Home » non-verbal
Tampilkan postingan dengan label non-verbal. Tampilkan semua postingan
Tampilkan postingan dengan label non-verbal. Tampilkan semua postingan
If you don't speak, you don't count, families find
The film Certain Proof is a jarring reminder of how children who can’t speak aren’t “seen” in our culture – are made invisible by people who assume they have nothing to say and a system that doesn’t give them the tools and time to develop a voice.
At the beginning of the American movie – shown at our BLOOM speaker night Tuesday – a doctor says that we have the medical care to save the lives of children with disabilities, but questions: “Do we have the humanity to make those lives meaningful?”
The film follows three students – Colin (above), Josh and Kay – as they struggle to be accepted in public schools. All three have cerebral palsy and significant physical disabilities, but Kay can speak slowly, though not clearly.
Two-and-a-half years after the filmmakers began the documentary, Kay seems to be the only one making progress.
Colin – who painstakingly taps on a voice device with a head pointer – learns that he won’t be getting a high school diploma because he can’t demonstrate what he knows fast enough to keep up with peers.
Josh – who is assessed by a team of literacy specialists who conclude that he can learn – returns to a school where staff misinterpret his signals and exhaust him with repeated requests at rote identification of colours and the alphabet. When he gestures toward a picture to say he’s mad, his assistant redirects his hand to the happy face.
School staff, while well-meaning, underestimate the students, focus on what they can’t do, and don’t appear to have the training to help them develop a solid form of communication or a way of participating in class.
Even though Kay is an A student, her peers admit assuming she was "dumb" because she couldn’t speak. They also laughed at some of her movements.
The hectic pace of a regular classroom doesn’t allow these students the extra time they need to express what they know. One literacy expert notes that because communication is so laborious for these kids, they can’t show their intelligence on standard tests.
Two of the parents in the film express their despair and feelings that they’ve failed – despite going to extraordinary lengths to support their children.
What struck me was the spark of personality in each child – and how over time it was snuffed out because they weren’t understood or heard. Over time these children got frustrated and sad and gave up.
Will Colin, who’s bright and engaging, end up by himself in a nursing home in a corner, as his mother fears?
In the discussion following the Holland Bloorview screening, parents, therapists and teachers called on us to be a louder and coordinated voice for our children – publicly telling our children’s stories. One of the reasons our children are marginalized is that the average person is unaware they exist. Most people don’t know children who don’t speak and have no sense of the challenges facing them in a society and school system that values verbal communication.
There was a call to parents to better tell the story of their child’s life – including their gifts and what we’ve learned as parents about what’s important.
I think we’re often silenced in this way because it’s hard to find the words to convey who our children are without speech. We see clearly our kids’ personalities and interests and strengths. But when the average teacher or student looks at our children, they only see what is different.
It does make me want to write more publicly about our life with Ben.
What about you?
Parents of children who use augmentative communication may be interested in monthly AAC clubs for kids and teens at Holland Bloorview. Call 416 425 6220, ext. 3686. Toronto parents may be interested in a Communication and Writing Aids Open House at Holland Bloorview. It's an opportunity to meet other parents, share experiences and learn about supports. Call ext. 3679 to register for this Nov. 1 evening event.
Posted by Unknown
at 08.14,
Add Comment
Read more
More than words, part 1
I love to talk.
It began with my family and childhood friends and blossomed at school and in my initial work as a journalist.
Talking was central to what I judged to be most meaningful in life.
I had the gift of the gab and found silence awkward and uncomfortable – a void I needed to fill. If I was nervous, I could talk your ear off. As a child, I grilled my babysitters on endless subjects when they turned off the light and tried to extract themselves from my bedroom:
"What is your favourite colour?"
"Who is your religious leader?"
"What if it was the third period of the 1972 Canada-Russia hockey game and Paul Henderson had to go to the bathroom?"
Once a psychologist told me that I used conversation to control situations and glide above my own insecurities, dictating the topics and drawing out more from a person than they probably wanted to tell.
But I was raised in a home where talking to people and showing an interest in their ideas and lives was highly valued.
Before Ben, I always thought of speech as being automatic and related only to thought: you think something and then it comes out in words.
I didn't realize that, in fact, talking is like walking – a motor activity involving a complex interplay of breathing skills and lip, jaw and tongue movements.
It was incomprehensible to me that someone couldn’t speak. I guess I had read about children who were non-verbal, but it was something completely outside my experience.
Ben babbled exuberantly at 3 weeks. I still have the photo D'Arcy took of him propped up on my knees facing me, interacting. At seven months, other mothers in a play group marvelled when I passed him to someone to hold and he cried clearly: "Mama, Mama!"
At 1 he referred to his favourite Sesame St. character – Elmo – as Elma. Bottle was "bo" and "Be go bo" meant Ben go bottle. Apple was "apu" and Daddy was "Uma." His pediatrician noted that he was talkative and sociable for his age.
Severe recurrent ear infections kicked in then and we didn't know Ben also had a permanent moderate hearing loss in both ears – made worse by constant fluid in his ears. We later learned he had a submucous cleft palate and related abnormality of his ear canals. This explained his constant ear infections that didn't respond to prophylactic antibiotics or eight sets of surgically-placed tubes to drain what one ENT described as "copious thick black fluid.”
It was at about this time that I learned that severe speech delay or absence of speech was a symptom in some descriptions of Ben’s syndrome, called Langer Giedion.
Given my love of talking, and the general value our culture places on speech and people who speak well, this frightened me.
The anxiety that had attended waiting for Ben to sit, stand up and do other typical motor activities – while taking him to therapy and carrying out a million exercises at home – was now overshadowed by the weight of: "How am I going to get Ben to talk?"
I asked about speech therapy, but learned that in Ontario it didn't traditionally start until age three.
At about age two, I managed to get a speech therapist through our home-care service to visit, and she assessed him as being at an 18-month level for speech (I often go back to her document, just to prove to myself that he really did have some speech early on).
She came for two sessions and was fabulous -- but she was retiring. The person who replaced her was a new speech pathology grad who specialized in working with seniors with swallowing disorders. She spent her visits chatting with me and didn’t come for long.
We began private sessions with a program called KidSpeech. “Ben says ‘owl’ very clearly,” wrote the therapist in April 1996.
One night as I went into his room for a second time to tuck him in his crib, he said, as clear as day: "Hi Mom."
Another time, he was pulling vegetables out of the crisper and said: "gwee peppa" for green pepper.
He said up and “oben” for open and “bubbu” for bubbles and “weh” for web (as in the spider's web in his Eric Carle book). He said "Gobuh" for "Goldbug" – a favourite character in his Richard Scarry series. “I wa” was I want.
Posted by Unknown
at 07.54,
Add Comment
Read more
Goodbye (unrealistic) dream
Today I'm getting rid of these how-to books and kits for kids with speech problems. They date back to when Ben was a preschooler and I was heavily invested in trying to get him to talk. I brought them in to work years ago to pass along to a speech therapist, but somehow they stuck with me, like the lists of words that Ben spoke as a toddler but hasn't uttered in 15 years.
These books once had a place at home in a cupboard along with bulk quantities of coloured horns of all shapes and sizes, straws, tongue depressors, teddy bear bubble blowers, pink sponges on sticks to stimulate the gums, plastic tubing to chew on and a deck of recipe cards with typed instructions on how to perform a gazillion mouth, tongue and cheek exercises.
If I could only buy enough supplies, perform enough oral-motor exercises, squeeze out enough word attempts.
More to come on why it was particularly hard for me to accept that my child would never speak.
Posted by Unknown
at 13.15,
Add Comment
Read more
'He's trying to tell you something!'

'He's trying to tell you something!'
By Stacey Moffat
When your child doesn’t speak, he can’t talk back. If you swear, you don’t have to worry about him repeating you at an inopportune time. And you always have someone to confide in, someone who will keep your secrets.
It may seem odd to joke about something so serious, and I don’t mean to be flippant about an issue that affects my son Carter (above) so greatly. But to quote Bill Cosby: “Through humour, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers.” Carter, 6, has a wonderful sense of humour, so I wanted to preface this piece with something fun.
Here’s the more serious side of it. Having a child who’s non-verbal also means that when he’s sick or upset, he can’t tell me what’s wrong or where it hurts. As a mother, I feel helpless when I can’t comfort my son.
In addition, even though Carter’s adept at communicating through sign language and gestures, only a handful of people are able to understand his unique form of communication.
And he leads a sheltered life. He goes to a regular school but he’s in a developmental education classroom. There, he spends the day with eight classmates, three educational assistants and his teacher. He comes home from school and has therapy for a couple of hours and then he eats supper, plays in the backyard or watches TV. He’s involved in after-school programs for children with special needs.
Carter was born with Pierre Robin Sequence and a cleft palate. He had his cleft palate surgically repaired when he was one. Three years passed, each marked by my husband saying: “I really thought that he would have been talking by now.”
A psycho-educational assessment at four showed that Carter fell within the range of mild to moderate mental retardation. We didn’t find out that he had apraxia until last year when we had him assessed by a speech therapist from the U.S. who specializes in oral-motor issues.
When the therapist diagnosed Carter with childhood apraxia of speech, I cried. Hearing her confirm what I had long suspected made me feel validated. Finally a professional was willing to put a name to my son’s speech disorder.
Other professionals had been forthright in telling me that Carter’s lack of speech had nothing to do with his cleft palate, but when I asked specifically about apraxia, I was given vague responses like: “It’s too early to tell” or “He’s still young. A lot of developing can happen over the next few years.”
Carter takes weekly therapeutic riding lessons. I stand with the other parents watching, full of pride as he circles the arena on his horse, led by two volunteers. He points to things around the arena and signs repeatedly, trying to tell his helpers what colour this or that is, or what animal he sees in pictures displayed on the walls. It breaks my heart to watch him try so hard to make conversation when I know that the volunteers have no idea what he’s saying. They smile politely and walk along with him, guiding his horse and reminding him to hold on.
By Stacey Moffat
When your child doesn’t speak, he can’t talk back. If you swear, you don’t have to worry about him repeating you at an inopportune time. And you always have someone to confide in, someone who will keep your secrets.
It may seem odd to joke about something so serious, and I don’t mean to be flippant about an issue that affects my son Carter (above) so greatly. But to quote Bill Cosby: “Through humour, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers.” Carter, 6, has a wonderful sense of humour, so I wanted to preface this piece with something fun.
Here’s the more serious side of it. Having a child who’s non-verbal also means that when he’s sick or upset, he can’t tell me what’s wrong or where it hurts. As a mother, I feel helpless when I can’t comfort my son.
In addition, even though Carter’s adept at communicating through sign language and gestures, only a handful of people are able to understand his unique form of communication.
And he leads a sheltered life. He goes to a regular school but he’s in a developmental education classroom. There, he spends the day with eight classmates, three educational assistants and his teacher. He comes home from school and has therapy for a couple of hours and then he eats supper, plays in the backyard or watches TV. He’s involved in after-school programs for children with special needs.
Carter was born with Pierre Robin Sequence and a cleft palate. He had his cleft palate surgically repaired when he was one. Three years passed, each marked by my husband saying: “I really thought that he would have been talking by now.”
A psycho-educational assessment at four showed that Carter fell within the range of mild to moderate mental retardation. We didn’t find out that he had apraxia until last year when we had him assessed by a speech therapist from the U.S. who specializes in oral-motor issues.
When the therapist diagnosed Carter with childhood apraxia of speech, I cried. Hearing her confirm what I had long suspected made me feel validated. Finally a professional was willing to put a name to my son’s speech disorder.
Other professionals had been forthright in telling me that Carter’s lack of speech had nothing to do with his cleft palate, but when I asked specifically about apraxia, I was given vague responses like: “It’s too early to tell” or “He’s still young. A lot of developing can happen over the next few years.”
Carter takes weekly therapeutic riding lessons. I stand with the other parents watching, full of pride as he circles the arena on his horse, led by two volunteers. He points to things around the arena and signs repeatedly, trying to tell his helpers what colour this or that is, or what animal he sees in pictures displayed on the walls. It breaks my heart to watch him try so hard to make conversation when I know that the volunteers have no idea what he’s saying. They smile politely and walk along with him, guiding his horse and reminding him to hold on.
“But he’s trying to tell you something!” I want to shout. “He’s telling you that little girl’s coat is red. He has to let go of the saddle and use his hand and finger to sign ‘red!’”
The other riders chat with their volunteers as they pass by and I catch myself feeling cheated. These children have such ease in their interactions. My son’s attempts to relate seem so foreign. And then I start thinking about the variety of needs the riders have. I consider the ongoing struggles caused by each disability and I wonder: would I trade my son’s inability to speak for a different disability?
The idea seems ludicrous. I feel guilty and callous just thinking about it. Yet, as a parent, is it not human to experience thoughts like: “I’m so grateful my child doesn’t have that” or “At least my child is able to do this?” In my son’s case, I can list a number of things I’m grateful for.
But I can’t stop myself from longing for the day when I can say: “I’m just grateful that he can talk.”
The other riders chat with their volunteers as they pass by and I catch myself feeling cheated. These children have such ease in their interactions. My son’s attempts to relate seem so foreign. And then I start thinking about the variety of needs the riders have. I consider the ongoing struggles caused by each disability and I wonder: would I trade my son’s inability to speak for a different disability?
The idea seems ludicrous. I feel guilty and callous just thinking about it. Yet, as a parent, is it not human to experience thoughts like: “I’m so grateful my child doesn’t have that” or “At least my child is able to do this?” In my son’s case, I can list a number of things I’m grateful for.
But I can’t stop myself from longing for the day when I can say: “I’m just grateful that he can talk.”
Stacey Moffat is a teacher, writer and mother to three who lives in Kitchener, Ont.
Posted by Unknown
at 10.37,
Add Comment
Read more
Protecting your non-verbal child

Parents of children who don’t speak fear their child’s vulnerability. When your child is non-verbal, he can’t tell you if something bad happens at school, in the community or with a worker. Last week I received an e-mail from the mother of a four-year-old boy with autism. She wrote to tell me that while receiving ABA therapy at a private centre, inappropriate photos of her son were taken. She shares her story in the hope that by alerting others parents to the potential for abuse, she can save another family from going through a similar experience.
My son had been going there for a year and every session I would stay and wait for him. I could hear him scream through the walls and they would tell me he needs to ‘pair’ with his therapist and it’s his ‘behaviours.’ In October there were changes and we had a new therapist. Her first day with my son she came running out of the therapy session into the waiting room and asked if I had a camera. I said no and why? She asked the administrator, who said yes, take my iPhone. The therapist said: “Your son is painting, he is covered in blue paint so I want to show you” and ran out of the room. Over the next little while she returned the iPhone to its owner and I asked to see these pictures. I was in shock to see my son standing in his diaper covered in blue paint, crying. There were many pictures taken. But none of him actually painting, just of him crying with blue paint all over him. There were pictures of him being cleaned up and pictures of him naked: three full frontal photos. I felt sick to my stomach.
Does my child not have a right to privacy? When you send your child to school do you expect them to be painting in their underwear or diaper? Why would someone take pictures of a child naked? My son could have been cold for two hours, standing in his diaper. When your child is non-verbal, he can’t tell you what’s happening. The guilt I feel that I trusted this private centre with my child is unexplainable. Our local children’s aid is investigating this case and the police said that while the photos are not pornographic, they are inappropriate. No apology or explanation has been given to us by the director of the centre. I would like to educate as many parents as possible to prevent this kind of horrible occurrence from happening to another child.
Following are precautions I've learned to take in choosing a private therapy centre or daycare:
Call your local children’s aid to ask if any incidents at the facility have been reported, or if the facility has been the focus of an investigation.
Ask to see qualifications of the person working with your child.
Check references yourself. Don’t be afraid to make enquiries with the police regarding records.
Expect timely responses to your concerns and questions.
Before committing yourself to a facility, ask to speak with other parents and view the facility while in operation.
Make an unannounced visit to get a realistic view of how the place runs and the involvement of the senior staff or directors.
Be involved. Don’t take a kind smile as proof that your child is well taken care of.
If you can view your child under someone else’s care, do it.
Look for sudden changes in behaviour in your child. You know your child best.
Read contracts carefully and don’t be afraid to question.
Share information and network with other parents.
Posted by Unknown
at 06.44,
Add Comment
Read more
If you could read my mind

Parents of children who can’t speak or gesture understand why a device that decodes likes and dislikes by measuring brain activity ranks as one of the 25 Ideas That Are Changing the World in a Toronto Life Magazine feature this December.
Idea number eight is an optical brain imaging system developed at Bloorview that decodes preference – with the ultimate goal of opening the world of choice to children who can’t speak or move.
Wearing a headband (see photo above) fitted with fibre-optics that emit light into the pre-frontal cortex of the brain, adults were shown two drinks on a computer monitor, one after the other, and asked to make a mental decision about which they liked more.
“When your brain is active, the oxygen in your blood increases and depending on the concentration, it absorbs more or less light,” says Sheena Luu, the PhD student who led the Bloorview study under the supervision of biomedical engineer Tom Chau.
After teaching the computer to recognize the unique pattern of brain activity associated with preference for each subject, Luu accurately predicted which drink the participants liked best 80 per cent of the time.
The work was published in the Journal of Neural Engineering in February and is groundbreaking because preference was detected naturally – from spontaneous thoughts – without training the user.
Most brain-computer interfaces require users to do an unrelated mental task – such as figuring out a math equation or singing a song – to indicate a response such as yes. This can be challenging for a child who doesn’t understand cause and effect or for people with developmental disabilities.
I had a fascinating opportunity to see the latest progress with the infrared brain imaging system last Friday.
Ka Lun Tam, a research engineer in Chau’s lab, demonstrated how thoughts can be used to express intention or activate a switch that controls a computer or communication or household device.
He donned the fibre-optic headband, with a spray of a dozen red and yellow cables cascading down his body. Yellow lines emit light into parts of the brain activated during singing. Red ones detect the amount of light that bounces back.
Then Tam played a computer matching game. Two photos at a time were presented on the screen – things like a cyclist and a swimmer. Sometimes the photos were the same, sometimes different. If the photos matched, Tam sung a fast-paced song in his head. He chose “I want you” by Savage Garden because of its frenetic beat.
When the photos didn’t match, he let his mind go blank.
In the bottom left of the screen, a circle appeared in green or red – green indicated a photo match was detected by Tam’s thoughts and red the opposite. The circles grew from small to large, depending on the strength of the signal.
How did the system know Tam was indicating a match? Singing gave certain parts of his brain a workout, causing oxygenated blood to flood those vessels and absorb more of the infra-red light.
The circles act as feedback for the user, indicating that mental singing – or silence – is triggering the signals.
Tam is still getting used to the system and says that while some days it’s bang on, other times it doesn’t read his mind correctly.
The quick response of the circle – indicating whether or not there’s a match – is surprising, Chau says. “The blood-flow response is slow. It takes about 10 seconds to evolve. So we’re pleasantly surprised that we can generate a channel signal in a couple of seconds. That means the system is detecting a change in blood flow before the entire response.”
Chau says the team will explore other mental tasks that can generate responses. “For example, maybe it’s a child thinking about their pet or a TV show they like.”
While the research is in its early stages, Chau envisions a portable system in future using a forehead sticker with light sensors.
The research is part of Chau’s body-talk research, which aims to give children who are “locked in” by disability a way to express themselves through subtle physiological processes like breathing pattern, skin temperature, heart rate and brain activity.
Idea number eight is an optical brain imaging system developed at Bloorview that decodes preference – with the ultimate goal of opening the world of choice to children who can’t speak or move.
Wearing a headband (see photo above) fitted with fibre-optics that emit light into the pre-frontal cortex of the brain, adults were shown two drinks on a computer monitor, one after the other, and asked to make a mental decision about which they liked more.
“When your brain is active, the oxygen in your blood increases and depending on the concentration, it absorbs more or less light,” says Sheena Luu, the PhD student who led the Bloorview study under the supervision of biomedical engineer Tom Chau.
After teaching the computer to recognize the unique pattern of brain activity associated with preference for each subject, Luu accurately predicted which drink the participants liked best 80 per cent of the time.
The work was published in the Journal of Neural Engineering in February and is groundbreaking because preference was detected naturally – from spontaneous thoughts – without training the user.
Most brain-computer interfaces require users to do an unrelated mental task – such as figuring out a math equation or singing a song – to indicate a response such as yes. This can be challenging for a child who doesn’t understand cause and effect or for people with developmental disabilities.
I had a fascinating opportunity to see the latest progress with the infrared brain imaging system last Friday.
Ka Lun Tam, a research engineer in Chau’s lab, demonstrated how thoughts can be used to express intention or activate a switch that controls a computer or communication or household device.
He donned the fibre-optic headband, with a spray of a dozen red and yellow cables cascading down his body. Yellow lines emit light into parts of the brain activated during singing. Red ones detect the amount of light that bounces back.
Then Tam played a computer matching game. Two photos at a time were presented on the screen – things like a cyclist and a swimmer. Sometimes the photos were the same, sometimes different. If the photos matched, Tam sung a fast-paced song in his head. He chose “I want you” by Savage Garden because of its frenetic beat.
When the photos didn’t match, he let his mind go blank.
In the bottom left of the screen, a circle appeared in green or red – green indicated a photo match was detected by Tam’s thoughts and red the opposite. The circles grew from small to large, depending on the strength of the signal.
How did the system know Tam was indicating a match? Singing gave certain parts of his brain a workout, causing oxygenated blood to flood those vessels and absorb more of the infra-red light.
The circles act as feedback for the user, indicating that mental singing – or silence – is triggering the signals.
Tam is still getting used to the system and says that while some days it’s bang on, other times it doesn’t read his mind correctly.
The quick response of the circle – indicating whether or not there’s a match – is surprising, Chau says. “The blood-flow response is slow. It takes about 10 seconds to evolve. So we’re pleasantly surprised that we can generate a channel signal in a couple of seconds. That means the system is detecting a change in blood flow before the entire response.”
Chau says the team will explore other mental tasks that can generate responses. “For example, maybe it’s a child thinking about their pet or a TV show they like.”
While the research is in its early stages, Chau envisions a portable system in future using a forehead sticker with light sensors.
The research is part of Chau’s body-talk research, which aims to give children who are “locked in” by disability a way to express themselves through subtle physiological processes like breathing pattern, skin temperature, heart rate and brain activity.
Posted by Unknown
at 08.52,
Add Comment
Read more
Giving Thomas a voice that's cool

In 2003, Richard Ellenson (left) convinced the City of New York to design two classrooms that would allow his son Thomas (right) and seven other children with disabilities to take part fully in kindergarten at a public Manhattan school. Thomas has cerebral palsy and doesn’t speak or walk.
A year later, frustrated by technology that didn’t support the fluid communication he wanted for his son, Richard sketched a product more in keeping with his creative instincts (he owned an ad agency at the time): it was sleek as a video console, spoke like a kid, with all the right inflections, and had a built-in digital camera.
Three years later, that napkin sketch became the Tango, a device Richard brought to market with a company he founded called Blink Twice. This past summer, Blink Twice merged with DynaVox – the world’s largest maker of augmentative and alternative communication (AAC) products – and Richard became the company’s chief vision officer.
We talked about parenting a child who is non-verbal and why he developed the Tango.
Me: How did you react when you first learned Thomas would never speak?
Richard: When he was about two years old we were at his neurologist. He looked at Tom and said “maybe this child will walk one day.” To me, I was never that athletic and that wasn’t the most important thing. “Will he be able to speak,” I asked? I’ll never forget his words: “I don’t believe speech will be his strong suit.” I talk a lot, so for me that was a very hard thing to hear. At that point in my life, I couldn’t envision other ways of communication.
Me: How did lack of speech affect Thomas?
Richard: If you can’t speak in real time, people tend to not include you in real time. To be really good friends with someone who doesn’t speak verbally, you have to learn an entirely new way of communicating, and not everyone will do that. Tom has good friends, but it’s been harder for him to make them.
Me: What are common misconceptions about children who are non-verbal?
Richard: Parts of the human spirit are universal and parts are idiosyncratic. With most people, we overstate their universality, but with the disabled we focus more than we need to on their differences. They need to prove they’re smart, prove they’re fun, prove that they understand what someone is saying. People talk slower or louder to someone who’s non-verbal and generally assume it will be more work to interact.
All of us want to find the things within us that make us special, but the challenge is more daunting to people with disabilities because others don’t take the time to engage with them. You have to be Stephen Hawking before people will sit up and take notice.
The thing I find most tragic is that we as a society have been unable to find effective inclusionary environments. We haven’t found an appropriate teaching model for children of different abilities, so students with special needs are often excluded from a general curriculum and put in a separate environment. Yet in every high school, one kid is going to go to Harvard and one is going to community college. Their experience is not so different from that of people who are typical or have special needs and yet we don’t make that distinction.
Me: Why were you motivated to design the Tango?
Richard: The devices at the time were focused on building sentences. To a guy in advertising, that doesn’t equate to communication. Communication is a much richer notion that involves engaging someone in real time. It involves inflection, prosody, speaking in a language and a voice that people relate to, showing off a sense of coolness, being up to speed on your world. I was an advertising creative director, so unlike those with a more academic bent, I’d always focused on the fact that we’re as affected by image as we are by substance.
For me, what was really important for Tom was the ability to be fluid in communicating and to approximate a pattern that feels familiar to others – to give him a way to be engaging out of the box, to show off his charm and his cleverness, to express his needs, his wants, his likes and dislikes, as quickly as possible. Once that foundation was built, then he could focus on the task of generating sentences and growing relationships. When devices made generative language the first step, I found it was such a large step that most people fall off.
Me: What are the key features of the Tango?
Richard: I think what everyone immediately responds to is that it looks really cool, it has great voices and a built-in camera. It was really important to bring that message to the field of AAC: we need to get cooler. We need to worry not only about what the speaker thinks but what other people think – about what motivates communication. As they say, it takes two to tango.
The Tango has 4,000 phrases that were developed by observing kids and teens and adults in real conversations. Much of what we say in life is repetitive. Typical people have the rhythms of conversations in their ‘database.’ But if you’re non-verbal, most devices require you to create those phrases over and over again. That makes it much harder for others who need to wait to listen.
Me: What advice would you give a parent whose child is non-verbal?
Richard: We all get judged before we ever speak a word, so be aware that the same thing is happening to your kid and the bar is higher. Make sure your child has visual cues around them in everything from their clothing to their toys, and that language is easily available to them on whatever communication system they use. If your child doesn’t have something with their favourite baseball team or rock band on it, people will assume they’re not interested in sports or kids activities.
If your child gestures, encourage them to use eye gestures and smiles to connect with people, so people are aware that your child is aware.
Make sure people learn to wait for your child to communicate. Let them know it’s not frustrating for your child to use technology and how much their interest means to your child. Keep it positive.
Evaluate your child’s ability to communicate. Do they use images? Can they use sentences made available to them? Can they generate sentences? Be aware of growth opportunities. You want to stay a step ahead so there’s a window where the child has variety.
Advocate for them to have more than they need – to have the best device available so they can explore and grow when they’re ready. To limit a child to low tech is often to limit their ability to find more within themselves.
But mostly, learn to respect a child’s desire to be a child. No teenager wants to talk with you. No kid wants to tell you about their day at school. Find what they’re interested in, and use that to motivate them.
Me: What changes in Tom did you see once he had the Tango?
Richard: When you have a Tango on your tray, you don’t look disabled, you look cool. Instead of “Oh, you’ve got this big device on your tray,” you’ve changed the conversation to “I’m cool” and kids respond to that. With the Tango, Tom’s expanded his magic bag of communication from a couple of gestures and words to phrases that are really intentional, to stories about his life he uses over and over – as we all do – to sound effects. People absolutely understand more of what Tom is interested in with the Tango. He’s considered one of the most popular kids in school. Tom has a lot of friends on Facebook. So someone will show up at our house and I realize Tom was on Facebook the day before e-mailing “I want to have a play date.”
Me: What was most challenging about developing the Tango?
Richard: The hardest part was walking into a field that evaluates things from an academic perspective and being someone who looks at things from a marketing perspective. The field was about building sentences, when to me it should be about your child building relationships. I saw communication in context. Why will people communicate? What will they want to listen to? How will my kid make friends?
Me: How do you feel knowing you’ve given your son a voice in this way?
Richard: It’s wonderful and humbling. I always felt it was a bit of destiny. I was an advertising person and focused on brand and perceptions, and while the AAC field had great thinkers, they weren’t always thinking about what the experience of AAC was for listeners. For me, every metric for success should be about what listeners are doing, not what speakers are doing.
Me: What are your goals at DynaVox?
Richard: My role is to work with the company’s many innovators to re-imagine what the world can be like when it’s full of successful AAC users. We want to build devices that provide not just communication, but the foundation for a change in perceptions. So if a person in a wheelchair with a device has a headline over their head that says ‘This is a difficult life,’ my vision is that the headline becomes: ‘This is an interesting life. This is someone who has insight and fun. This is someone worth knowing.’
A year later, frustrated by technology that didn’t support the fluid communication he wanted for his son, Richard sketched a product more in keeping with his creative instincts (he owned an ad agency at the time): it was sleek as a video console, spoke like a kid, with all the right inflections, and had a built-in digital camera.
Three years later, that napkin sketch became the Tango, a device Richard brought to market with a company he founded called Blink Twice. This past summer, Blink Twice merged with DynaVox – the world’s largest maker of augmentative and alternative communication (AAC) products – and Richard became the company’s chief vision officer.
We talked about parenting a child who is non-verbal and why he developed the Tango.
Me: How did you react when you first learned Thomas would never speak?
Richard: When he was about two years old we were at his neurologist. He looked at Tom and said “maybe this child will walk one day.” To me, I was never that athletic and that wasn’t the most important thing. “Will he be able to speak,” I asked? I’ll never forget his words: “I don’t believe speech will be his strong suit.” I talk a lot, so for me that was a very hard thing to hear. At that point in my life, I couldn’t envision other ways of communication.
Me: How did lack of speech affect Thomas?
Richard: If you can’t speak in real time, people tend to not include you in real time. To be really good friends with someone who doesn’t speak verbally, you have to learn an entirely new way of communicating, and not everyone will do that. Tom has good friends, but it’s been harder for him to make them.
Me: What are common misconceptions about children who are non-verbal?
Richard: Parts of the human spirit are universal and parts are idiosyncratic. With most people, we overstate their universality, but with the disabled we focus more than we need to on their differences. They need to prove they’re smart, prove they’re fun, prove that they understand what someone is saying. People talk slower or louder to someone who’s non-verbal and generally assume it will be more work to interact.
All of us want to find the things within us that make us special, but the challenge is more daunting to people with disabilities because others don’t take the time to engage with them. You have to be Stephen Hawking before people will sit up and take notice.
The thing I find most tragic is that we as a society have been unable to find effective inclusionary environments. We haven’t found an appropriate teaching model for children of different abilities, so students with special needs are often excluded from a general curriculum and put in a separate environment. Yet in every high school, one kid is going to go to Harvard and one is going to community college. Their experience is not so different from that of people who are typical or have special needs and yet we don’t make that distinction.
Me: Why were you motivated to design the Tango?
Richard: The devices at the time were focused on building sentences. To a guy in advertising, that doesn’t equate to communication. Communication is a much richer notion that involves engaging someone in real time. It involves inflection, prosody, speaking in a language and a voice that people relate to, showing off a sense of coolness, being up to speed on your world. I was an advertising creative director, so unlike those with a more academic bent, I’d always focused on the fact that we’re as affected by image as we are by substance.
For me, what was really important for Tom was the ability to be fluid in communicating and to approximate a pattern that feels familiar to others – to give him a way to be engaging out of the box, to show off his charm and his cleverness, to express his needs, his wants, his likes and dislikes, as quickly as possible. Once that foundation was built, then he could focus on the task of generating sentences and growing relationships. When devices made generative language the first step, I found it was such a large step that most people fall off.
Me: What are the key features of the Tango?
Richard: I think what everyone immediately responds to is that it looks really cool, it has great voices and a built-in camera. It was really important to bring that message to the field of AAC: we need to get cooler. We need to worry not only about what the speaker thinks but what other people think – about what motivates communication. As they say, it takes two to tango.
The Tango has 4,000 phrases that were developed by observing kids and teens and adults in real conversations. Much of what we say in life is repetitive. Typical people have the rhythms of conversations in their ‘database.’ But if you’re non-verbal, most devices require you to create those phrases over and over again. That makes it much harder for others who need to wait to listen.
Me: What advice would you give a parent whose child is non-verbal?
Richard: We all get judged before we ever speak a word, so be aware that the same thing is happening to your kid and the bar is higher. Make sure your child has visual cues around them in everything from their clothing to their toys, and that language is easily available to them on whatever communication system they use. If your child doesn’t have something with their favourite baseball team or rock band on it, people will assume they’re not interested in sports or kids activities.
If your child gestures, encourage them to use eye gestures and smiles to connect with people, so people are aware that your child is aware.
Make sure people learn to wait for your child to communicate. Let them know it’s not frustrating for your child to use technology and how much their interest means to your child. Keep it positive.
Evaluate your child’s ability to communicate. Do they use images? Can they use sentences made available to them? Can they generate sentences? Be aware of growth opportunities. You want to stay a step ahead so there’s a window where the child has variety.
Advocate for them to have more than they need – to have the best device available so they can explore and grow when they’re ready. To limit a child to low tech is often to limit their ability to find more within themselves.
But mostly, learn to respect a child’s desire to be a child. No teenager wants to talk with you. No kid wants to tell you about their day at school. Find what they’re interested in, and use that to motivate them.
Me: What changes in Tom did you see once he had the Tango?
Richard: When you have a Tango on your tray, you don’t look disabled, you look cool. Instead of “Oh, you’ve got this big device on your tray,” you’ve changed the conversation to “I’m cool” and kids respond to that. With the Tango, Tom’s expanded his magic bag of communication from a couple of gestures and words to phrases that are really intentional, to stories about his life he uses over and over – as we all do – to sound effects. People absolutely understand more of what Tom is interested in with the Tango. He’s considered one of the most popular kids in school. Tom has a lot of friends on Facebook. So someone will show up at our house and I realize Tom was on Facebook the day before e-mailing “I want to have a play date.”
Me: What was most challenging about developing the Tango?
Richard: The hardest part was walking into a field that evaluates things from an academic perspective and being someone who looks at things from a marketing perspective. The field was about building sentences, when to me it should be about your child building relationships. I saw communication in context. Why will people communicate? What will they want to listen to? How will my kid make friends?
Me: How do you feel knowing you’ve given your son a voice in this way?
Richard: It’s wonderful and humbling. I always felt it was a bit of destiny. I was an advertising person and focused on brand and perceptions, and while the AAC field had great thinkers, they weren’t always thinking about what the experience of AAC was for listeners. For me, every metric for success should be about what listeners are doing, not what speakers are doing.
Me: What are your goals at DynaVox?
Richard: My role is to work with the company’s many innovators to re-imagine what the world can be like when it’s full of successful AAC users. We want to build devices that provide not just communication, but the foundation for a change in perceptions. So if a person in a wheelchair with a device has a headline over their head that says ‘This is a difficult life,’ my vision is that the headline becomes: ‘This is an interesting life. This is someone who has insight and fun. This is someone worth knowing.’
Thomas and his family were the focus of a 2004 New York Times Magazine article – The Lessons of Classroom 506 – about inclusion.
Posted by Unknown
at 08.57,
Add Comment
Read more
Langganan:
Postingan (Atom)
