his life: Cindy.

Needing More…

I met her back in 2019, a few months before school started. Liam’s therapists had said he was ready for preschool, but that he would need an aide. Aides, or shadows, provide one-on-one support for children with special needs in and out of the classroom. That’s the official definition. But Cindy has become so much more to us. Finding an aide in Belize is no easy task. A babysitter? Sure. But a special needs aide who is adept not only in childcare but with the willingness and capacity to learn how to care for an autistic child? Next to impossible.

Fate…

Our paths crossed by chance one night in a lovely little pupusas shop in the city. It was, I’m convinced, divine intervention. Cindy and Liam hit it off immediately. She fit in our lives like a puzzle piece, filling the gaps where I fell short. Playing, for instance, doesn’t come naturally to me (note to self: unpack this with my shrink). I find it forced and maybe even painful to make inanimate objects talk. I don’t want to make toy cars crash and boats sink. And, blame it on my age or fitness level (read: fluffiness), I don’t want to play a never-ending game of chase or football. Enter, Cindy. She does all these things. And does them well! Thank God.

Pica? Sensory Stimulation?

One time, Liam developed pica. He found it quite appetizing to lick the dirt off window screens. He refused rice and beans and chicken, but chalk, playdough, or grass? Yum. Alarmed, I rushed him to his pediatrician looking for answers. His tests didn’t show a nutrient deficiency. The doctor explained that Liam needed more sensory stimulation.
I left the clinic feeling defeated.
Now I had another task on my already enormous load. What the hell did sensory stimulation even mean?
I dropped Cindy and Liam back home and headed back to work. Just before five, I got a text:
“Buy shaving cream.”
I raised my eyebrow at that one, but texted back, “Ok.”
I’d gotten used to her texts by now. Bring bananas. We need more tortillas. Buy red construction paper. Get large white balloons.
I learned not to question her work. This was her area of expertise, and I was merely the supplier. I stopped at Sky’s that evening and bought the shaving cream.

Over the next few days, Cindy had Liam engaged in a plethora of Pinterest activities. Shaving cream art, sensory bags filled with gel, science experiments, water beads. He had loads of fun, yes. But more importantly, he stopped licking screens! His sensory needs were met.

Love…

I can remember when I realized Cindy loved my child. I knew she liked him and cared for him. But love? That’s a whole other thing. How do you even know when you love someone? For me, it’s when you’re faced with adversity that love reveals itself. When your loved one is in danger or trouble. When your instincts and passion take over all other senses, and you would do whatever it takes to protect them. That’s the difference between love and like. Love is actionable and like is fleeting.

Never Underestimate…

Preschool was a whole new world for us. An intimidating one.
“Just let him sit down. He won’t be able to do it,” the teacher said flippantly. (Well it was flippant in my mind, anyway. Maybe she was just uninformed.) She didn’t think that Liam was capable of standing with his classmates and singing a song for the school show. She didn’t have him try to do it. In her mind, his disability automatically excluded him.
“Yes, he can do it,” Cindy said curtly. She had become his advocate in my absence. She took his hand and led him to the front of the class. And do it he did. He learned the song and stood with his classmates in front of the auditorium filled with parents and flashing cameras. Cindy stood at the bottom of the stage, while I watched from the stands.
“Did you see our boy?” Cindy grinned at me after the show. “He was ah-mazing!” Her face beamed with pride. And I was overcome with emotions. Do not underestimate the capability of any child. Special needs or not.

Advocate…

“You can’t hear? I said stay in line!”
This time, it was the PE teacher shouting at my boy for not following instructions. Liam wasn’t challenging his authority. He simply did not understand his instructions. This is a classic symptom of ASD: difficulty processing auditory language.
Cindy’s blood boiled. She walked up to the teacher with a militant attitude that filled the gym and mad stared him. (Now, you need to know that she’s less than five feet, and the teacher was at least six, so I do not know exactly how this happened, but she swears it did.)
After the murderous stare, she grabbed Liam’s hand and marched out of the gym, all eyes on them.
I could barely understand her words as she ranted to me about the atrocity that had just taken place. She was livid. Liam, on the other hand, was happily playing on the slide. This was one of those bittersweet moments of relief that most parents know about. My sweet, innocent boy was totally unaware of the injustices that befell him.
I learned the next day that the teacher didn’t even know Liam was on the spectrum. He apologized and it never happened again. I’ve forgiven his ignorance. But not Cindy. She gets riled up whenever we talk about it.

Priceless…

She loves my boy. And no amount of money in the world can compensate for love. The day-to-day life of a parent with a child on the spectrum is incredibly challenging and isolating. Yes, we do reap glorious rewards and small victories, but the journey is arduous. And we cannot do it alone. Support that shadows like Liam’s Cindy or Teo’s Jen provide is priceless.

So, on this Valentine’s Day weekend, I celebrate the friends and family and shadows who love us and our kids with reckless abandon. That’s all it takes. Love and a little shaving cream.

So, thank you, Cindy, for the great work you do. Thank you for the bike rides and photo shoots, tea parties and dance contests. It’s pretty amazing to watch. I told her I was writing an article about her.
“Oh my God!” she laughed.
“Cindy! Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain,” I reminded.
“Aye. Dios mio,” she repented.
SMH