John, for lack of a better description, is vaccine damaged. There are little to no autistic issues anymore, and believe me we have seen most all on the list at one point or another. Yesterday I was talking to a Brain Gym instructor about making the trip to our state next summer to see John, as well as several of the children I work with. As we talked, she too commented on his lack of autism but more a cerebral palsy look. That one, we are still battling. The discussion turned to a set back John had earlier in the summer that took all his “noise” or speech that he had. Johns’ speech has not been clear and normal after that fatal last day of normalcy in December in ‘94.
“What baffles me, he can laugh, I mean gut doubling over laughter.” I said into the phone.
“Laughter is not produced like speech.” she said.
“Can’t be, and in the last couple of months, I have found myself wondering where laughter comes from.”

As the afternoon wore on, I thought a great deal about laughter. John had always had an award winning smile, even though we didn’t see it for several years, we knew it was still in there. His other great skill, was natural laughter. With a klutz as a Mom, he got many chances to laugh at my unrehearsed, unplanned pratfalls. I treasure that sound, for it is the only sound John has. The more I thought about it, the more I understood that it is a blessing that speech sound and laughter are not connected. For had it been, that precious melody of life might very well have been squelched along with speech.
Yesterday I took John out for his afternoon work out in the pool. It’s a combination work on body movement and pure fun and silly time. John, had other ideas and I knew as soon as we walked out the back door, he was not in the mood for pool time. I baulked. He baulked. I begged, he ran and sat down on the patio. I shrugged my shoulder and got in the pool anyway, thinking he would follow in a minute or two. John came and sat on the ladder. Salem, our big black cat joined John. I ask John to jump in. There it was, that look on his face that says if I could talk to you, I would be telling you a thing or two. John, mad, twisted his face, shook, glared hard at me, and signed a huge STOP. Salem, aware John was growing upset, jumped from his lap and ran to safety.
“Oh come on in you know you want to!” I chided. That did it, John got in, but not in a happy way. He half ran, half hopped across the pool to where I was, grasped my hands looked me deep in the eyes and tugged me hard. Boy, can he talk with those deep green eyes of his. I could feel the sparks and fire in his eyes as he pulled me across the pool and toward the ladder. I was no match for an outdone sixteen year old. I meekly followed and got out. Once out, John stormed into the house and picked up the keys to his Gator.
“It’s hot now, you still wanna go drive?” I ask.
John headed out the door, I begged for a chance to get dry clothing on.
We did not get very far before I misjudged a deep ditch and the amount of rain water it had collected over night. We got stuck. I tired to reverse, but got stuck worse. I got out and checked the situation. There I was, no cell phone, in the middle of the woods, and not about to leave that expensive toy unattended while I sought helps. With John’s assistance, I found some logs and broke them open to stuff under the tires for traction. I had been working with John on driving for sometime, but had yet to trust him to drive alone. Now I had no choice. I would have to trust him to give it gas as I pushed from behind. We talked. John grinned. I should have known that grin.
“On three, give it all you have! One, TWWOO, TTHHRREEE GGGGOOOO!” I shouted over the motor as I shoved hard. The Gator lurched forward, spun a bit and jumped the ditch. I however, forgot to turn loose, and fell face first into a ditch of smelly grey mud.
I looked up to see where John was. He had stopped once on safe, smooth ground and was looking back over the end of the Gator at me. There it was, that laughter that lights my world. He was belly laughing so hard and grinning with a twinkle of mischief in those mirror-to-the-world eyes of his. I crawled back on, slinging mud from my arms and face as I did.
“And you wondered why I wanted to swim and not do this.”
John laughed harder and patted my shoulder.

As we rode on into the woods, I got to thinking about it. Sometimes, speech is over rated. We may never know scientifically why a voiceless child can laugh, but we do know where laughter comes from. It comes from the ability to not take life so serious, and to embrace the days of our lives, no matter what may come. It comes from happiness, joy, and a good sense of humor. And if he could talk, I feel sure John would tell you, having a klutz of a Mom, gives you plenty of practice.