"Random thoughts go through my head all day long.... like what makes rain fall." -- Daniel, 2/8/2018

When Daniel was a toddler, he motored around the cul-de-sac where we lived, lost in something I could not identify.

Sometimes slowly, sometimes racing, he would travel in straight lines but more often in patterns -- circles, zig-zags, swirls of movement-- keeping his eyes on the ground. He would pause momentarily only to change direction, happily enthralled with whatever was going on in his head.

I was puzzled, but my father knew with a moment's observation. "He is playing with his shadow," he said with bemusement.

Indeed, he was.  Daniel looked for his shadow everywhere.  The child who never was interested in toys -- unless they involved music -- played with his shadow intently.  He looked for it everywhere, even discovering it on the wood floors in our kitchen.

I would watch with joy at his obvious pleasure, but a bit of worry, too.  I saw a beautiful boy, not even two-years-old, who was happy and healthy and transfixed by something many kids do not even notice.  But the fears of my husband were beginning to register.

Daniel was happy, and the source of his pleasure was fascinating.  But ... he did not attempt to bring me into the game; there was no pointing, no attempt at words.  Other than an occasional burst of speed in my direction, which ended in a hug, he made no attempt to connect with me as he raced about with his shadow -- for as long as I would allow.

Fast forward to yesterday.  I sat down to write about Daniel's story and knew I wanted to start at the beginning.  I thought about the little boy from all those years ago. I asked myself how I could begin to describe the toddler that he was -- the mysterious, perplexing child who obviously was taking in so much about the world around him but unable to share any of it.  That image -- the toddler racing on the pavement, staring uninterrupted at his shadow, still captures so much of the fascinating person who is finally able, at the age of 14, to share his thoughts. 

So yesterday I started to write about Daniel and his shadow.

But then I stopped.

And I went to Daniel.

I handed him the I-pad, and we had the following conversation.

ME:  Daniel, when you were really little, when we were still in Little Rock, you used to chase your shadow all over the place.  And I am wondering if you remember and if you can tell me about it.

He smiled the smile that signals I am in for something wonderful.

DANIEL: My really quite nice shadow went everywhere I went.

ME:  It did.  What else do you remember?

DANIEL:  It changed size when I went normal size.

ME:  It did!  It would change size while you stayed the same!  Do you know what caused that?

DANIEL: The sun in the sky.  In the morning my shadow was smaller than at night.

ME:  What else do you remember?

DANIEL:  On the side of me sometimes in back of me sometimes

ME:  Yep.  What else?

DANIEL:  The mailbox blocked it when I stood in certain spots.

ME:  Yep.  What was happening? 

DANIEL:  It was blocking the image.

ME:  Anything else?

DANIEL:  The shadow stayed symmetrical with my size.

ME:  I know there are a lot of other things, Daniel, that you were learning then that you couldn't talk to me about.  I know that was a lot of typing, but can you tell me just ONE more -- something you noticed about the way things worked or the way nature worked?  Just one?

DANIEL:  the very strong sound of engines starting and accelerating

This is what Daniel's life, my life, our lives, are like now. 

It didn't happen overnight -- far from it.  There was no magic fix-it.  It was slow to emerge.

But single words, typed slowly with one-finger, have turned into this ....

Amazing conversations that have me leaning over to watch his fingers, the feeling of exhilaration that comes with finally knowing my son's thoughts.

And, oh, does he have some spectacular thoughts.

This is my son.

I could not be more proud.

And I am so excited to tell you how it happened. 

One piece of the puzzle at a time.